Carefully I picked out two glazed and two chocolate Dunkin Donuts and walked up to the Quick- Stop checkout counter. “Are you ready, Sweetie?” The checkout lady’s voice caught me off guard. Sweetie? Was she talking to me or her daughter or granddaughter?
Then I remembered. I was in Missouri. The South. Yes, indeed. She was talking to me. We Minnesotans would never call anyone but immediate family “sweetie.” Likewise “honey,” “sugar” or “darling.”
But Southerners do. I reminded myself, you’re not in Minnesota any more. Southerners tend to call everybody “darling,” and I, for one, find it charming.
Currently, Dick and I are allowing winter to take its last frigid blast at northern Minnesota while we watch trees and grass green and wildflowers bloom as spring arrives at our favorite RV park in the Ozarks, and I’m spending a lot of time with Southerners. There are some cultural differences between Northerners and the inhabitants of Dixie.
Visiting is one. Yesterday, an Oklahoman neighbor stopped to say hello on his way to help another neighbor. He ambled over to our lounge chairs to greet us, then settled down at our picnic table and chatted. And chatted and chatted, obviously in no hurry. My experience is that Minnesotans, possibly due to the influence of a cold climate where inertia means frostbite, don’t amble anywhere. And I don’t believe Minnesotans are known as overly talkative. We don’t see sitting down for long chats as a way of life… maybe occasionally over a good strong cup of Scandinavian coffee… but that’s about it.
Another noticeable difference—BBQ. It is out of this world in this part of the country— sorry Famous Dave’s. A local joint named KT’S Smokehouse, a mere 10-minute drive away, is always jam-packed with customers and fantastic BBQ. The menu offers southern style barbeque pork and beef briskets claiming they are smoked at low temperatures with Ozark hickory. The baked beans and potato salad, advertised as side dishes are so delicious they could be the main course.
This place also offers peanut butter pie. Never had any? Do the words, chocolate crumb crust, whipped cream and mousse mean anything? Needless to say, I licked my pie plate clean.
You know you’re not in Minnesota any more when roadkill changes. “Euugh. What is that?” I asked Dick as we drove past an especially disgusting roadkill. I took a closer look. “Armadillo!” I announced. Yep. We weren’t in Minnesota any more.
And last but not least you know you’re not in Minnesota any more when everyone says Y’all. I haven’t heard “Yew betcha” or “fer sure” for two full weeks.
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