From the air, the Kansas farmland below spreads out like a giant quilt. Square after square of corn, green alfalfa and golden wheat appear as a patchwork of color. This land is the breadbasket of the country. Tumbleweeds drift across the dusty plains. Windmills turn in fields of sunflowers. Flat lands that hold up endless blue sky make up the land of Dorothy, Toto and tornados.
There are cowboy towns named Dodge City, Council Grove and Abilene. Places like Boot Hill and Fort Larned on the Santa Fe Trail are full of history and legend. Wichita, Wyandotte and Shawnee are among the many towns named for Indian tribes. Even the word Kansas comes from the Kansa tribe.
Both farmer and statesmen have lived here. Bloodlines from the study lineage of Irish, English, German and Native Indian have produced rich, diverse cultures. The Native American Indian Chief Santana, who was called the "Orator of the Plains', lived in Kansas. People such as Dwight D. Eisenhower, George Washington Carver, the poet Langston Hughes, Buffalo Bill Cody, Charles Lindbergh and author Laura Ingalls Wilder lived, spoke and taught here. Good honest people with strong values live in Kansas and I have always been proud of my heritage.
Yet, I left my home in Wichita, moved to the deep South and married a Southerner. And, while gracious people welcomed me to their world, Alabama seemed a million miles from Kansas. It was a foreign land with an equally foreign vocabulary and an accent I didn't understand. I was homesick for what was "familiar." Maybe I could click my heels three times and return home. "There is no place like home" Dorothy said.
Still, there was such a natural beauty in the South. Tall pines, delicate dogwood trees and azalea dotted the landscape. Thick green parasitic Kudzu vines attached themselves to trees and created lush "kudzu monsters." The scent of gardenia and magnolia filled the air in Williamsburg, Virginia. I saw the mountains of Tennessee and smelled the salty surf on the beaches of Panama City, Florida and the Outer Banks of North Carolina.
Growing up in Kansas I was used to wonderful food: Kansas City steaks and beef brisket BBQ, hearty chicken fried steak and chicken and dumplings. The food in the South was also amazing: fried okra, black-eyed peas, sweet tea and ham biscuits. Delicacies I had never heard of such as brunswick stew, boiled peanuts and grits were commonplace. The aroma of fried chicken and corn bread seemed to waft from every kitchen and restaurant. I was in Southern fried heaven.
The easy lifestyle and charm of the South were pulling me in and making me love it. I became aware of all things "Southernly": Scarlett and Rhett, the beauty of the Blue Ridge and Smokey Mountains, antebellum plantations and, of course, yummy banana pudding.
My speech slowly changed from "you guys" to "y'all." I was suddenly "fixin" to do things and developed a drawl. Historical places that I had only read about came to life: Atlanta, Selma and Charleston as well as Richmond and Appomattox. The land of Oz was a long way from here.
I remember feeling a tinge of disloyalty to my Kansas roots. Now living in the South, did I have to choose one place over the other or could I meld into a combination of the two? Was I a transplant? Where could I buy a pair of ruby red slippers and click myself to Kansas? Did I really want to go back?
Learning to take the best of both worlds I can now appreciate the Kansas of my youth and Virginia where I now make my home. I am a Southerner by marriage with my roots in the Midwest. It is a blessing to have the two places in my consciousness. I love them equally and there is room in my heart for both.
Sweet Tea Recipe
1 Cup of sugar
2 Quarts of cold water
The juice of two lemons
6 regular sized tea bags
Combine the sugar, lemon juice and water in a large pan and bring to boil. Stir and remove from heat. Add the tea bags and cover the pan. Allow to steep for 20-30 minutes. Remove tea bags, cool and pour into a pretty pitcher. Pour into ice filled glasses and garnish with a slice of lemon or mint leaves. Enjoy!
