Hiring a surrogate

Last weekend I was a little sad that I didn’t get to be at home for Easter, especially since there are now a majority of sisters partying it up in California. But I decided that instead of spending the holiday alone, I’d invite myself to be a part of my friend Connie’s family in rural South Carolina for the weekend. This plan worked out splendidly because as it turns out, her family is essentially the southern version of ours - there are seven sisters who grew up rather unrestrained on sprawling country acreage, are still all close, love getting together for family dinners and singing around the piano, have rusty playground equipment and a metal building  in the backyard, and even have two cats that look exactly like Starbuck and Apollo. Perusing the family photo albums showed a lot of pictures of them as kids sporting only underwear and bad haircuts. In short order I had a herd of adopted nieces and nephews following me and asking me to swing them around, get in tickle fights, and catch frogs and tadpoles with them at the pond. Needless to say, I felt right at home. 

A lot of the similarities had distinct southern twangs to them, though. For example, the whole family went to a church that had the familial feel of Auberry Ward...but it was Southern Baptist, with a preacher that bellowed about judgment from God. Our grand Easter meal included collared greens, biscuits, grits, and fatback lima beans. The brothers-in-law had loaded handguns sticking out of the back of their slacks during the Easter family photo. 

Even though I’m from California and that means I am “essentially a Yankee”, her family seemed pretty willing to adopt me in. Her dad was especially fond of me...at least, after I proved my countriness to him a couple ways. First, he came across me teaching some of the younger boys how make bird calls by whistling grass. His eyes reevaluated me and he said “huh. I thought you were a city girl.” Then nodded approvingly to me, and walked off. I’ve never been prouder. Second, I passed a true test of Southernness by playing gospel and country songs with him on the guitar all afternoon. In case you’re wondering how I know gospel and country songs - I don’t. When he invited me to play with him, we quickly realized he wasn’t going to know any of the few songs I know (Ever heard of Ben Harper? No? How about Iron & Wine?). So I told him to just start playing and I would try to follow along. He had this wonderful deep voice that drawled along while I picked my way through the chords I mimicked from him. Sometimes Connie and her sisters would sing or play along on the piano and I even got to mess around on a banjo and it was just.so.fun. Afterward, Connie said that jam session secured my spot as her dad’s favorite guest.

So it was with dismay he reacted to the news that I am going to turn my back on the south and move back west. Couldn’t I just live with them and go to Augusta Medical College right down yonder? I demurred, and so he tried to figure out when I could at least come visit again. I told him that actually, I am only going to be in the south a few more weeks altogether, because I am going to Africa to help with the Ebola response. That was where he lost it. He threw his hands in the air and exclaimed, “WHAT!! You mean I’ve finally found someone to play the gee-tar with me and now I’m gonna LOSE ‘ER TO EBOLA?!?

Somehow it was the most endearing thing that anyone I’ve only known for two days has said to me, and hilarious to boot. After a weekend full of charm and hospitality from a family that felt so similar to my own, I toyed with the temptation of switching from western mountain garbage and going full southern country and staying with them forever. The dogwood trees and wisteria were in bloom around their property, they had a big porch with rocking chairs and a prime view for watching thunderstorms over the valley, and for heaven’s sake, the kids all called me ‘Miss Rachel’. It was the cutest. In the words of my southern friends, “If that don’t light yer fire, yer wood’s wet!”

But the land of farmers markets and recycling and mountains and my real family is calling me. And it will be nice not to have to worry that I might get shot by a gun going off accidentally at the dinner table. While it was entertaining to spend a holiday with our family’s southern doppelgänger, I guess I’ll keep y’all. It just might help if you teach your kids to speak in soft southern accents.