As we pulled off the highway, onto a one lane road, we began to pass farmland bordering both sides of the road. I looked out onto the acreage, my eyes searching for the houses that were set back behind the trees, away from the road. Beautiful wooden slat homes with welcoming porches. Oh my word, this was beautiful. I imagined myself picking through peas on my porch, throwing out the stems to the chickens. Do chickens eat pea stems? I don’t know, but the ones in my day dream did. I imagined myself ringing a dinner bell and calling the family home with a Southern accent. If I moved here I would need to start talking in a Southern accent. But this isn’t even the south, I argued with myself. So?, I retorted back in my mind, if you are going to live in the country you have to have an accent. And so I began practicing aloud, “What do you think about this acreage, Dan?” I said in a Southern drawl, but to him it wasn’t a Southern drawl at all. To him my accents, all of them, no matter which one I attempt to copy, sound like an elderly Chinese woman’s.
Breathe deep, Janna, I told myself. This is just a vacation. This is just a vacation.