From Maple Syrup to Corn Bread
It’s no secret that the USA shares a warm friendship with Canada; and who doesn’t love a good Canadian amidst the diversity of personalities that make up Texas. You can’t miss them– they are the ones that wear shorts and flip flops for 12 months of the year, or if it becomes “dangerously” [ enter eye roll here] close to… say….. slightly above freezing…you might see the Canadian with a sweater on. Only if there is wind. They have the uncanny ability to walk outside in all kinds of weather, and they don’t seem to be bothered by this….they can walk to the hot tub with merely a robe on, and even magically walk on ice– with cleats. Those “canucks” that surreptitiously crossed over the border and settled in Texas are fairly decent and easy going people– I should know because I am one of them.
In 2021 I left the Motherland of maple syrup and poutine, sold my igloo, sold my dog sled and my shovel, and crossed the imaginary dotted line between Alberta and Montana, and started to head east. It was about [for the Texans- they seem to hear “about” as “ a boot” but I digress…. It was about a three and a half day journey across a handful of beautiful states before I reached the state sign of Texas with the Lone Star of red, white and blue proudly displayed, and then south to the Fort Worth area. The goal was to never see snow again unless I went back to ski. Home would soon be in the Eagle Mountain Lake area, to retire from my years as an educator, and open up a Bed and Breakfast.
Texas, and “the Texans” as I often tease my mighty cohort friends, have captured my heart. They are a fiercely loyal and loveable bunch, and their generosity of spirit is above no other. They have taken me in and supported me in ways I shall never forget. They seem to put up with my ways with a mere smile, they haven’t really pushed me to convert, they seem to accept my Canadianisms just fine.
They have their own language that I can decipher but have tried really hard to not pick up. They don’t speak in mixed metaphors– mostly they just have made up phrases that they all seem to understand. Words like “fixin” and “dag nabbit,” they pronounce “roof” like “ruff,” and a jug of “tea” is in every refrigerator and on every menu. There is “momma”and “daddy.” Pecan is NOT pronounced pee can, apparently that is a can one finds in a boat, but “puh khan” is what you will hear. “ Here is your Puh Khannnn pie Ma’am. ”.... “I reckon” is also a popular turn of phrase. When I say “eh” I might get back, “I reckon you aren’t from around these parts?” I reckon you’d be right, I am from over yonder that dotted line on that there map…. “That dog don’t hunt” is my most recent lesson of dismissive southernisms; the plan will fail, something disagreeable is what it means. I somewhat feel the dog won’t hunt because it is likely 107 outside, but that is far too literal for this crew. I finally enjoyed my first “ iiiiccccceee tea” just last week.
They have an accent, the “southern” accent as we northerns would say. They have the drawl, things are stretched out. For instance ice. It’s just ICE. But for the Texan it is IIIIIISSSCE. “Oh my lands,” can be heard at least twice a week on my street, and “y’all” is ubiquitous in the south. Y’all come back now. Y’all see that? Y’all going away? Y’all want dessert? With BBQ sauce on it? For a retired English teacher it flies in the face of proper and true grammar. But y’all seem to not notice it. Well “bless your heart,” and “aren’t you precious” they say…
In the stores the cashiers will tell you to have a “blessed day,” which I do think is very, very sweet. The kids call the adults “ma’am and sir,” which took me a bit to get used to, but I do find myself [now] “saying yes ma’am and no sir,” and not being facetious about it. Kids are “kiddos,” and the school system has 408 acronyms that only the Texans know, and no interloper could ever possibly learn. The Texas school system keeps those a very hush hush secret, for those outlanders to flail through. Last year I spent 10 months at Boswell High School in Saginaw, teaching Senior English and learning “Texan.” It was almost the end of the year when I finally learned what EOC stood for– “End of Course.” LOL! Oh I laughed out loud at that one I tell y’all. …..
It’s not July 4th, it’s the “4th of July.” Last year this event lasted for four days. I was starting to wonder when I would be able to go to sleep before midnight. Fireworks, parties every evening, the lake, the pool, and a lot of meat with BBQ sauce on it. There was no shortage of food, places to be, things to see, margaritas to enjoy. I must say, the Texans do this holiday very well. They are a deeply patriotic bunch. Smokers will start smoking brisket, burnt ends, deep fried turkey well before the weekend starts.
