I forgot what it’s like living in a small Southern town.
Nick and I are escaping the craziness and claustrophobia of Los Angeles by spending January at his parent’s house in Sylva, North Carolina. We couldn’t take being cooped up in our house in Burbank with our son and our dogs, so when the latest set of Covid restrictions were announced, enforcing indefinite shutdowns in Los Angeles County, we bought plane tickets to the beautiful Smoky Mountains.
Nick’s parents, Marie and Jim have taken off to spend the month at their second home near his sister, Mitzi in Raleigh, so Nick and I have the place to ourselves. Part of the plan is helping his mom and dad take care of some deferred maintenance around the place. While Marie and Jim are hard-working 80-something-year-olds, their 13-acre property and 4000 square foot seventies-era Spanish ranch is a lot to maintain. It takes the both of them three days on two riding mowers to mow the seven acre lawn. Even though Jim has mobility issues due to a stroke he suffered eight years ago, he can still do pretty much any job around the place, so they have been reluctant to hire help. I can’t imagine how they keep up with the place all by themselves. Nick and I will tackle a few projects and try to find some guys with trucks and weed-eaters, pressure washers and paint brushes to help.
But…things are done a certain way here and it’s best to know the ropes. First off, in Sylva everyone knows everyone. And certainly all 2,687 of them know my husband’s kin, the Searcy family. Marie taught Biology in the public school system in Jackson County for thirty years. For awhile, every person we ran into at Ingle’s would stop us and say, “Hey, Nick, how’s your mom? Mrs. Searcy was the best teacher I ever had.” Jim has run his accounting business for decades and before that, he and Marie owned Searcy’s Restaurant and before that they were real estate developers, along with starting a number of other ventures in town. They are outspoken politically and Jim even ran for office once. Mitzi has a slew of friends still in town from her high school days as a vicious basketball player. And of course, Nick is considered a famous actor in his home town.
We spend the first few days getting over jet lag while watching a gentle snowfall cover the sloping lawn.
We needed a dose of Winter. By Monday, the snow has melted and temperatures rise to the low fifties. Time to go to work. Nick spends two days figuring out how to solve the slow and unpredictable internet service and I start walking the property, making a list of potential improvements. I run the items by Nick’s parents before taking action.
“What’s the deal with the bulldozer sitting up above the pond?” I ask Jim from the landline in his office. The property is enclosed almost all the way around by a wooden fence, so when you turn into Locust Creek Estates, the first thing in sight is the border of their land. Inside the first gate sits a huge, yellow backhoe.
“What about it?” Jim asks.
“That’s the Parker’s bulldozer,” Marie chimes in from the background. “They used it to fill in the pond. It’s been sitting there since last November. I’ve called them and told them to come and get it, but I don’t guess they need it.”
“Looks like they don’t, but they need to get it out of here,” I say.
“What for?” Jim asks.
“It’s been sitting here for over a year. It’s unsightly.”
“That’s a $50,000 piece of equipment,” Jim says.
“Well, it should look a little better then, shouldn’t it? I’ll just call them and tell them I’ll have it towed for them if they don’t want to come and get it,” I say, half-joking.
“No, now don’t cause no trouble. They’s old friends of ours,” Jim says. Nick had told me the same thing when I complained to him that morning.
They think I’m a bit of a diva coming to town, making demands and being pushy. I guess it’s because they don’t consider me a true Southerner. When Nick first brought me home to meet them, I immediately felt comfortable with them. They were quick, funny and sarcastic and I was familiar with their ways. But when Jim asked me where I was from and I told him Kentucky, he said, “Well, you’re a Yankee then, ain’t you?”
“No, I am not,” I said, offended. “We ate fried chicken twice a week and biscuits and gravy and country ham on the weekends. I am not a Yankee.”
“Well, don’t call me Gem then,” Jim said, imitating my accent.
“What? I’m calling you Jim like your name. Jim,” I said.
“My name is not Gem, it’s Jee-um. You need to say it right.”
No matter how much time I spent in Sylva, I would always be an outsider, Yankee-ish in my ways. That’s how it is in a small town. Nick and I spent three years in Sylva in the early nineties. Marie and Jim let us come home to regroup, have a baby and catch our breath before moving on to Los Angeles for Nick to pursue his acting career. Back then, I didn’t know the rules of doing business in a small town, the etiquette of negotiating a business deal. I made lots of mistakes.
Rule #1 — When you need some work done, just think about who you know and call them.
Rule #2 — Check to see if there are any feuds between your family and theirs before hiring someone.
Rule #3 — Don’t be impatient. People will get around to it sooner or later.
Rule #4 — Depend on honor and your word when it comes time to pay. You might not get a bill.
In 1990, before we moved into a little rental house that Jim and Marie owned, Marie hired two guys to come in and paint the place, giving us a clean palette to start our new lives with our new baby. It looked like they walked in the door wielding paint sprayers and just started going to town. Paint covered every surface. I was appalled by the quality of the work and worried that Marie was paying for services she didn’t receive. I told her, “I need to call Darrell and Darrell and tell them to come back and fix this paint job.” I called them, then called them a second time. This is how business works, isn’t it? You hire someone for a job and they complete it to your satisfaction? Not in Sylva. Pretty soon, Marie got a phone call from Darrell saying, “Tell that woman if she wants anything else done, she can do it her own self.”
