A Southern Sabbatical

On the 3rd anniversary of Bela's adoption date, we packed up the car and headed to Kentucky for a summer stay. We packed patience and sunhats. We have eyes wide open and an appetite for all things country. She has settled in quite nicely. The porch is her perch; she sits and/or sleeps up there all the day long....

We're eating fine, too. There are eggs from a friend's chicken. Honey from my roomate's parent's bees, fresh-from-the-garden sugar snap peas, and just-picked mint for our water. (And homemade moonshine in the fridge, but I'm going to do my best to avoid that.      For.....now.)

On our first evening here, we walked to the 60-year old Dairy Queen. As we passed a family sitting on the white bench out front, the mother looked at Bela wistfully and said, "Swayt little dawg." Swayt. As in 'sweet' but with a serious southern accent. This morning, an older gentleman stopped in the middle of the road to roll down his van window and tell me "I lock your dawg." Again, 'like' but with a southern touch.

We're just over 72 hours in and I, too, appear to be altering my speech. While exiting a store today, I struggled with the door. The shop owner gave me a gentle nudge. "You have to push it, dear," she said. "Oh.........I was pollin'", I replied. Yes.... 'Pulling' but with a twang.

It seems right. There is a husband of a friend of mine that could have just sworn that my last name was Grain. She and I were simply baffled how he would arrived at that conclusion until he explained that that was exactly how I pronounced it: 'Green', you know -- as in, "Grain."