My Country Home

Some people dream of a home in the country. I think that I’ve had one for the last five years. When I moved to Gainesville, I didn’t know that the city was a glorified cow pasture (or pony pasture) with an institute of higher knowledge planted firmly in the center. It took a lot of getting used to.

I learned a lot in my first year here. I learned that the sporting goods aisle at Wal-mart practically shuts down in October in conjunction with the opening of deer season. I also learned that in Alachua County, the word “hunting” doesn’t end in G; the correct pronunciation is huntin’. I learned that turkeys have beards (an honest-to-God clump of long hair that sprouts of their chests).

I learned that fixin can be a noun or a verb. I learned that people make fun of ACRs (Alachua County Residents), ACRs make fun of people from Gilchrist County, and everyone makes fun of people from Dixie County. I learned that even though I was born in Florida, I am still a Yankee. I learned that the farther north in Florida you drive, the more “southern” the people get.

I learned how to pee off the back of a boat (even though I never did it). I learned the reason for four door cars is so that when you pull over on the side of the road to let your children pee, you open the front and back doors and let your child squat between for privacy (I’ve never done that either). I learned that when you refuse the pee off the back of a boat, and you use the facilities of a house along the riverside, and you want to wash your hands, you should always make sure the plumbing is hooked up before you run water into a stranger’s sink (and out under the sink all over the floor).

I’ve fallen in love with charming southern speech. I work with a Southern Gentleman. Not just a man from the south, but an honest-to-goodness Southern Gentleman. He says things like, “I don’t mean this ugly,” followed by something that could only be described as a little bit ugly. Brent says things like “Golly Bill” or after a long story “I really chased the rabbit on that one.” It even sounds southern sweet when he swears (“Sheeit”). I met a friend’s boyfriend who told me that if he were to only eat what my friend cooked, he’d be “nothing left but breath and britches.” There is a lot of descriptive charm in the way that southerners speak.

So, I’ve been in Gainesville just shy of five years, and I feel more in touch with my Southern roots than I have in the last 14 in years living in Florida. I went to a picnic last weekend, and I saw eight men spread around a gigantic grill made from a metal trailer and big pieces of grating. I saw a truckload of good ol’ boys cooking up a truckload of corn on the cob. I ate corn on the cob with the husk pulled back and wrapped in a buttery paper towel. I washed it down with a glass of sweet tea.

This Florida Yankee felt like a native.