When I became a Searcy, I became immediately recognizable to everyone in town. Marie sent me over to a carpet showroom to pick out carpet for the house, and when I pulled my wallet out, the sales guy said, “Don’t worry about it, I’ll get up with Marie.” And most startling of all, when I got pulled over by a State Trooper for speeding and frantically tried to explain that I really wasn’t a New Yorker like my New York City driver’s license reflected, he drawled, “I know who you are.”
This month, I was determined to get both fireplaces up and running. We had told Marie that we had fantasies of sitting in front of a blazing fire while snow fell outside. Before we arrived, she had ordered a new propane tank for the living room and had it hooked up to her old gas logs. She was hoping to buy a pretty new set of gas logs that she saw at Western Carolina Gas, but suggested I check out another place on the outskirts of town before pulling the trigger. I drove to their showroom and told the sour saleslady that I was looking for gas logs for my mother-in-law. When I found a nice set, she said she’d check her stock to see if it was available. I wrote down my first and last name and phone number. When she called me back, she asked me where my mother-in-law bought her gas tank. When I named a competing gas company, she said, “Ha. Of course she did.” Kind of flustered by her wicked tone, I asked, “What?…” and she informed me that they would not be able to install gas logs which are connected to another company’s gas line.
I called Mitzi later and told her about the saleslady’s odd comment, “What do you think that meant?”
“Aww, they’re Democrats over there and they know Mom and Dad are big Republicans.”
In Los Angeles, I am mostly anonymous when doing business with people. The sour saleslady reminded me that things have not changed in Sylva even though there’s a Walmart now and breweries in the quaint downtown. When I walk into a place, most people know who I am and they already have an opinion about me and an idea of whether they want to do business with me.
So, I’m going back to Western Carolina Gas to buy the logs Marie wanted initially. I’ve been over to the showroom twice trying to get an order placed. I’ve called them back twice and left voicemail messages as sweet as pie. Crickets. My next call is going to be firm and clear, “If you don’t call me back before the end of the day, I will order these gas logs from someone else.” Just kidding, that would be too Yankee-ish. I can’t do that here. Unless they’re in a feud with the Searcys. Or they’re Democrats.
I’ve been a fan of Nick’s for years but I’m not a typical fan. I always believed celebrities deserve to keep their public life private. When Nick was pushing out updates on Twitter I speculated correctly that he had gone back home now I see why. I’m a proud Texan that spent many years visiting small towns across this state and others because it reminds me of how life used to be (I just hit 68 years of age). Your details of life in a small town brought back memories of eating the daily special at the local town cafe and complete strangers waving “”Hi” to me. As we go through these very difficult times in America your article proves that real Anericans still exist and thanks for reminding me of that. All my best to you and your family.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read my blog post, Rick! It really means a lot and I’m so glad you related to my take on the quirks of life in a small town. You are right, it is refreshing to know a community like this still exists and Nick and I hope to spend ALOT more time here in the coming years! Blessings.
Dear Mrs. Searcy, I love, love this article!! You are a wonderful writer!! My deceased father is from North Carolina and my mother is from Tennessee, but I grew up in Pennsylvania. My husband and I moved to Eastern North Carolina almost eight years ago and I do feel like an outsider even though both sets of grandparents were Southerners and we spents lots of time in the South growing up. Anyway, this article made me laugh and I really needed that today! I’m so glad that you and your husband can get away from CA. My son is living out there and I worry about him. I hope you have a wonderful month!! God Bless you!! I do look at your husbands’ twitter and he makes me laugh too! Sincerely, Trisha Durand
Thanks so much for your comments, Trisha. I really appreciate you taking the time to read my blog. You must have known just what I was talking about when describing the people of Western Carolina and if it made you laugh, I’m feeling, “Mission Accomplished!” I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to be back in NC. California has some wonderful qualities and we have made a good life there, but we miss NC. I’m sure your son has found his safe community there just like we have, but it’s hard to have the kids far away, I know. Have a wonderful day!
Nice piece of writing! Small towns are delightful and maddening at the same time, right? I grew up in Knoxville and I have family in Asheville. I have also spent a lot of time in the North Georgia mountains and I wrote a novel set in a small town in the mountains, Leaf Season. I bet you’d like it. https://www.amazon.com/Leaf-Season-Dee-Thompson/dp/1696285224/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=Leaf+Season+dee+thompson&qid=1610985051&sr=8-1
Wow, Dee, thank you! I will check out your novel. There’s lots of writing material generated in this region, isn’t there? I appreciate you reading!
