I Don't Think We're in The South Anymore

Thanks to a very thoughtful neighbor's invitation, I attended a Mothers of Preschoolers meeting last week. It was nice to meet some ladies and realize moms everywhere face the same challenges and frustrations. But the experience did make it painfully clear that I'm no longer in the South.

The 50 or so of us moms were treated to a very a nice brunch that included at least a dozen homemade casseroles and sweets along with fresh fruit, veggies, coffee and juice. It was not a bad spread. I was quite well-fed.

We did just eat, right?

Here's the thing though. Not one person commented on the food. No one asked who made which dish so they could pay the ultimate compliment by asking for the recipe. No one went back for seconds and then joked their weight. 

I was lost. What do I talk about with these strangers if not the food we just ate? 

Luckily, a mom at my table saved me. Turns out, she - a native Kansan - went to Carson Newman University. This was fortuitous. I could talk about home with someone who - even though she called them the "Appalayshun" Mountains - has actually experienced my beloved Tennessee firsthand.

During our chat, she revealed that she thinks people are nicer in Tennessee than in Kansas. Now I've run into quite a few very kind folks during my brief time here, so her comment got me thinking. Is there a big difference between people in Kansas and Tennessee?

Fire and Ice

While residents of both states are helpful and friendly, people in Kansas keep you at arm's length. I wouldn't say they're cold. They just don't want to get overly personal. No one here cares who "my people" are, and they really don't expect to hear my life story. (Their loss, of course).

I think that's the biggest difference. At home, complete strangers truly want to know which set of Hawkins County Lawsons you call family. (In my case, it ain't the good ones.) People want to know who you're related to and where you went to high school. That's the only way you can discover if someone's first cousin took you to the junior prom, right? 

It's just not like that in Kansas. Your name, rank and serial number are all that's required.

Of course, there have been plenty of other reminders that I'm no longer living among my Southern brethren.

Sweet tea should not involve artificial sweetener.

Period. Enough said.

Indeed, taste does matter Mickey Ds. Please use real sugar.

There's only one Cracker Barrel in all of Wichita. 

Wichita is actually bigger in population than Knoxville and Chattanooga combined, yet these fine Tennessee cities boast six Cracker Barrel restaurants. (And that's just counting the locations with Knoxville or Chattanooga in the address. I'm certain there are others in the vicinity that would increase my unofficial count). I mean really. Without more Cracker Barrels around, how can I be expected to decorate my house?

There aren't any Shoney's at all. My kids are starving to death.


I like bacon grease.

I also recently attended a Pampered Chef party where the consultant spent several minutes discussing the wonders of preparing bacon on a baking stone in the oven.

Doesn't everyone have one of these?

"The stone actually absorbs all the bacon's grease, so you don't have to clean up the mess that comes with frying bacon," she helpfully advised.

Again, I'm confused. I literally had to bite my tongue to keep from asking how she would season her green beans or cornbread if she didn't keep some bacon drippings in a jelly jar in the fridge. I decided that was not the best time to reveal my inner East Tennessee redneck and bought myself a fancy new baking stone instead.

Oh, I'm sure the time is coming. I can only contain it so long before it busts out and embarrasses not just my family, but Tennesseans everywhere. I apologize in advance.

A Study in Linguistics, Kansas Style

People here don't know what to do with my accent. They're certain I'm not from Kansas, but they just can't place my Appalachian twang.

"Oh, you must be from ... the South?"

"Actually I'm from Kingsport, Tennessee."

"Is that near Nashville?"

(Incidentally, Nashville is the only place in Tennessee most Kansans can identify. Unless you count the lady who said she had a relative who lives "somewhere in Tennessee with 'hollow' in the name." Poor thing. She clearly meant to say "holler." Even so, it doesn't narrow down the possibilities much, now does it?)

And yes, while I do have a noticeable Tennessee mountain twang and the folks here speak with the vanilla "General American" dialect, they have their own unique pronunciations for some things.

For example, when I say "El Dorado," it rhymes with Colorado. Not folks in Kansas. They say it with a long A, like "El Doraydo." I haven't heard anyone say Coloraydo yet, but it's hard to work that word into the course of everyday conversation. I'll keep trying though.

Same with Delano, the Old Town  portion of Wichita where raucous, randy cowboys used to blow off steam after driving cattle along the Chisholm Trail. I say Delano like FDR's middle name. Wichitans say De-lay-no.

Also, there's a lake just west of Wichita called the Cheney Reservoir. If it were me, I would say it like the former vice president's last name - "chainy." Not the case among locals. It's the Chinny Reservoir. I haven't been there yet. It might be filled with chins, which would then make more sense.

The chins must be underwater.

But as pronunciation faux pas go, the biggest mistake you can make in Kansas is calling the Arkansas River by the wrong name. Seems like most people are pretty clear on how to say Arkansas. Three syllables with the emphasis on the "Ar," right?

Wrong. In Kansas, it's the Ar-KANSAS River. They so desperately want to pretend that first "Ar" just doesn't exist. I guess they want to believe the river belongs solely to the state of Kansas. Alas, the Arkansas flows not just through Kansas, but through three other states on its way to the Mississippi River. So try as they might, Kansans just can't lay claim to it.

 That's the ArKANSAS River to you, hillbilly.