Thanksgiving is also a big event here– even more so than Christmas, and lasts an entire week. The Cowboys play and the Texans never miss the game. Something about Jerry’s world they say. There is a lot of food, a lot of swollen tummies, and a lot of antacid is sold. In Texas everything is big, and everything these folks do is on a big scale. And on the Friday after the Thursday feast, the state turns Christmas. In eight hours houses turn from turkey to Santa. It’s quite amazing. And all with no snow, and generally no cold weather. November tends to hover around the 70’s. I laugh at this. Back home old man winter has already settled in since beginning of October, there can already be several feet of snow, and temperatures are no where near 70.
They have their left and right politics, but dang [see what I did there] they can make a mean cornbread, brown eyed peas, or is it black eyed peas and is there a Susan in there or is that a flower?… sweet tea, and anything and everything with BBQ sauce, a smoker and some cherry wood chips. Dessert is now synonymous with every meal I have at my sweet neighbour’s house. I might be heavier since I moved, but I am definitely “fixin” to stay.
They love football, university and national, they cheer loudly for the Cowboys and the purple college of TCU with frogs [which are green so I haven’t quite understood the purple of that yet]; and life stops I learned, on Sundays during this season. And when I say “stops,” I mean…. STOPS. There is no life on my street for months on a Sunday. It’s like….tumbleweeds roll through with the soundtrack of the two lone gun fighters….and when I asked one of my friends, when was the last time the Cowboys won the Superbowl, he winced and mumbled something that sounded like 1676. So, I am, shall we say, unclear on the loyalty of football.
Also, Texans drive like their pants are on fire. Every. Single. Day. If I am not driving 97 mph I best be “fixin” to be in the right lane or stopped at a red light adjusting my helmet. The only thing missing on any interstate, byway or highway is the guy with the flag waving to start the race. I swear they all wear goggles and gloves and have funny finger gestures as they whiz past…. And my personal favourite is when I am backing out of my parking stall. I can be out, and I mean OUT, all the way out. In the middle of the parking lot out. And a long comes dude in his ginormous pick up truck, his fingers flailing as he honks and goes around you eyes blazing. The Texans are always in a hurry. Lucky for me I developed speed back in Canada, but even I take an upper and a Red Bull before I leave my driveway.
What sends me into copious gales of laughter is the weather and the Texans lack of appreciation of how great they have it here. It’s HOT in the summer. The Texans complain that it is “too hot” but dang they are not moving to Colorado where it is too “cold.” I love the heat. I wander around sweating all the gin and tonic toxins and Cayman Jacks out of my body. I double up on beer margaritas, and gleam sweat. I love it. Again, it appears that I am the only one on my street in the summer. Where are the Texans? In the air conditioning. Too hot. September comes and all the ladies are now in sweaters and pants and boots. BOOTS. Oh it is a season of change! No, it is still over 100, but dang it, it's sweater weather now. They hibernate come February. A winter storm? LOCK DOWN LOCK DOWN LOCK DOWN… the stores are chaos, water cannot be found, fill the car up and then one stays home for a week. The Texans panic in February. No one dares to leave the street, except me. I leave to walk the dog. I am the only sign of life out there during a winter storm. No Texan I know has a winter coat, or gloves or a hat, toque we Canadians say, or boots, because they simply do not leave the house past a certain temperature. They admit they cannot do cold, and they cannot for the life of them figure out how Canadians live through winter.
Currently, I am ready for the pool. It’s 82 F today, and I have been dreaming of pool time for the last month– it’s summertime in my head. For this Canadian, winter is about 8 days in February, and the rest of the year it’s summer. For many of the Texans, they have about eight weeks yet…. EIGHT weeks till they admit it is summer, and until any Texan dare put their pinky in the pool. My best pal Heidi tells me maybe June….JUNE.. I can’t even. My neighbour David will get his pool operational very soon and I reckon I will be fixin’ to be the first precious one in it for the season. Bless my heart.
And so Texas, and Texans, I thank you for accepting this northerner into the fold- to cook for you at my BnB, and use my weird words such as “supper,” and “eh.” I love our chats over good food, and your hearty southern laughs. Stay gold. I look forward to a good many more years. I reckon.