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A little over two years ago we moved from Baltimore to Beaufort, NC. Fishing is better in a lot of respects but I REALLY miss chasing stripers, cruising the Chesapeake, and all my friends. Things are different down here. The fishing season is almost year round if you dress for it and some of the people believe it or not still don't like yankees. That doesn't bother me much and I’m constantly entertained or surprised by things I hear people say or do.


Yesterday we went to the pet store to pick up some food for the cats and dog. They also sell pets there and there were two older women, could have been mother & daughter, standing in front of the pets for sale window wall. There was a whiteboard on the wall that listed the pets for sale and the prices. The younger of the two remarked to the older lady” Look at the cute Chihuahua on the bottom” only she pronounced it “CHA HOO A HOO A”. I had to leave after I repeated it to a younger couple that appeared to be in lust and they couldn’t pronounce it either. Both had that deer in the headlights look, so much for the education system down here.


On the local news this morning there was an item about a couple that had been arrested in a drug bust of their home. As the officers entered one of the suspects flushed a bag of suspected narcotics down the toilet. The police dug up the SEPTIC SYSTEM and sure enough found a bag of cocaine. Here’s your sign.



Like I said, you can’t make this stuff up.

Catch 'em up.

Walt
 

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Eminent brother,
I don't like them damm Yankeres either. Not A-Rod, not Jeeter....none of them
 

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GB, now that's funny. :thumbup:
We're about 4 miles from the Parker plant and Linwood was a neighbor until he built a huge place closer to the plant and moved a year ago.
 

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CHA HOO A HOO A


Now thats a good one. I fish all year up here as well but I'm sure I'm wearing a little more clothing than you are used to in the winter.:boat:
 

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Thanks for the update. Hoping to retire down there some where in that area. Know what you mean about the yankee thing. Was in a Holiday Inn in Knoxville on some business one time and we were having lunch in the bar. A guy turns to the local guy I was with and says "who's the yankee", the guy says," nevermind he's with me". Now we're talking a city in a Holiday Inn. Needless to say I stay away from bars in many areas of the south. Still, however, a lot of great places down there. Keep us updated on the fishing.
 

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Walt sent you a email but wasn't sure if you got it.Hope all is good.How are the Green hoses on fish down there? Do you still have the Ocean?
 

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Discussion Starter · #8 ·
Capt Deering, FIXED

HB, We like it so far.

Dave, the green hoses haven't produced yet, Ocean Motion was sold last year, got tired of the maintenance. Put the money in the house and the market. So far it's working. Juist got your email and added you to my list.

Lot's of jigging or fishing with bait is what has been working: flounder, gray and speckled trout, sea bass, snapper blues, etc. Trolling has been less productive, blues, spanish macks, and some Atlantic Bonito.
 

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Gotta say it, I don't think the Cha hoo a hoo a thing had anything to do with north or south.... there are dumasses everywhere!

I married a yankee, and use the term with some endearment. Went up to visit her folks in Michigan's UP last weekend and did some snowmobiling. We stopped at a little greasy spoon restaurant on Drummond Island. My son asked for sweet tea and they had a big laugh. Then, in all seriousness he asked the waitress if they had any fried okra. She didn't know what it was. As we were talking about it, I discovered my inlaws didn't know what okra was either!! They pronounced it "Orca" and thought it was whale meat! I'm not making this up. -S
 

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Shawn, that's funny
 

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Eminent Brothers,
My dad is a native Floridian and lost his dixie accent after WWII when he settled out in NJ, where I was born. Now he's back in Florida and says he got his accent back by drinking out of Dixie Cups. I still sound like someone from NJ who's been living in Md too long.
 

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Going to Carolina...

This is something that I wrote some time ago when the old board had a "blog" section for articles that the members might write. It seems that it never caught on but if you can bear with this, since we're on the subject of Southern Culture.....maybe you'll find it of interest. The setting is the late 1960's.....but some things never change about the South or Carolina!

GOING TO CAROLINA...DO YOU MIND?

