Homeward Bound

This article is a short story of an actual event which occurred in the late 1970's, while on active duty with the military and many years younger.

It was nearly half a lifetime ago while still on active duty in the military and stationed in Yankee Land at New York City, that it soon became very obvious I was stranded in a foreign country. A leave of absence was applied for and thankfully approved! The morning of my departure finally arrived and none to soon for sanity sake!

When a Yankee fella heading South on a new assignment asked if he might ride about half the distance to my Florida home. Since he was going to help by paying his way it seemed mannerly to accommodate my fellow traveler, so we both stepped aboard my then blue 1976 Dodge, and it seemed to me he would love the color.

.
Anyhow we departed west on route 84 out of the big oversized metropolis. Then south on route 8l, which would take us straight down the beautiful Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. While I knew this particular Yankee fairly well still what does one say to a Yankee, when there are few if any points of mutual interest?

We had little in common and didn't like the same food, music, literature, and certainly our politics were as different as night and day. We disagreed on just about every aspect of life. As for myself, I ever did understand how 'those people' got their heads so screwed on backwards. Somewhere in their history or genetic code, which ever of these or both, those people got turned around in the worse way. Figuring it would take more wisdom then was possessed by King Solomon himself.

Anyhow, a few hours later we were nearing the Mason-Dixon Line, and about to cross into God's Country. My Yankee co-traveler couldn't help notice my spirits rising by the minute. So he had to ask, "What is it about the South and you Southerners that no matter what, you are still so different?" My reply was a question in answer to his question. "Please tell me if you would, how far is it to the nearest battlefield from your home in upstate New York?"

"We ain't got any battlefield anywhere near where my family lives! How about cotton fields, cornbread or whalin' guitars?"

.
"You got to be nuts man" he said, "You know we ain't got any of them things. New York is a northern State!"

"Well do I know that!" I said. "That's why the South is in the South, and isn't anything like up north. When the Almighty God walked across heaven and earth, he took it slow and careful down in Dixie. He put his entire heart into creating the land of our homeland! It’s a place that is truly our home my friend, in every sense of the word!"

"I thought you said your home is in Florida? "Certainly is but you Yankee folks just don't understand. When a returning Southerner crosses the Mason-Dixon Line and reenters the Southland, he or she is already home."

We spent the hours driving along; the Yankee continued to ask questions about my Southern Homeland and I kept doing my best to answer. Finally I began to open up my heart just a wee bit, as much as one could in the company of foreigners.

"My homeland is not just mud, grass, flowers, trees, cotton fields and buildings. It's all that clear enough, and might I say when God created Dixie, he did His finest work. But the Southland is also a state of mind! Oh the years have exacted a heavy price upon the South, but the essence of what it means remains unique and still shines through our modern day social smog, waiting to be reborn in all her splendor.

"Mine is a storybook land of knights in shining armor, gentlemen warriors and ladies fair. A land where grace and charm rides together with honor. Where little boys can still carry a cane fishing pole down a dirt road to an old fishing hole or ride a man made chariot to the stars. We produce more preachers, priests, singers, teachers, writers, and poets than the rest of the world combined.

Our people can tell more stories, laugh and cry with more gusto than any people who have lived. We still produce more and better military officers and men of valor, than the rest of the Western civilization based on the percentage of our population.

The Southland still produces heroes with tactical genius and prowess which are second to none, with all the possible grace to humbleness. Heroes who still bow at the feet of the King of Kings, our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

"My home sir is a place where religion isn't a Sunday morning exercise, but a way of life. We don't mind at all quoting the Holy Scripture and speaking His precious name. The Southland is a place where our Confederate and Southern history, heritage, culture nationhood are still center stage issues, generations after northern armies aggressively conquered and subjugated us.

If we were free and independent today, we'd rate economically among the top three nations on earth, within five years we'd first in both economic and military power. If the thirteen Southern States were allowed to depart in peace, it would cause the United States to be reduced to a third-world status. Such is our contribution and thus the reason we are not permitted to regain our independence and national identity. 

My home sir is a land which flows with milk and honey. But most of all a land bathed in the blood of our forefathers, in defense of our right to be a free and independent nation and people. Should this not be the case, the crowds of tourist and Yankee immigrants would instead be flocking north, rather than crowding the south bound lanes of our highways.

Then highway 95 running from the heart of Yankee Land to Miami Florida would never have been constructed. Since two thirds of the paved roads were built to accommodate northerners who dislike us so much, they have chosen to up root and move among us.

"My homeland has been abused, over built and over populated. Paved, and concreted over by illegal northern as well as Mexican immigrants. Even so its loveliness shines through. The Southern States created the greatest civilization ever to exist in 2000 years.

Buried deep within the heart of every Southerner is the collective memory of a time and a place, a paradise not quite gone and not completely present. Our people wait that glorious day when our just and honorable cause shall have been vindicated. After which our land shall once more be restored to her splendor, charm and rightful place among the nations of the earth.

"My Yankee friend, this is my home and to walk across her soil, is to walk on holy ground. It is upon this precious Southern Soil that I will live my life, make my stand in life, and should our Lord tarry in his coming, I will take my final rest."

My Yankee guest could only gaze at me in amazement at what he had heard! "You Southerners really believe these things deep within your hearts don't you?" he questioned?

"Yes Sir, this is why as you also properly stated, no matter what we really are as different as night and day. This is the summation and contents of my heart, for my roots like the oak tree, grow deep in the history of the Southland. For being Southern is only 5 percent a matter of happen-chance of birth, and 95 percent an attitude and a state of mind."

God save the Confederacy