No Yankee

One of the key things in talking to Mom these days are to ask questions which stimulate her mind, which make her think. Consequently, I try to get her to reflect on her life.

Yesterday on our usual Sunday drive we went out about 90 miles southwest of Detroit, into a heavily farmed area of Michigan. Seeing the tall corn, I asked, "Did you guys have corn on the farm?"

"Oh yes," she answered. "I shucked corn until I was sick of it. But we all had to work back then." Mom went on to talk about those childhood memories.

"Those look like bean plants," I remarked about another field.

"Them's snap beans," she said, explaining how once they were picked, you would snap the dry beans into smaller pieces to cook and can for the winter. "Mom had to can a lot of beans so we'd have food in the winter."

It's fun to hear her talk, and I genuinely like it. But after awhile I couldn't help but tease Mom a bit. "You ever thought, growing up as a young girl in North Carolina, you'd end up a Yankee?"

She paused, soon saying quietly, "No, I can't say as I ever considered that." Mom became silent. Hmm, I thought, that didn't get the reaction I expected. 

She was only working up to her real point. After a few seconds she said emphatically, "I may have lived most of my life in Yankee territory, but I ain't and never will be no Yankee!"

American by birth, Southern by the grace of God, that's me Mom.