There's just something about North Carolina. Oh, everyone is familiar with the coast and the mountains, but the "heartland" offers it's own points of interest. That's where the "real" people work and live. It is mile after endless mile of flat land dotted with pine trees that seem to be trying to get away from the ground as fast as possible, since their only growth is at the top.

I was going to such a place just outside of Raliegh. One of those towns named after a dead Confederate officer, who left something other than a tobacco farm if he was killed or came back to be the mayor or Senator but always a Colonel, if he had left some of his blood on some battlefield. Now if he wasn't in the other two categories, he became the town banker and managed to steal everything that wasn't nailed down and made sure that the widows weren't neglected sexually when the rent came due.'

I had met a girl in college and it was "time" to meet her parents. When you're a young male, there is nothing more threatening than meeting a girl's parents. I'm doublely sure of it now that I've married off my own daughters. Fathers get a certain sadistic pleasure out of intimidating suitors. It's payback time for all those nights they stayed up late worrying about "lost virginity". If the young lady hadn't lost it before this particular fellow, DAD would make sure that HE wasn't the one, by using subtle verbal threats and crushing the young man's hand during the greeting process.

As I pulled into the town, I stopped by the local General Store. This was before K-Mart was born and the General Store probably got its name more from the retired local "Generals", than it did from the sundries that it offered the clientele. The old boys in this one were quick to provide me with directions to the "parent's house". EVERYBODY knew EVERYBODY and not only was I a "Come Here" but a "hippie" because NOBODY would dress like that in these parts unless he was some ******, dope smoking, acid headed hippie! With their warmth wrapped around me, I proceeded "down the road a piece"!

Upon my arrival at the "parents" location, I was greeted by a mixed breed dog. Well it had to be "mixed breed", because it had attributes of at least 3 species subtypes staring at me just in its face alone. The dog went through the "checking him out" procedures both front and back, making sure that we hadn't met before and that I hadn't messed around with any of his known favorite hangouts. Then SHE showed up.

Bursting with the joy and happiness that only absence can bring forth from a beloved, we greeted as best we could. It was more "formal" than either one of us was used to, but it's very hard to "suck face" with parents eyeing you from the front porch. Releasing myself from her arms, I then went to "Greet the Parents". Her father had a typical Carolina accent and tried the "3 finger crush" maneuver with my hand. Since this was similar to a fraternity handshake that I knew, I transformed it into the "2 finger slip out" and avoided injury. I limply SHOOK hands with Mom, too. I did not want to get on "dad's bad side", early in the game by sucking her face either.

We went inside the modest house and her mother showed me to the "guest room". The "guest room" was the last room in the house, just past the master bedroom. I believe it is called the Master Bedroom because you have to master getting by that room to do anything else in the house. Oh, did I mention that I had my roommate from college with me? And did I mention that there was an "older sister"? No? Well pay attention because those two participants on the playing field of life are important!

After refreshing ourselves from our travels we all joined in the dining room for the evening meal. The evening meal was led off by me saying "Grace" or "THE Blessing" as it is known in that part of the South. My delivery of such "blessing" announced to the gathering that my religious background might be slightly different than my hosts. I was aware of that prior to dinner, but it was a "surprise" to the parents that THEIR daughter had taken up with a "Papist".

Now I have a PROBLEM with that! I fully realize that Baptists and Methodists chose to propagate the South, but I don't feel that just because I was "literate" that it should be held against me anymore than the fact that I was the only altar boy who wasn't chosen for sexual amusement by the parish priest reflects badly on me! Sooooo, the proverbial cat was out of the bag. The fact that the older sister attended an all Methodist Girl's College was now made a glaring fact of life to me. They also said that even though we were breaking bread together, we would not have wine with dinner and they KNEW that would upset me since the Pope's children all liked wine.

I could tell that this was going to be a real fun weekend. I couldn't wait for the heavy artillery to be brought out. Shortly after dinner the caissons could be heard lining up on the high ground. Dad's first salvo was to deliver the news that EVERYBODY was going to the lake tomorrow for water skiing. By the way, dad inquired, had I been waterskiing, ever??? The reply to which was "No, never!". I went on to say that I was looking forward to it with heartfelt enthusiasm and therefore I would retire early so that I would have enough strength to pursue this new activity and be at my physically rested and mentally alert best.

