A Truly Gifted Mule Christmas Essay.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

I was born and raised in Birmingham, Alabama. Even though I have lived in New York City for many years, I am instantly recognizable by my accent. When I taught English to high school students in Arequipa, Peru, I informed them that the pronoun for second person plural is “y’all.”

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

I’m a Texas native and a Kentucky Colonel. I cooked shrimp grits for my mother-in-law’s birthday earlier this year. There are seven pounds of sweet potatoes on my kitchen counter and fifteen pounds of pig in my freezer, and my praline cheesecake pie has been the cause of broken commandments. My pewter cup from a long-ago county pageant is now a candleholder in my dining room. I sometimes sing the tenor line of hymns an octave up, but the woman to my left is way better at it.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

One of my favorite Christmas memories is of the year my young cousin spent Christmas with us after his dad had been in a serious accident at work. I had reached the age when I felt I was too old to believe in Santa Claus. Rick, my little cousin, was around six years at the time and was having doubts about Santa himself. My mother set about to change our thinking. On a cold, blustery Christmas Eve, just after the evening milking had been done, Mama took Rick and me to the barn to get hay and fodder for the reindeer that would be coming by later than night. She told us she had been thinking about how Santa always enjoyed cookies and milk when he made his trip, but no one ever thought about the poor reindeer. With the winds picking up and the temperature dropping, we placed a pile of hay and several fodder bundles in the front yard. Rick wondered if the reindeer would eat that much on such a short trip.

On Christmas morning, after we opened our gifts, Rick ran outside to check on the reindeer food. Much to our surprise, we found it mostly gone. There were a few dried corn stalks, but scarcely any hay left. Later when we went visiting with relatives and neighbors, as was the custom in our southern mountain region, we couldn’t help but notice that in both directions from our front yard, dried corn blades and stalks were scattered along the road for nearly half a mile—a sure sign that the reindeer had eaten on the fly. None of us ever forgot the Christmas that Mama convinced our little guest about Santa Claus.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

Winters in the South are not like winters elsewhere. In the Northeast, it’s just plain cold for far too long with mountains of snow. Out West the winters range from gray, rainy, wet malaise to deadly, subzero days that freeze the water in your eyes if you don’t blink enough. Then there’s California, all I can say about that is their weather suits their lifestyle. To a Southerner, it’s a place to visit, kind of like the zoo.

Down South, we enjoy winters of moderation. Sure, it can get cold, but we measure it is days, not weeks and months like other places. Even on the cold days, our lows are warmer that the highs elsewhere. The best way to put it is this—the South gets just enough winter to help remind us why we don’t live someplace else. Besides, if every day were perfect, we would loose sight of how to enjoy them to their fullest. Our short stint of Winter is one of God’s ways of reminding Southerners that we are blessed to be living is such a place.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

My MaMaw taught me how to make iced tea so sweet a spoon’ll stand up in it around the same time she introduced me to Elvis Presley. She also told me the secret to making red beans smell like heaven (and not taste like dirt), and instilled in me both a love and healthy fear of cast iron skillets. I learned how to ride a horse bareback before I learned how to drive— but both lessons took place in an open field in rural Oklahoma.

I might wear boots, but I also wear pearls with my jeans. I definitely prefer being the girl three miles down the road to being the girl-next-door–the city life just doesn’t do it for me. You’ll find me out in the back yard–either grilling something, or sipping that sweet tea in my hammock.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

About 12 generations ago, one of my ancestors, William James Morgan,left Wales via England, and settled on the coast of Virginia, never to return to his homeland. I imagine that he would marvel at the number of descendants, including me, that he would have living in this part of the new world which we call the South. Likewise, I would expect his delight in knowing that his surname is being passed forward to this day. Had he made a decision to not leave his home world, I marvel at the possibility of being born in another place and in another life—never having known the beauty of the brilliant reds and yellows of the Appalachians in autumn, tasted a Virginia wine called “My Dog Blue” or heard Dulcimer Dan at his very bluegrass best. So, in this life–in this place we call the South—I am indeed thankful to be
right here and now.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

I love grits, collards, sweet potato pie, pecan pie (does that count) and though I grew up in New York City and lived in Connecticut before coming to California, I spent my honeymoon in Virginia and explored a bunch of Southern schools for my daughter. I also love Southern writers like Flannery O’Connor, Tennessee Williams, Carson McCullers, Reynolds Price, Walker Percy, William Faulkner, Eudora Welty and Robert Penn Warren. I’ve seen Gone with the Wind several times.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

I eat grits with my bare left hand.

Editor’s Note:

Joseph is the father part of a father-son duo in the Mule.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

When someone mentions “wife beaters,” I think “t-shirt,” not “abuse.” Plus, I live in a horrible school district. People say there can be many pronunciations of a word. These people are wrong. It’s pronounced “pee-can,” not “pecahn.” But, both ways, it’s delicious in a pie. I think of myself as Southern not because of my residence in NC, nor because of the amount of time I spent in that location (7 years), nor because of the constant sunburn on my back. No, I think of myself as Southern, because, frankly, there are worse things to be in life, and I know. I used to live in the north.

Editor’s Note:

Jozef is the son part of a father-son duo in the Mule.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

Danny P. Barbare grew up and lives in Greenville, SC. He loves black eyed peas, collards, and sweet potato. He spent some of his childhood on West Park Avenue, his grandparents. His grandfather watching the Atlanta Braves and chewing Red Man Tobacco, spitting in a Maxwell House Coffee can as grandmother read the Greenville News. He also spent some of his time at their lake place at Hartwell, Georgia, fishing for catfish which they would fry.

Southern Legitimacy Statement

I lived in Columbia, South Carolina, in 1970. Well, you could call it “living.” May, June, July, August: The Fort Jackson “Boogie-Woogie.” Yes, U.S. Army Basic and Advanced Training. In the South I learned this moment of pleasure: at the end of long day “in the field,”––a Shave & Shower and, lying on my bunk in clean boxers and tee, time to flip open a PBR. I can still hear the sound of the metal tab and fizz. And, taste that long, cool draw. Now that’s living.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

I’m from Clay County, Missouri originally. Better show me somethin’ better than that. Now I live in Minnesota. I’ve seen snow…