Yesterday I happened to catch a tourism commercial on television for visiting my home state of Mississippi. As jazz music accompanied scenes of smiling people enjoying Southern cuisine and good company in a beautiful scenery I found myself grinning from ear to ear. Despite my intentions, or lack thereof, somehow I had become a proud Mississippian over the years. But I wasn’t always that way.
I was born in San Diego, California, and I lived in Los Angeles until the age of six. But after that, due to circumstances beyond my control, I found myself smack dab in small town, USA. I was living in a town named after an Indian’s horse, and the entire population of this tiny community was less than the number of students that had been enrolled at my previous elementary school in L.A.
Growing up I enjoyed rural living in the South, but a part of me itched to move away to bigger, better cities. I just knew there were bustling, thriving places out there waiting to be explored by me. I moved away to Alabama, and a bit bigger of a city for college, but even that wasn’t enough. So by the age of twenty-three I enlisted in the Navy, eager to see the world.
In my twenties I traveled around the globe, I racked up the frequent flier miles, and I ended up settling right outside a little city up North you may be familiar with called Washington, DC. While living in the Metro DC area I frequented other places like Baltimore, Philadelphia, Chicago, and Manhattan. I visited museums galore, attended political, gala events in DC, and looked out from the top floor of some of the country’s tallest buildings. I met some great friends, had good times, and learned a lot about myself.
But a week before my thirtieth birthday I found myself making the long drive from Maryland back to the state of Mississippi, and though I was subjecting myself to one of the bigger reverse culture shocks of my life, something in the pit of my stomach fluttered with excitement over the idea of returning home. And as I watched the concrete structures become fewer and fewer, replaced by a brilliant screen of green as I journeyed along the highway, I knew I was making the right decision.
I remember the first week driving from my parent’s house to town. It took about twenty minutes to get to an area more populated with shopping, beyond the Mom & Pop convenience store, and I shook my head at the irony of my return to something I used to abhor. I had always hated that it took half an hour to “go out to town,” and I remembered then how my ex-husband, a Yankee (bless his heart), had always laughed at me for that phrase.
He’d laugh. “Let’s go out to town?! It sounds like you’re Laura Ingalls getting the wagon ready for a long trip!”
And I suppose I was. But as I made the long, quiet drive that day through the gorgeous, sprawling countryside I realized I didn’t really mind it anymore.
Somewhere along that trek I noticed a homemade election sign, and I laughed out loud when I recognized the name as a classmate. I knew then that I was home.
You see, in Mississippi you know your neighbors. You call them by name, and when illness or job loss strikes your home they will be the first to knock on your door with a casserole. After seven years of living in Maryland I cannot recall one time running into someone I knew while I was out shopping, and while I was certain that anonymity was what I had always desired, I can’t explain the comfort I felt after returning to a place where people knew my name.
In Mississippi, yes, people know your business, but they also know you. They give you a hand when you need one. If your car breaks down I can guarantee you someone will stop. When I worked Hospice as a nurse I had my fair share of flat tires, and even though my Daddy had shown me how to change one, I never had the chance. Chivalrous, kind fellas were aplenty for this damsel in distress. And I never worried too much if they were closet psychopaths. Most of them were a distant cousin or a previous classmate of someone in my family.
The thing is in Mississippi people wave hello. A lot. This was something I had missed from my time up North. It wasn’t their fault they frowned so much. It was just part of the stranger-danger culture there.
In Mississippi people take pride in family and tradition. Blood is thicker than water, and if you’ve ever been 1000 miles away from your kinfolk then you’ll understand why this is a wonderful asset indeed.
Traditions, gatherings, and cookouts by the lake. Boating, fishing, and hunting. Or understanding the simple pleasure of sitting quietly on the porch swing, sipping sweet tea while your grandma tells a story from her youth. Passed down recipes, or eating a sandwich with fresh tomato picked from your very own garden. Green trees as far as the eye can see.
Listening to crickets chirp, frogs croak, or the distant call of a whippoorwill. Actually being able to see the stars as they twinkle brightly for miles, or shoot across the sky. Even just fireworks on the Fourth of July. (Couldn’t shoot those in Maryland. It was illegal.)
My favorite is that in Mississippi the hospitality is second to none, and the unique, classic culture is more warming to the soul that good music with friends by the bonfire on a Friday night.
It’s true, in Mississippi folks seldom lock their doors, and if they do a few neighbors always have a spare key. I love the fact that I live in a city where when violence does occur people get all freaked out and scared. I’m glad it’s not commonplace or accepted to experience robbings and shootings as the norm. I just like feeling safe and protected.
In Mississippi the pace is all its own. Folks still get busy, but there’s a more relaxed atmosphere that understands the importance of stopping to smell the honeysuckles.
Of note, Mississippi is in the center of the Bible Belt. I think this used to bother me, maybe because of hypocrites that abound in a popularly religious area, but after the alternative I realize what a blessing it truly is. As a Christian myself it’s comforting to be around other believers, and to not be stigmatized for my morals and beliefs. It’s nice to be able to pray for my patients without the fear of being reported to administration for imposing my religion on someone else. It’s wonderful to raise children in a Godly area where it’s okay to be “pro-life,” and they’re not being influenced by teachings that go outside of our core values. I don’t think as Mississippians we always realize how good we have it in that regard, and though there are mean people everywhere, in my experience people who have a relationship with Jesus just tend to treat others more kindly and in a spirit of love. But that’s just my opinion.
They say it’s hard to come back home, but for me it was easy. I don’t regret living all around the world, and I’m actually glad I did. It gave me a different perspective, and it allowed me the opportunity to realize just how special the state of Mississippi really is. In the end I’m glad I moved back, and if I had it to do over I’d move back again.