But you know, I get it. I really do. I hail from an area of the world that's consistently, and irritatingly, mispronounced by people who don't live there. We natives of the southern Appalachians say the name of our mountain range correctly. For the record, it's Appalatchun, not Appalayshun.

Quite honestly, this seemingly subtle difference in vowel usage irks me. That's why I think it's important for newcomers to say things the way locals do. So, if the kind folks in Wichita want me to call their little river the ArKANSAS, I'm quite happy to oblige.

5 Weird Things About Wichita

When we announced we were moving to Wichita, a lot of our friends and families had the same reaction. "Kansas?!?! Really?" I'm sure they thought we'd lost our minds.

Don't get me wrong - I never dreamed we'd end up here, but I'm glad we did. Wichita has pleasantly surprised me from our first time here. 

No, it's not a major-metro area on the East Coast (although we considered an option that would have landed our family in just such a spot). And yes, it is 1,000 miles from home - and from basically anywhere else.

But Wichita is pretty cool for families in our stage of life. It's safe, cheap, there's plenty for the kids to do and with 500,000 people in Sedgewick County, big-name acts pass through occassionally. (Much to Harper's disappointment, Taylor Swift was here the first weekend we were in town.) 

Even so, I've discovered some things about Wichita and its natives that are just plain weird.

1. It's a sack, not a bag 

As in "Do you want your milk in a sack, ma'am?" It took me while to figure out what the bag boy was asking. 

2. Short and sweet

Native Wichitans end conversations with a clipped "Yep." It actually sounds a lot like "Yip." 

Example:

Me: "Thanks for spending three days showing us houses, enduring hours of Wichita-related trivia questions and negotiating a home purchase within an afternoon. We really appreciate your help and think you're awesome."

Realtor: "Yep."

At first I thought I was being rudely dismissed, but then I realized this is how everyone talks.

3. A Sausage Wasteland

By and large, groceries here are the same as in Kingsport. I can get all the same stuff, with one glaring exception. Sausage. Like good spicy, smoked sausage to grill or put in gumbo or on a sandwich with peppers and onions. I've been to all the major supermarkets and can't find anything other than just the plain-jane stuff. This is simply unacceptable when you're married to a man from Louisiana. It must be remedied soon.

This is not good. You can do better, Wichita.

4. That's not a lake

Water is a hot commodity here in Wichita, so people are quite proud of their lakefront property. That must be because these folks have never actually seen a lake. At best, these are pond-front homes; more appropriately, we're talking about puddle-front homes. Sure, there's a "lake" in our neighborhood with a nice little walking trail around it, but I know a pond when I see one.

5. Off-roading in my mom-mobile

Wichita's roads are the weirdest thing I've discovered so far. The city is laid out like a grid, so if you can remember which roads go north/south and which go east/west, you can pretty much get around. Or at least in theory.

I'll be driving down a major thoroughfare that I know goes west, thinking I've found a great shortcut home from the Super Target. And then the road turns into this:

West 151st Street in Wichita

Yep, that's a dirt road in the middle of a cornfield, less than two miles from the west side's major shopping area. The asphalt inexplicably started up again once I crossed Maple Street.

And while we live on the outskirts of town - a whopping 20 minutes from downtown Wichita - dirt roads are not unique to the hinterlands. We discovered a dirt road lined with half-a-million dollar, pond-front homes just one block off a major highway, smack in the middle of town.

Because they just seem to pop up in the strangest places, the dirt road situation is just so strange, even to me and Nick, whose home states aren't exactly cosmopolitan. I grew up in Hawkins County, for Pete's sake, where we are particularly proud of our dirt roads.

More to come as I discover more about this strange, beautiful life on the prairie.

A rough start.....

It was hot when we arrived in Wichita two weeks ago. Really hot. My car said it was 102 degrees. Nick's truck said 104. Regardless of whose was right, it was miserable.

Picture of The Keeper of the Plains in Wichita, Kansas 

We'd been driving for two days. Harper was becoming increasingly depressed and anxious with each passing mile. Ellie had spent the first day of the trip sick. The dog was neurotic as ever. The cat, seemingly the most resilient of our little clan, didn't seem fazed at all.

We got lost in St. Louis, Nick's air conditioner stopped working when the temperature topped 90 degrees, and the dog peed not only on the hotel room bed, but on Nick's clothes as well. 

The trip had not gone well. 

We stopped for gas and snacks about 100 miles northeast of Wichita. I stood in the parking lot of the convenience store in the blazing heat, facing a steady, hot wind blowing from the Southwest. I looked to the horizon and saw nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was just empty miles of grass and sky.

Kansas Prairie 

We've made a terrible mistake. At least that's what I thought at that moment. 

Fortunately, things started to look up. As had been the case during our previous two trips to Wichita, things began to go much more smoothly.

Closing on our house went off without a hitch, the girls loved the new house and the moving truck arrived exactly when it was scheduled. Neighbors came bearing baked goods, and our realtor gave us a membership to the Sedgewick County Zoo. Strangers were extremely kind and helpful. Harper started kindergarten (again) at a brand new school just around the corner from our house. And I've gotten lost only a few times trying navigate the city's expansive grid.

So perhaps this grand adventure is going to be OK. Maybe it will even be Wichitawesome. I'll let you know as we get settled here in our little house on the prairie. (Sorry - I made it through the entire post without a bad pun, and I just couldn't resist).