LAST Words
ANN OWENS IS A WRITER, CREATIVE GENIUS, ENTREPRENEUR, MOTHER, AND
WIFE WHO ENJOYS PONDERING WHAT MAKES THE WORLD CLICK.
Life in a Small Town
No matter where you go in the world, the best place
to be is sitting on a back porch in South Georgia.
It was 1978, and I was 15 yearsold
getting ready to finish up my first
year of high school. I was living in a
suburb of Chicago when my dad said to
me, “Hey, how would you like to be a
Georgia Peach?” I screamed internally
and replied, “I would not.” Within a
few months, I found myself heading to
Vidalia. I was angry, and as I’m sure
you know, hell hath no fury like an
angry teenager. With this move, my life
as I knew it was over forever.
Needless to say, I literally refrained
from speaking to my parents for almost
two weeks unless it was absolutely
required. Yeah, we had a nice, big
house, and dad promised to build
me a swimming pool, but I was still
a miserable brat who had no desire
to acclimate to small town life. I was
forced to start school with only a few
weeks remaining in the year, so I could
meet friends to hang out with during
the summer. This was no easy feat
being a Midwestern Catholic with a
funny accent. It took well over a year
for me to accept that this was not a bad
joke, and I was here to stay until I was
old enough to get the heck out on my
own. Amazingly, that was never to be
the case because now, 40 years later,
I find myself a full grown, plump and
happy Georgia Peach.
Small town life is different, for sure,
and I miss more things about living in
the Midwest than I can count. I miss
the options. I miss the museums. I miss
the shopping, the culture, the food,
and the change of seasons that happen
when they are supposed to. And yes, I
sometimes even miss the snow. I still
thoroughly despise the humidity here
and the ridiculous amount of bugs;
these things will likely never change for
me.
In 1988, when I married my
country boy, he forced me into a life
of dirt roads, no sidewalks and no
pizza delivery. We even had to put
our garbage in the back of a truck and
take it somewhere. But, before too
long, I began to officially transform.
For example, there was the day that
I had just finished walking and had
gotten way too hot, so I stripped down
to my underwear and hosed myself off
in the privacy of my back yard. At the
same time, my dog found a baby deer
and emerged from the woods with it in
her mouth. I managed to free the deer
and began running toward the house,
half naked, holding it over my head
like baby Simba in The Lion King. You
know you don’t see that happen in the
big city every day. Then there was the
incident with the badly injured chicken
that showed up, and I desperately
needed to put it out of it’s misery with
a brand new gun that I had no business
using. At almost point-blank range, I
shot at it 4 times and missed, so the
husband had to come home from work
to deal with it. I had nightmares about
that chicken for weeks.
My in-laws taught me a thing or
two about being a country girl, and
my father-in-law specifically got a
big kick out of teaching the city girl
a thing or two. During my inaugural
corn-creaming session in their tiny
farmhouse kitchen, I was trying to get
the hang of scraping the cob to get the
cream when Poppy showed up and
offered me a very sharp knife from
his overalls. After a few minutes, he
laughingly shared that it was the same
knife he used to remove the man-parts
from his hogs just a few minutes before.
These are not lessons that I ever
imagined I would learn.
Eventually, I learned how to drink
sweet tea, how to put up vegetables,
and only recently how to make an
edible biscuit. I will probably always
prefer a “Yankee Dumpling” over a
southern one, a glass of cold milk
over tea, and hot beets with copious
amounts of butter, salt & pepper over
creamed corn. And, I still gag at the
thought of eating okra, sliced tomatoes,
and any form of green. The only
seafood that I’ll eat is a hushpuppy. I
know hushpuppies are not officially
seafood, but it’s the only time you eat
them so why not just say they are?
My grits must have cream cheese
and must have milk in them. By all that
is holy, please do not give me anything
pickled except pickles. Not only do
you guys–sorry, I mean ya’ll–pickle
everything, but you know you will put
pickles on things that pickles just don’t
belong on.
I have also learned how to paddle
a canoe and how to pee in the grass –
ONLY when necessary–without getting
my socks wet. And yes, I prefer tennis
shoes and socks over sandals because
getting my feet dirty is not good. Same
with swimming in the river or the
ocean. Just ewww.
I still visit my Chicago family, and
I still love it. I get a renewed spirit
and energy with every trip. While I
am usually very sad after returning, I
have found that the simplicity of life
in the South cannot be beat. We move
slower, we talk in cursive, and our daily
requirements are not much. We know
everyone in the grocery store by name
(or reputation), and I can assure you
that doesn’t happen up North. People
there don’t wave at each other “just
because,” they don’t say “yes ma’am”
and “no sir,” they don’t pull over for
funeral processions, and you will more
than likely never hear them trying to
figure out who that boy is that’s dating
their daughter by asking who their
mama and daddy are.
When I sit on my back porch,
listening to the owls, watching the
dogs run, and the sun set beneath the
pines, I’m pretty sure I made the right
decision to stay put so many years ago.
There’s no place like home and this is
definitely and finally my home.
144 Toombs County Magazine