Although I will never willingly live there again, I am (as I reminded myself with yesterday’s post) a child of the South. There are certain things that can still instantly transport me to that part of myself, a particular sense of rootedness and home that isn’t really so much about the South itself as it is about a deep part of my from-the-moment-of-birth identity. I may no longer be in those places or cultures, but they are mine, and sometimes I open those internal doors and take joy in revisiting those parts of myself.
What does that for me these days? Hmm… Biscuits and gravy at Beth’s Cafe, although I wish I could find a decent dish of grits in Seattle, I miss good grits. True Blood on HBO (more about which in a later post, because there’s lots to say). The Gulf of Mexico at sunset — big warm sky, big warm water, palm trees rustling in the breeze and everything so peaceful. Southern back roads lined with trees dripping in Spanish moss and fruit stands where men in overalls sold strawberries the size of hubcaps and peaches as big as the world.
And music, of course, so today I thought I’d share this old favorite. Enjoy this trip into my South.
(click here if you can’t see the player.)
Your posts about the South have been making me very nostalgic. Maybe you’ll enjoy this video by Café Tacuba. They drive around the coasts of Mexico that haven’t yet been overtaken by tourism. This is the country of my childhood, how going to the sea looked and felt for me back then: the simple lives and simple landscapes. It breaks my heart every time I go back to find one more five-star resort towering over what my Southern child knew as sand and open sky and solitude and freedom.
I’ve been thinking that maybe when all the Mexican beaches have been trashed or turned into international villas for the all-inclusive vacationer, I could move to Cabo Verde. It amazes me how similar its spirit is to that of my old Mexico. This is Cesaria Evora singing “Dor di amor,” one of my favorite songs in the Universe. If it wasn’t for Portuguese, I could swear the location was Mexico and everyone in it was also Mexican. The images and sounds are so familiar, they feel so close to my heart.
There will always be a big place in my heart for The South of my youth, and I love it when you write about your southern youth because it takes me to that place.
But I hope like hell I never have to live there again.
True Blood does remind me of those days. A lot of music does. Black Water does it.
Tennessee Jed by The Greatful Dead comes to mind at the moment. And fried okra is my favorite southern food. The only way I ever get it anymore is if I make it, and that only happens once every 2 or 3 years. Biscuits and gravy does it too. There’s a tiny airport east of Pasadena in a town called Chino with a tiny cafe (and waitresses that call you hon’) that serves a good biscuits and gravy that does the trick.
Best southern word: ya’ll.
Karina, I do think it’s a sad thing what has/is happening with the tourist takeovers of the coast of Mexico.
I have a few things to say about the South, like William Faulkner, Eudora Welty, Harper Lee, Bobbie Jo Mason….Iv’e only been in South Carolina, where the beaches are like sugar and the beautiful blue grey ocean is as warm as your blood. It was wonderful.
Ah, grits….
Several years ago I went with Allen Steele to a small convention in Knoxville, Tennessee, where Samuel R. Delany was guest of honor. I was amused by Allen who insisted on warning me when we stepped into a certain barbeque establishment not to say anything that might be, you know, Yankee. The con was pleasant, Chip and I had a couple of first rate conversations, and then Sunday rolled around and I ended up at breakfast with Allen, Chip, and the con chair of Midsouthcon.
Everyone ordered grits but me. I stuck with hash browns. The other three chided me, even Chip. “Northern boy, eh?”
I looked at Chip, who was gleefully buttering his grits. “You’re from New York, for chrissakes.”
“Ah, but my family is from North Carolina. I grew up on this.”
The only Northern Boy at a very odd assemblage of Southern Nostalgia…
Karina, I enjoyed Cafe Tacuba so much! My South doesn’t really look like yours, but it feels the same in a way that I can’t really explain very well. The urban parts of Florida in my childhood were “small town” in a particular way… and the non-urban parts were Southern country for sure, dirt roads and old cars and people drinking beer together on their porches, or in chairs the front yards… old general stores where you could pull Coke in little bottles from old soft drink machines or coolers, and ice cream sandwiches… Anyway, I enjoyed the video. And also the scenes from the Evoria video of the market and the town, which are nothing like my experience but feel very comfortable to me.
Jennifer, it’s funny,I like the GD well enough but I never think of them or their music as Southern, even something like Tennessee Jed. Must be a blind spot for me. Interesting.
My dad and I both love fried okra.
Mark, grits really are what separates the women from the girls when it comes to the test of Southern-ness. But it’s okay. Some of us have to be Northern (grin). And there is always Boston Cream Pie to claim as your own….
No, you’re right about the GD not really being southern. Even I associate them more with my time at Andover when I was first exposed to them. It’s just that one song really. I can’t hear it without taking it in personal context of the many times I listened to it (half out of my mind) when I was not in the south. But I did see them in concert once in Nashville ’78(?), and they played that song. The crowd loved it. It seemed as if every single person there was on acid and connected as one. Quite an experience.
Barbara, To Kill a Mockingbird really rocks my world, always has. Wonderful book, wonderful film, and it captured so many of my myths about the South — those were the ideals of Southern culture that resonated through even into the early 60’s.
Jennifer, I do understand about the personal context. Those things are so powerful.
When I was young . . .
The South was gunracks and
honky tonk music
and magnolia evenings scented and warm
and potholes and
blacks
in white uniforms holding
doors and dulled eyes open.
The South was
deep long hugs and pecan pie,
and roaring pickup trucks that swerved and
came at you and your black acquaintanceship
as though there was no good reason you both
should not die.
The South was
molasses and churned butter and bisquits with cheese
and bacon melting and the white’s all sitting down
while out on the back porch
the neegroes said their thank you massers
wiith head bowed to obscure the frown
or with their head bobbing like movie a clown.
The South was
singing in the church choir with my uncle’s deep bass
anchoring the sound,
and the chill of a sudden snow storm that covered
the shacks in Negro Town to their very crowns.
The South was
everyone waving hello as they rode by
in the warm daylight,
and
a place where Baptists and Methodists and Holy Rollers
wore sheets to ride the streets
and scare the Catholics, the Commies, the Jews, and the
Negroes at night.
Later when I was older
I went back and
everyone I met smiled and
said, “Welcome to the New South.
How about The Allman Brothers? I’ve been listening to them this morning. I started out with stuff like Whipping Post but thankfully moved on to Ain’t Wasting Time No More. That youtube version is a newer one sans Duane. I wonder how differently Gregg must think playing it these days. And hell, here’s one more – the classic – Blue Sky. I do like the original version off Eat a Peach best tho.
“Early morning sunshine tell me all I need to know…”
Trivia fact: Duane Allman loved the Tolkien books and named his daughter after a character from LOTR.