When I began the 1,057-mile drive from my home in northeast Georgia, I knew the world awaiting me above the Mason-Dixon line would be alien — less kudzu, more cold brew. After deciding to move to Boston, I’d found inner peace in accepting what I would lose: sweet tea, collard greens, and a cultural dedication to college football rivaled only by devotion to the Southern Baptist Convention (although if it came down to the SEC vs. the SBC, more people would probably be in stadium seats than pews).
What has shocked me the most wasn’t the long winter, although I’d never seen more than three inches of snow before. It wasn’t even the driving habits I observed, even though I’ve since Googled, ‘Is driver’s ed a requirement for a license in Massachusetts?’ It was hard, but I’m adapting. I invested in thermal clothing and learned to honk my car’s horn liberally. My culture shock stems from finding myself in the deep end of America’s dialect pool.
Nothing could have prepared me for taking the full brunt of a Bostonian’s accent for the first time.
I thought I had trained for this. I’d seen Good Will Hunting at least twice. Still, I go slack-jawed at every ‘bang a u-ey,’ ‘cah,’ and ‘wicked.’ It’s an accent almost as aggressive as the people who wield it. Not once in the 17-hour road trip north did I consider how much I would miss a syrupy southern inflection. Now that I find myself battered on all sides by dropped r’s and broad vowels, I can’t help but feel wistful for the melodic and laid-back intonations of home.
It isn’t just how we drawl. It’s the way Southerners string words together that really tickles me. In an effort to infuse my little corner of New England with the southern charm it so desperately needs, I’m putting Southern phrases back in the forefront of my everyday vocabulary (because the words we choose are just as funny as the way we say ‘em).
Here are some of my favorites, so you can make your conversations just a bit more colorful than before. For full effect, imagine each phrase emanating from someone in a rocking chair.
- “That boy’s got less sense than God gave a goose.”
Translation: That boy isn’t very intelligent.
- “That dog don’t hunt.”
Translation: That excuse/reason won’t work.
- “If the good Lord’s willin’ and the creek don’t rise!”
Translation: If everything goes as planned!
- “Last time I saw you, you were knee-high to a grasshopper!”
Translation: I haven’t seen you since you were a kid!
- “She’s madder than a wet hen.”
Translation: She’s irate.
6. “I’m nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room fulla rocking chairs.”
Translation: I’m worried.
7. “The porch light’s on, but no one’s home.”
Translation: Are you paying attention?
8. “He can’t hit the broadside of a barn.”
Translation: He has poor aim.
9. “Y’all”
Translation: You all, you guys, yous, everyone, etc.
10. “Bless your heart.”
Translation: You poor thing (genuine).
Or, more often: You poor thing (derisive).
My relationship with the state that raised me isn’t always on the best of terms. Sometimes I cringe at the way my own voice betrays my birthplace, too conscious of the uglier, venomous undercurrent that is so often dripping in accents just like mine. Sometimes I can’t decide if I left the South or fled it. Most times, I’m homesick for a place that doesn’t actually exist: a fantastical place where Southern care, culture, and community are freely shared with any and all. Bless my heart.
The 1,057 miles I’ve put between myself and Dixieland have made one thing clear: I love her too much to believe that fantasy will never be real. The South wasn’t built in a day, and there will be many, many more before it can be a place I’m proud to call home without caveat. To that end, I’m living out the qualities of Southern hospitality I can be proud of: minding my ‘yes ma’ams’ and ‘no sirs,’ lending a stranger my hand, talking like my momma, and pouring sorghum syrup over my cornbread.
Boston sorely needs some Southern charm and hospitality. Use these phrases well. Use them often. Throw in some twang if you’re feeling bold and speak as slow as molasses. Most of all, appreciate where you hail from and open yourself up to new forms of communication — even if they sound silly.
Bye y’all!
Adeline is a content writer and editor with a passion for all things creative. While attaining her Master of Science in public relations, she is honing her communications skills and will continue to craft compelling, thought-driven narratives after graduation.
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