When I slipped below the Mason-Dixon line, the mood started to change almost imperceptibly. It started with a few comments, questions of where I came from, and the following observation that ranged from joking to dismissive: oh, so you’re a northerner.
As I moved further south, past DC and into the hills and valleys of the Carolinas, the change was visible. Life on and alongside those two-lane highways slowed. Cars move slower, an unspoken agreement to not even near pushing the speed limit. Cities and towns alike feel almost reposed, a direct contrast from the bustling crowds and speeding transportation in cities like New York and Boston.
But it was more than just pace. All throughout my travels, I have stumbled upon states and cities where its citizens are immensely proud to call those places home. In fact, I come from one: Wisconsinites, myself included, are extremely proud to be from Wisconsin. Wearing sports paraphernalia through my travels has opened up numerous conversations with dispersed Wisconsinites in some of the most unexpected places on the road.
But none of this pride seems to hold a candle to the overwhelming cultural pride that comes with being from the South.
“When I think of the South, I think of driving down the road you grew up on and people waving at you as you pass by,” one man tells me. “I think of the fields and woods. I think of grilling at the lake. I think of yes sir, no ma’am.”
He paints an idyllic picture of a straightforward life and hardworking people; it feels like a country song sprung to life.
“I think of this attitude of ‘I’ll give you the shirt off my back,’” he says. “I think of simple lifestyles. People just trying to get by and pay their bills. I think of family. I think of growing up barefoot in the backyard and driving my poppa’s lawnmower around the year with a wagon tied to the back of it and my little cousins in the wagon.”
He recounts a lifetime of childhood memories, playing outside and running around on the trails in the woods. Church on Sundays and dinner at his granny’s house afterward. Always having someone know you or your parents, wherever you may go.
“I think about the South in a lot of warm and happy ways,” he says.
Stories like this have been told to me time and time again through my southern travels. People point to the South as being laidback, the pinnacle of homestyle cooking and regional colloquialisms. They remark about the cultural focus on hospitality and respect. They show me the beauty: oak-lined streets, historic downtowns, sweeping hills and valleys.
In recent years, national rankings have found placed many southern states as struggling when it comes to livability, crime, economic opportunities, healthcare, and more. Metrics from the US World and News Report in 2019 found Mississippi, Alabama, and Louisiana as particularly struggling the most in the country.
Despite creeping frustration from stagnant wage growth, poor education systems, and other problems, Southern residents appear to blame the (often federal) government — not the South itself. The South, in fact, is more than a conglomeration of states: it’s a feeling that stitches together citizens across a near quarter of the country. An unspoken understanding of being “in it” as one, fighting to preserve generations of Southern values.
When I was traveling through New England, I was struck with how old the buildings were: many that still stand today pre-date the Revolutionary War. Walking through graveyards, I saw stones where the etchings had been worn away by time, reminders of generations long past.
In the South, a similar wave of the past washes over me, but this time: it’s emotional, not physical. People appear to be more attuned to their ancestors, both in familial history and ties to their surroundings. It’s not uncommon to meet people whose families have lived in the same town for generations; in fact, often homes are passed down to children or grandchildren when their elders pass.
It feels more ceremonial than in the North, where people may stay fixed but it feels like less of a cultural expectation and more of a personal choice. People are proud to be from their hometowns and are quick to clarify which town that actually is.
“Are you from around here?” I ask, often when I start to make inroads with a new person when I reach a new stop along the road.
When I’m in the North, if they’re from within a half-hour of where we are, people generally will confirm my question. But in the South, “around here” appears to be interpreted as from exactly where we stand. A town just a few miles away? That’s there, not here — and there’s a difference.
But whether here or far, the idea of being from the South is more than a location — it appears to be an identity. There are plenty of people who see the problems ahead of them with determination, a desire to invest in and grow their hometowns for the next generation. These people appear to be cherry-picking wisdom from their ancestors and preserving it with their own children.
“I’m very proud of being from the South,” one man tells me. “I think living in the South has made me who I am today.”