The Lake

The next day was beautiful with sunshine, no wind, and hot as hell. A boat ride on the lake looked really good. When we arrived at the lake, dad introduced me to the tools of waterskiing. I quickly learned that waterskis were like snow skis only wider. Like their colder counterpart, the foot fittings did not take into account that some folks had size twelve feet. With size 12 feet, the fittings DO NOT RELEASE, no matter what the manufacturer might say in the package instructions. They just DON'T!

Since I am the "guest of honor", my turn at the skis will come up after the ladies show off. I couldn't wait. Both of them were completely at home on the skis. They glided over the water, jumped wakes, dumped one ski and slalomed about. Quite a spectacle! It brought smiles to everyone's faces and the fact that the girls were decked out in bikinis didn't hurt. They were hoisted back aboard the boat by the helmsman,Captain Dad. Captain Dad then indicated it was my turn.

Over the side I went. I put the skis on like they showed me. I put the rope between the skis like they told me. I didn't cross the skis like they warned me. I sat back on my ass like they told me was the proper "take off postion". I raised my hand to signal that I was "at ready". Then Captain Dad hit the gas! Did I tell you that in addition to being a Papist, that I am also "bespectackled"? Trust me, there is no point in being on the water without glasses if you are as blind as I am. Mind you, this is before the invention of contacts. Whither I goest, so goest my glasses! It's rule No.1! There's no room for a seeing eye dog or a little red tipped cane on the water. Without glasses you might just as well get in the washing machine at home and have people tell you how wonderful the sights are while you are thrashing around like Stevie Wonder in a whirlpool.

When Captain Dad hit the gas, I not only achieved a semi-erect position.......NO!....not there!.....I mean posture!.....but I also crossed my skis, leaned forward, and was dragged what seemed like an eternity. OK, I wasn't dragged, I was trolled! It sure as hell wasn't waterskiing! This monstrous process was repeated 2 or 3 more times, my memory is fading of the incident, but not the outcome. On try number 3 or 4 I finally got up on the skis. Then I did something that really pissed Captain Dad off. I cut over the wake. I jumped the wake! I did not, however, slalom!

I began to notice that the SPEED at which we were traveling EXCEEDED that which the ladies had enjoyed. I also noticed that the TURNS were tighter and that I would WHIP across the wake at an even greater speed thus proving that centrifugal force really did exist. It was somewhere in one of those outlandlishly high speed turns that one of the ski tips bit into a wave. My roommate on shore said that I skipped like a rock across the lake at least 7 times before coming to rest. My skis not only made a neat little "X" to mark the spot, but they also raised a knot on my forehead. While I lay there supported in the water by my ski belt nursing my wounds, I tried to piece together how I got there.

Captain Dad arrived and put it all in perspective for me. His very first words were, "Don't you ever lie to me again, you son of a *****!" Now I was taken aback by that statement. "Lie to him" and not the reference to my mother. Like when and about what?? To which he replied, "You said that you had never been on water skis before! That was a lie!" I replied in my defense that I HAD NOT lied. I had been surfing for years and did snow skiing ONCE, which was quite enough, ...but that's another story. He repeated that I had lied. I defended myself again by stating that the knowledge gained in ONE sport is completely transferable under normal circumstances to a similar sport. I fully agreed with him that NOTHING that I had learned in football or basketball would have helped me "out there", but it was very much like surfing. He saw the point, somewhat.....well maybe he had a glimmer.....I don't think he ever got it!

I wasn't going to go into the fact that I had been misled by the false claim that the skis would depart from my feet the moment that I got into trouble. A little communication between victim and host would also have been helpful, especially when reaching a "guilty" verdict unopposed. But those are just some of the minor issues that one lets slide as the "guest".

