We're in Virginia this week. Not so far south that you see many Confederate flags, but far enough that the highway is named for Stonewall Jackson. We're probably less than 100 miles from Gettysburg, but we've stepped through the looking glass; "victory" and "defeat" at a particular battlefield mean the opposite of what they do up north. It's evident the hometeam has changed.
We are not so far South that absolutely every building is air conditioned, but far enough south to wish they were. To be fair, it's as hot in Boston today as it is here. . .
We are actually just west of Washington, DC, technically mid-Atlantic, not South. We're really in Appalachia, not Flannery O'Connor-land, but there are subtle signs that we're not in Kansas anymore. We have passed signboards advertising "Revivals" at tiny Baptist churches; the NASCAR scores are reported hourly, it seems, on nearly every radio station. I encountered a wiry, older man in a 100-degree parking lot who chivalrously chased after the red onion that went bouncing out of my grocery cart, executing an entertaining little two-step in the process. He not only returned the onion, but carefully closed up all the rest of my bags so nothing else would fall out. A real Southern gentleman this far north!
We are definitely far enough South to suit my husband, though not nearly far enough for me. I would have kept driving another couple hundred miles if my family had been willing. As it is, I have to content myself with the occasional "Y'all," the Krispy Kreme doughnuts in the super market and the heat. Maybe next vacation. . .
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