Quote for the Day

Humor is merely tragedy standing on its head with its pants torn. ~Irvin S Cobb

Southern Moments

There are so many Southern Moments, I don't even know where to start.


That's what I call those events and occurrences that are unique and only found South of the Mason-Dixon line. When I moved to North Carolina 5 years ago, I was often mesmerized by things that other people took for granted. Maybe they felt the same when they visited my beloved Portland, OR but I was sure this place was just - different. A Southern Moment is spotting a sign for the gas station that sells fried Bologna sandwiches and has a notary public on duty. Or knowing the holidays are here when the local tire store builds a 20 foot stack of tires in the shape of a Christmas tree and dresses it up with lights and an angel on top. Or the Ballet dancing to square dance music with a square dance caller and denim tutus.

My first contact with a "real" Southerner and a real Southern Moment was on a road trip. Joe and I were driving from Raleigh to Disney World. It turns out Joe actually knows Mickey Mouse and we were invited down to visit the park with said Mickey (sans head and feet. More on that another time.) After the stop at Cracker Barrel (heaven on the interstate), I was feeling a bit sleepy and ready for a nap. Joe was fiddling with the radio and setting the cruise control on the sweet spot. I think he saw it first because it took several seconds for it to register with me. Up ahead on the right was a rather impressive tower of smoke coming from a large patch of flaming grass.


"Wow," I said. "That looks dangerous." (OK, I am the master of understatement.) "Give me your phone and I will call - HONEY WHY are WE pulling over?!"


As if by magic, our vehicle slowed to a crawl right behind the burning patch of roadside. "We're gonna put it out," Joe said, rather matter of fact, as he leapt out the door. Like duh.


Joe was a firefighter in his younger days and I guess you never get that out of your system. Oh and he was a Boy Scout too. So his natural response when he sees any type of emergency is to stop and help. He also knew it would be an hour or more before any emergency crew would be able to make it to our spot. By then the fire would have doubled or tripled in size.

"What do I do?" I asked.

"Drag your feet in the dirt and push it onto the edge of the fire. Work towards the center."

Oh, ok.

I pushed and slide dirt, doing a kind of sideways moon dance. The flames weren't very high but the patch was about 20 feet across and about 10 feet wide. Joe starts to curse that he doesn't have a shovel or a pick in the van (there is one there now!) After a few minutes, another car pulled up next to us and a head popped out the passenger window. Did we need some help?

"Yes," Joe called over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off the fire. "We need something to push the dirt. Got a box, or a shovel or something? Anything?"

Not another word was said as the window rolled up and drove off. I guess they didn't have anything.

We worked steadily towards the center of the fire and found the still burning piece of tire tread. A big rig must have blown a tire and that started the flames. I felt my shoes getting hotter and my lungs fill up. It wasn't unbearable but it wasn't a picnic either. Finally, the flames were out and enough was covered to make Joe feel we could call it quits. It wasn't until we were back in the van that I finally got a good whiff of myself. I smelled like ash and burning rubber. Ew ew ew.

"We have to stop at the next rest stop. I can't stand this!" I whined.

That was the plan, he promised.

Just a few miles down the road was the "Welcome to Georgia" visitors center. Perfect. There was the promise of big clean bathrooms and maybe even real paper towels, not just air blowers. I am not even sure why I felt these things were critical to my well being. I had no idea how I was going to defunk my clothing but anything was better than smelling like an ashtray. The ladies room door had big red stenciled letters over chipped forest green paint that read "absolutely no smoking. " I laughed and hoped my shoes had stopped smoldering. Inside, I stood at the sinks and stared at the mess in the mirror. Maybe I should have hauled in my suitcase but that seemed like so much work. Cranking out a long strip of stiff brown paper toweling, I dampened some and started wiping it over my hair and clothing, hoping it would pick up the smoke and soot. How strange this must have looked to others was obvious as I glanced in the mirror again and saw the maintenance worker intently watching me.

I tried to explain. "I know this looks funny but I am covered in smoke. We stopped to put out this brush fire and I smell. We didn't have anything like a shovel or - " I stopped dead, realizing how stupid it sounded and the woman just said "uh huh" and pushed her cart out of the room. "No really, there was a fire." I called after her.

I washed what I could and drenched the rest, hoping to take some of the smell out. Another sigh came with the hope that we were close to our stopping spot for the night.

A rather tall, well dressed middle aged woman stepped out of the stalls and steered directly towards me. "Are you the woman who put out the fire?" She asked in a warm, Georgia peach accent. She was the ideal modern Southern woman, or at least my stereotype of one. Her traveling clothes were expensive, pressed and new. Her hair and make-up perfect. The accent was out of a movie.

"Yes, that's me," I said.

She rather boldly approached me with a smile and said "I have seen what roadside fires can do. I want to thank you very much. As a native Georgian, I so appreciate what you have done."

I stumbled out that Joe had been a firefighter and I just followed him. I didn't really know what to say, but it made me feel rather wonderful that our little act of heroism would not go completely unnoticed.

"Well, thank you again," She said. "It was really good of you to do something like that." She exited the restroom and I thought she sort of glided out with smooth Belle gait.

Suddenly, I didn't feel so strange with my semi-dripping hair and ashes clinging to bits of clothing. Hey, we did some good! And people were so nice! I left to find Joe and let him know we had done good in the eyes of a real Southern Woman.

As I was recounting my experience, leaving out a few of the more messy wet paper towel things, I could see the woman from the corner of my eye. She was obviously telling her husband about her encounter with me. Then I see her pointing at us and both were intently focused on us. They turned to approach us and I can hear her ask, "Now, where was this fire again?" as she walked up.

"It was about 3 miles north of here. " I felt rather effusive and buoyant at the moment and gave Joe a squeeze.

"OH," The woman exclaimed. "NOT in Georgia." She turned abruptly and they rather stomped back to their car.

I guess South Carolina can burn. It's a Southern thing.

First Impressions

Joe and I love going to the city of Morehead City on North Carolina coast. It's an old town on the inlet with shops to poke around in, docks stroll on and view the ships sailing in and great seafood.

On one visit, we stopped by the public docks to watch the sunset. It was bright but rather cold. We shared the parking lot and dock with only a flock of seagulls. They didn't seem to be very interested in us (we obviously had no food) and we were rather thrilled to just walk among them. Joe made some reference to "The Birds."

Then Joe noticed the number of birds with only ONE LEG. Dozens of them! Hopping around but not flying off. It was almost like they were stuck to the ground. We wondered, was this a North Carolina thing? Were we at a bird sanctuary for injured fowl? We had never seen so many one legged birds! Should we ask someone? Report it?

Then one bird within a yard or so of us, slowly lowered a leg that was tucked up under it's feathers and retracted the other. Joe and I just looked at each other with a rather dumb expression that said "good thing we didn't say anything to anyone else."

I still don't know why the birds did that (and if you do know, don't feel like you have to tell me.) It did teach me something about first impressions. A lesson I continue to learn. I thought about the birds the other day when I ran across a quote by Plato (not someone I quote often.)

"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."

I am not sure what battle the birds were fighting; maybe cold, maybe lack of comfort. I do know I am glad to have walked among them and enjoyed their company.