Later events would show that the same judge was present at all the trials. At this juncture in my visit, the beach at the lake looked mighty good. I offered up my roommate as the next sacrifice, but he was quick to claim that not only had he never been on water skis, but he had also never intended to do that, surf, snow ski or engage in any activity that would end up on ABC's Wide World of Sports........ESPN hadn't been invented yet.

The Hunt

That night I exempted myself from "THE Blessing", offering to learn how they did it in a nonheathen state. For dessert, I was informed that I would be part of "The Great Rabbit Hunt", which would take place the next morning, beginning at daybreak and ending when no rabbits were left alive in the adjoining counties. I was asked if I was familiar with firearms and remembering that I had misinformed my host on the waterskiing expedition, I was quick to say that I had some minor competitive performances with rifles but never had used a shotgun, though I'm sure my host knew how to use them both to hunt and for matrimonial purposes. I couldn't wait to hunt the wiley rabbit! I just knew that shooting a vegetarian would raise me in the esteem of my friends.

Next morning came and I was outfitted with my first shotgun, instructed in its operation and told which direction to point it in. We then gathered up a passle of beagles, 3 other "friends of the family" who bore a striking resemblance to Homer, Jethro, and Uncle Buck, ammunition and some "sweet potato wine". If you are not familiar with "sweet potato wine", I can't blame you. If you are ever offered some, especially as part of a prehunt ritual, refuse it. I, to my shame, did not, but then I WAS the honored guest.

It came in a Mason jar, which should have been a clue. Having had wine as a Papist, I thought I could handle whatever a sweet 'tater could throw at me. As the jar touched my lips and the liquid hit my throat, all the breath that I ever had left my body. It seemed like hours and I was sure that I was going to need CPR or at least a good chest thump before breathing as a natural act would start again. My response to the "wine" was greeted with howls of laughter by the hunting party, who all took manly swigs of the jar's contents, heaping compliments on the fellow that apparently last ran it through a radiator. They also poured a streak of it on the back of the truck, lit it and howled some more as the flames leaped to meet the morning sunrise. Unleash the dogs!!! Let the hunt begin!!

Now I had a familiarity with firearms, but I had never really hunted anything. I was basically a fisherman and catch & release isn't unheard of in that sport. Hunting apparently isn't like that or as I imagined it would be from reading Field and Stream Magazine. The dogs managed to scare at least 4 cats and one mangey dog out of the thickets. All these animals were dispatched by my fellow hunting partners with a minimum of one shot and depending on the mood, one for luck.

Finally, after 2 hours of shooting dogs and cats, a scraggly rabbit took off out of the thicket and headed across the barren field. A shout rang out from my host, no longer Captain Dad, but "High Point Hawkeye", noted rabbit killer par excellance, "Let the DUDE shoot it!". All eyes, it seemed, were glued to me.....the dude! Well, the dude shouldered his shotgun and neatly fired the 3 shots that were in the magazine. One shot in front of said rabbit. One shot behind the rabbit. And the final shot rang out over its head. The rabbit looked back in relief at the dude. It was now about 100 yards away from the hunting party. It was becoming a speck on the horizon. You could imagine the look of relief on its face as it could see the safety of the oncoming thicket. This rabbit was going to have a bad day. I could feel it, even as I sent a silent prayer towards the heavens.

My host, High Point Hawkeye, had in his possession a 22 caliber rifle. He shouldered his implement of destruction. He took ONE shot. The rabbit did a forward tumble and then buried its face in the dirt as it came to the abrupt, life ending stop. Apparently High Point was not impressed with my marksmanship and had to salvage this mission himself. I congradulated him on one helluva shot and told him that I was sure that HE was aware of my evening's plans with HIS daughter and that I would have her home, promptly at 10 pm, WELL before curfew. With that High Point retrieved the dead rabbit and one of the others, I think Jethro, put it in his game jacket and smacked his lips at the upcoming feast. I didn't ask for the recipe, but just knew that it involved testicles.

The rest of the evening and the weekend would basically become a disaster. While I was being entertained by the "host of many colors", my roommate had struck up a relationship with the eldest daughter that took on, let's say, "proportions". As I tried to maintain my best behavior, he went on to fun and games which would have made most Romans proud. Debauching fair maidens became a new sport. I would not become aware of this until later. After dark, ALL the gremlins were loosed.

