For the last few months, I've been writing about our experiences in wacky, wonderful Wichita. Some fellow Kansas transplants have started reading my blog, and say my observations accurately describe life in here in the Heartland.
However, I evidently have not described my home in East Tennessee as successfully. Based on my previous writings, a friend here assumed the Tri-Cities area to be bigger and more urbane than Wichita.
I laughed when I heard this. I laughed quite loudly.
No. Home isn't bigger than Wichita. There are 500,000 people in Sedgewick County; there are 150,000 in Sullivan County, where we lived most recently and my parents still live.
Population discrepancies aside, East Tennessee is a much different world than Wichita. We certainly have our quirks. I could write a book on the subject, but since a lot of other people have already, I'll just hit the high points.
Here are some highlights about what make "my people" such a charmingly strange lot. At least in my opinion.
However, I evidently have not described my home in East Tennessee as successfully. Based on my previous writings, a friend here assumed the Tri-Cities area to be bigger and more urbane than Wichita.
I laughed when I heard this. I laughed quite loudly.
No. Home isn't bigger than Wichita. There are 500,000 people in Sedgewick County; there are 150,000 in Sullivan County, where we lived most recently and my parents still live.
Population discrepancies aside, East Tennessee is a much different world than Wichita. We certainly have our quirks. I could write a book on the subject, but since a lot of other people have already, I'll just hit the high points.
Here are some highlights about what make "my people" such a charmingly strange lot. At least in my opinion.
1. We worship Dolly Parton.
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| I will always love you, too, Dolly. |
In the interest of full disclosure, I haven't been to Dollywood in decades and the traffic in Pigeon Forge makes me a nervous wreck. But the letter Dolly included in Harper's final Imagination Library book left me a crying mess. Nick shed some tears over that one, too.
(Incidently, we just found out that Sedgewick County kids have been getting free books each month from Dolly's Imagaination Library since 2011. That Dolly. Got to love her passion for education.)
2. We give directions using landmarks - both real and historic.
East, west, north, south? Road names? Who needs it? We give directions like this:
"Well, if you're headed towards Bulls Gap, turn across from the high school like you were going out to Needmore. You'll go until you get to where Vickie's store used to be. Turn back towards town, and it'll be right there near the fire hall. If you get to where they cut down that big oak tree, you'll have to turn around."
If you actually want someone who doesn't live in Hawkins County to find it, you would need to give directions that include road names, mileage and maybe an actual right or left. But I promise you, this is how we're used to getting directions at home.
"Well, if you're headed towards Bulls Gap, turn across from the high school like you were going out to Needmore. You'll go until you get to where Vickie's store used to be. Turn back towards town, and it'll be right there near the fire hall. If you get to where they cut down that big oak tree, you'll have to turn around."
If you actually want someone who doesn't live in Hawkins County to find it, you would need to give directions that include road names, mileage and maybe an actual right or left. But I promise you, this is how we're used to getting directions at home.
3. We talk funny.
People out here are quick to pick up on my accent. I mean really - how could you not notice it? It's unique. Sort of Southern, sort of hillbilly, sort of I don't know exactly what.
See, we East Tennesseeans don't talk like other Southerners. I don't sound at all like my Louisiana family, and my college friends from Charlotte and Atlanta used to make fun of my mountain drawl. We speak Appalachian English or the Southern Mountain Dialect or Mountain Talk. Whatever you call it, it's derived from our protestant Scots-Irish ancestors who moved to America in the 1700s and 1800s and hid away in the safety of our mountains.
At home, I didn't give a second thought to how I talked, especially since a lot of folks spoke with accents much thicker than mine. Now, I have to think about every word that comes out of my mouth. If I ask for a writing instrument, I ask for a pen, not a "pin." It's ten o'clock, not "tin" o'clock. I'm from Tennessee, not "Tinnessee."
While I am trying to minimize my accent to the extent I can, I have enjoyed using my favorite Appalachian colloquialims here in Wichita. My favorite phrase that always perplexes/angers/amuses people is this:
Wichitan: "My car is in the shop. Would you give me a lift to work?"
Me: "I don't care to at all."
No one understands that "I don't care to" actually means, "Yes, I'm happy to." I have no idea why we use this phrase because it is quite confusing. Even so, it's fun to watch people try to figure out how to react.
4. We're not stupid.
People out here are quick to pick up on my accent. I mean really - how could you not notice it? It's unique. Sort of Southern, sort of hillbilly, sort of I don't know exactly what.
See, we East Tennesseeans don't talk like other Southerners. I don't sound at all like my Louisiana family, and my college friends from Charlotte and Atlanta used to make fun of my mountain drawl. We speak Appalachian English or the Southern Mountain Dialect or Mountain Talk. Whatever you call it, it's derived from our protestant Scots-Irish ancestors who moved to America in the 1700s and 1800s and hid away in the safety of our mountains.
At home, I didn't give a second thought to how I talked, especially since a lot of folks spoke with accents much thicker than mine. Now, I have to think about every word that comes out of my mouth. If I ask for a writing instrument, I ask for a pen, not a "pin." It's ten o'clock, not "tin" o'clock. I'm from Tennessee, not "Tinnessee."
While I am trying to minimize my accent to the extent I can, I have enjoyed using my favorite Appalachian colloquialims here in Wichita. My favorite phrase that always perplexes/angers/amuses people is this:
Wichitan: "My car is in the shop. Would you give me a lift to work?"
Me: "I don't care to at all."
No one understands that "I don't care to" actually means, "Yes, I'm happy to." I have no idea why we use this phrase because it is quite confusing. Even so, it's fun to watch people try to figure out how to react.
4. We're not stupid.
Because of our accents and relative isolation, Appalachian natives are sometimes thought of as uneducated yokels. But we're absolutely not.
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When I was in high school, the choir took a trip to Chicago. We sang at a private school, and I remember hearing a student sacastically expressing surprise that we were wearing shoes. At 14, I was hurt and mad that people thought we were such backcountry rubes. Now, I just think it's funny because we're anything but.
The Tri-Cities is home to the global headquarters of Eastman Chemical Company, a Fortune 500 company that employs around 13,500 people, most of whom live with a few miles of the plant.
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We have a medical school and pharmacy school at East Tennessee State University. Both consistently receive high rankings in rural medicine and family medicine by publications like U.S. News and World Report.
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| Yes, that's a giant hot dog. |
As an Appalachian expat, I have a fierce pride in my home and would happily talk or write at length about it. But you just can't understand what's so special about Appalachia without visiting our unique little corner of the world.
Given the chance, I encourage you to do so. You'll encounter some of the kindest, most generous people who may talk a little funny, but will happily treat you like one of their own.