I love how this reminds me of a Hallmark romance—the setting, the yankee-way meets small-town ways! I recognize your post is about so much more, but the romantic in me just can’t help it! Also, I want to be on a 13-acre lot right now! I vote you leave that voice message btw, but I am a Democrat from Chicago :). Glad you got to see snow and that you’re getting some writing in! Enjoy your time there!
Ooooo, it would make a good Hallmark movie, wouldn’t it? I’d better not take your advice about whether to call back, since you are as Yankee-ish as I am! Thanks again for your support, Samira. I think I’ve come through the fear part of blogging and arrived at the fun!
Good post. Glad you are working the system. Small towns – they are what they are. Hope you both enjoy your time there. Try not to work to hard. God Bless
Small towns are so great, aren’t they? I think I’ll have a lot to write about while we’re here. Thanks SO much for reading, Pam!
This is one of the best yet. Jee-um has a point…’while I’m Rome’! I think I’ll incorporate a diphthong into the abbreviate of your name – Les is now
Le-us 😀. The bulldozer backhoe ? A work of Art. Even in Burbank, the guy down the street has 3 International Harvester Tractors on display in his front yard circa 1950’s and 60’s. Icons from my Midwest childhood. Who’d a thunk Burbank would take a lead on eclectic artisan displays. They are right up there with the giant donuts displayed on the roof of donut huts and hot dogs on hotdog stands, along with mannequin horses on the roof of motels and the giant deformed hand displayed at the car wash in Studio City. Sadly, they are fast becoming a lost charm of LA Kitsh 😥. Finally, ‘feuding’ is one of the great joys of life. Certainly mine. Especially with you. Our years long battles over all things from pet rats to a woman knowing her place in this world have brought gut wrenching joy from all the laughs I have (we, if I include Nick) had with all the insults incorporated trying to enlighten you. Not to mention the numerous standing feuds I have with many of your unenlightened friends and their difficult personalities. Great writing Le-us, I enjoyed this one a lot. Another chapter in a great book to be.
Aww, thank you, Mark! Even though you have such atrocious taste that you think a bulldozer is yard art, I still respect you. You know I enjoy a good feud as well, and after dealing with the sour saleslady, I was about to start one. But I’ve got you so the feuding need gets filled daily. And you are totally right about the diphthong. My name in these parts is said more like Lay-uz-lee. Thanks again for your support, Mark. It means alot!
Your writing about life in a small town in WNC reminds me of Marjorie Rawling’s Cross Creek.
My wife and I built a home in Waynesville after renovating an old farmhouse in Canton.
We hired a Chimney Sweep to get our wood fireplace up to working order after years of neglect. He was about half through with the job when he told us he would not see us for a few days “because Turkey season was start’n tomorrow. If the huntin’ ain’t good, I will be back sooner”. After a few years in WNC you just learn that’s the way it is and adapt. We loved how they prioritized those things most important in life.
That’s the perfect small town story! I haven’t read Cross Creek. I’ll check it out. Thanks for reading, Ken.
Well we both know that SOUTHERN KY is definitely not Yankee. 😉
Even though people here in CA pick up my accent immediately when I go home they see me as an Outsider. I stopped at a farm stand to buy a watermelon and asked if they had any seedless ones. Farmer smiled real big and said, “Well gooolll…that’d be nyce wudn’d it??
☺️
Ha! Classic Kentucky. They think we’re too fancy when we come home from California, but neither of us have much Yankee blood!
When I saw it was about a Southern small town, you know I just had to read and get a peek inside. Southern CA being as close to the South as I get, thank you for the peek! I’d probably be feuding all over the place and not even know it. Sweet as pie. Keep with the fun part of blogging 😉
You would love the people here, Lynn Marie, and they would love you back. Even if they just tolerated you, they wouldn’t let you know it. Thank you for the massive support and the courage you’ve helped me find in order to do this blog. I’m forever grateful.
LOL
Hmmm, perhaps this–“…..and they would love you back. Even if they just tolerated you, they wouldn’t let you know it” — is Southern for: “I’d probably be feuding all over the place and not even know it.” 😉
Whether it is or isn’t, it does speak to the genuine hospitality the south is known for. And it’s probably true, I’d love the people there as I can’t help but love the people just about anywhere.
You’re welcome! Any tiny part I might have had in your blog expressions is worthy of celebration to me 😉
See, Leslie! These are the kind of stories I am always searching for, yearning for. Being a born and bred New Yorker, I’ve always hungered for places where people know you, know your family ties. It’s stories like this that left my heart! Thank you, my lil sis!!!!
You must have been a southerner in another life, Momo, because I know you appreciate the culture and especially the FOOD! Thanks for the support, big sis!
Ok ..I am impressed! I love your posts, except for the diet one but in all fairness I am like a hummingbird in a box and it required too much attention. Your writing is warm and inviting. You nailed Jackson County in a very gracious way. I will be a fan! In the words of T -Pain, ” keep on doing what cha doing.”
April, I wish I was like a hummingbird, then I wouldn’t have to diet all the time. I LOVE Jackson County and it’s people and hope to spend MUCH more time there in the years to come! Thanks so much for reading and taking the time to comment. Much appreciated!