I chose to retire early, due to my anticipation of the long drive back to school. Remember the house floor plan? Somewhere past midnight someone joined me in my "guest" bed. Since I'm a confirmed heterosexual, I was about to get outraged, because I could only surmise that my roommate had made a sleepy or drunken mistake to disturb MY slumber. The body next to me then threw an arm over me and it was a far less hairy, far softer arm then he. This was not good!

I found "the young lady in question" in my bed. Something had to be done and no it wasn't "that". I explained to her that if I was to have ANY lasting favorable impression on her parents that "this" was an extremely bad move. Her defense was that her sister and my roomate were going at it like two cats in heat and she didn't feel that it was fair that we should be left out of the bacchanalia. It was apparently true because from my location on the other side of the dreaded room, I could hear thumping against the wall and on the floor that usually accompanied the making of the "beast with two backs". That was not good either. I took the only course left open to me. I told her to get the hell out of the room post haste, and I would try to salvage something from this disaster in the morning.

Morning has broken

The next morning might be entitled "Breakfast in Dread". Both the mistress of the house and her husband were in a dour mood. There was stoney silence as we took our seats at the breakfast table and the announcement went out, "Who's looking for forgiveness this morning?" Silence. Apparently we were having some concern over the ambiguity of the statement, so HE rephrased it to "Who's going to church and in need of forgiveness?". Well that was a bit more helpful. I glanced at roommate and older sister and pronounced that I wasn't in need of anything except a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast with as many grits as I could jam into my pie hole. I also didn't want to look silly at the chapel, since I didn't bring along my Sunday best and I was terribly afraid that I might kneel and bless myself at the wrong parts, possibly exposing the whole family to ridicule after I was gone.

"Stoney" then stated his displeasure at also loosing some sleep, for a variety of reasons. It seems that there was some unnatural noises eminating from his house last night and it disturbed him greatly. I wanted to reply that I was sorry that he and the missus forgot how to make the "beast", but I replied that I had no personal idea where such a disturbance might have come from. At this point I saw a glimmer of "High Point" returning to his visage and apparently I was going to be the rabbit. Before he got a good bead on me, I decided to take evasive action and offer my wingman to his guns.

I told him that after suffering through a near drowning, after having my esophagus eroded by "wine", after experiencing a demonstration of marksmanship......ALL at his hand, what would make him think that I would go out of my way to upset him? I for one had a clean conscience in the affair and would appreciate it if he would put the "poo poo" on someone else's plate since I would not partake of that meal. My plate was quite full, thank you. As a final remark I told him that my relationship with HIS daughter might fall apart on its own someday, but I would appreciate it if he would let Nature take its course rather than trying to force a decision this early in the game. Stoney then turned his icey glare to his "other" other daughter who was home on leave from the Virgin Vault at the religious bastion.......and my exroommate. I left the table at that point and began packing. I had had my fill. Time to go.

As it turned out Nature did take its course. Years later I got a phone call from her asking of my current circumstances. I replied that since our parting I had met and married a delightful lady with many talents and a degree of understanding of me which I could not fathom since I found my own presence intolerable at times. I went on to say that I hoped that she had been as fortunate, and wished her well. I never heard from her again. I've also never heard from my exroommate either, ..............but apparently he found some religion in the South that Sunday.

I know that this was a long read. I also had no intention of "hijacking" a thread. The posting of the thread just reminded me of a LONG time ago....in a GALAXY FAR AWAY! Forgive me for going past "19 lines" as some say a post should be limited to.
 

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MAN -- That's FUNNY -- My first wife's family are ALL from the South but not quite that bad. My father-in-law was from Tenn -- Walking Tall County --Henderson.
BTW -- That Southern Nectre can kill ya
 

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Tom, Great read and it brings back a few memories as well, all though they didn't take place down south. Rural areas are the same whether in the Carolinas or PA.
 
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