Southern Comfort

Any story set in the South should contain a generous spoonful of southern colloquialisms. As a southerner, I find the dialect comes as second nature, however these wonderful phrases, passed down from generation to generation, seem to elude me. Could my upbringing in the Big Easy have aided in the downfall of my southern education?

It is a common school of thought to assume that New Orleanians are southerners. But, are they really? With expression like “Makin’ groceries,” “By ya mama’s” and “Where y’at?” I find the gap between New Orleans and the rest of the South is wider than the Mississippi River. Sure, the food tastes southern, the architecture is southern, but why does the culture seem so different?

New Orleans is a melting pot of tradition. The French influence brought us beignets, muffalettas and Mardi Gras. The Spanish gave us Creoles and neutral ground, better known as medians. These dialects mixed with the Irish, Germans and Sicilians to form what is now referred to today as Yat. Yats are anyone you see at a Saints game shouting, “Who dat says dey gonna beat dem Saint? Who dat? Who dat?!” These cheers reverberate throughout the city, even when Sean Peyton and Reggie Bush can’t deliver.

This unique vernacular is butchered on television and in films with regularity. Stars such as Ned Beatty and Dennis Quaid confuse New Orleanians with their rural cousins, Cajuns. The truth is, an actor from Brooklyn has a better chance of imitating Yat because the two accents are closely related.

With this entirely different language in mind, I find I must pursue southern colloquialisms outside of my hometown. My husband, a native Mississippian, has supplied me with charming idioms, such as “He’s madder than an outhouse rat,” and “She’s more nervous than a whore in church.” These are the more colorful phrases that came to his mind.

As generations pass, colloquialisms, fables, and accents disappear from our lives. Young people find these expressions old and stodgy. People move, stories are left behind, and little by little, the past is forgotten. Literature remains the only true method of preserving the flavor of this remarkable part of our country. The Bottletree is my chance to seize this piece of culture so it won’t be forgotten. I can only hope that I do it justice.