A Bit of Southern Culture

"I love it. It's my kind of white Christmas," said Miss Judy Bultman, when I told her about my trip over the Popps Ferry Bridge in the fog. The sky and water were the same pale grey, and the small islands of reeds provided the only hard edge in the mist. It looked like fairy-land. I am enchanted by bridges, and the city of Biloxi, floating on a peninsula in the Mississipi Sound, is part of the Delta that stretches from Texas all the way to Florida. There are bayous, creeks, bays and bridges. It is both a blessing and a curse, as much of the devastation from Katrina was the result of 35-foot surges that swamped areas previously thought to be outside of the flood zone. The major bridges that connect the east-west corridor of Highway 90 are gone, and commuters are now required to drive north to I-10 before going east or west to work or shop or visit. Replacing those bridges will take another year. But the bridge north across the Back Bay on Popps Ferry Road is our closest connection to I-10, and I travel it often. I have begun to reset my mood by how the bay looks as I cross that bridge, like resetting a clock. As I went to dinner with friends the other night, sky and water resembled a hand tinted photograph, unlikely pastel colors lifting my heart to thank God for a creation that can make your heart ache with its beauty.

I am gettin' used to the way people talk around here and beginnin' to drop the final "g" from my words without thinking much about it. Anything else sounds so formal. And of course, it's easy to fall into using y'all, a word that needs to be part of our language. I am getting used to waitresses calling me "Baby"and "Darlin." I love it. But the casual manner of speech belies a formality of address that I also am coming to enjoy. No one is addressed by their first name. Even your best friends only use your Christian name in personal conversation. You are Miss Judy or Pastor Barbara. It is a measure of respect. When you address a child, their response is "M'am?" instead of "Huh?" Beautiful.

It's driving here that is hard to get used to. There are lots of trucks. Big pickup trucks. And pedestrians do not have the right-of-way, so you have to watch out at all times. The Wal-Mart parking lot is really scary. Drivers zoom through empty spaces, pedestrians seem to appear from nowhere, and drifts of people walk at the slowest possible speed. I am always afraid that I will run over someone, or be hit by one of those club-cab pickups flying past. Being on foot
is certainly not safer. I was thinking the other day that people drive here like they drive in Guatemala, but the spaces are much more open, and it feels more dangerous somehow.