Manners, ma’ams and too much fried pie

Photo from Wikipedia

You know you’ve been in the South for too long when 50 degrees feels obscenely cold, and when the mention of deep fried pecan pie fails to trip the healthy-living alarm that 25 years in Colorado helped engineer, and when yes, ma’am falls out of your mouth without first stopping to check in with your brain.

Nearly one year ago, I was certain that I’d never really get the South— and the truth is, I’m not sure that I ever will. But there’s just something about this place– something that I can’t quite put my finger on– that feels like home to us know. Don’t get me wrong; we miss our Colorado friends and family, and we miss those mountains (and blue skies…and salad bars…and humidity levels that rest below 98%…) every.single.day. But, somewhere along the line, the homesickness/happy here-ness balance tipped just a little bit– and we’re really, really glad to be in this deep-fried paradise place, together, carving out authentic space for our family in territory that’s still so new to us.

It’s true– three years below the Mason-Dixon line have turned us into cold-weather wimps and total butter fiends. Perhaps we really have been in the South for too long. But the knowledge that, eventually, we will leave this place (and all of its manners and history and vats full of pimento cheese dip) makes me sad in a way I never anticipated– and grateful for things I never knew existed.

Thank you, ma’am, for that.

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