Skip to content

Northern Lights, Southern Exposure: A Yankee’s Thoughts on Living in the South

May 11, 2016

Sally Mann cameraI’ve been on a Sally Mann kick lately.

In the span of a few days, I binge-watched a recent CBS Sunday Morning segment, then a documentary about her life and photography. And if that wasn’t enough, I read her memoir, Hold Still, and reacquainted myself with her stunning body of work (at least what we have of it on our bookshelves) – from the controversial photos of her young children in Immediate Family to What Remains, her visual meditations on death.

And yet, despite how compelling I find her process and meticulous attention to detail, what’s stuck with me most is her philosophy of capturing the local, the immediate, rather than the highly conceptual, the wide-flung and international.

She talks at great length about being a southerner and loving the south – warts and all. In the way you love your family, even if some of them make you want to put a nail gun to your temple. Or theirs.

After having now spent a good deal of my adult life in the South, interpreting Sally Mann’s work and reading her life story has made me think about my own evolution in thought about my adopted home.

Sally Mann self portrait

I grew up in the suburbs of Chicago, surrounded by neighbors with last names like O’Malley, Dulik, Zito and Dumbrowski. And I’m a Yankee who moved south with many, if not all of the same prejudices that my northern peers excel at.

See if this sounds familiar: the South is racist, backward, quaint, overly-mannered, full of fake smiles. It’s uneducated, unenlightened, and uninterested in ever evolving out of its troubled past.

I won’t discount them. Stereotypes don’t appear out of nowhere in a puff of pink genie smoke. Like gossip, they hold some truth.

Except that the South is also beautiful in a weeping, classical sense. Lush. It’s air is like hot breath, and it’s people are neighborly, stubborn, courtly, and languorous.

When I dropped off an antique clock at a repairman’s in April and asked when I should plan on picking it up, the clerk said – I kid you not, “Why don’t you try back about Thanksgivin’ ma’am.” The place was as quiet as church. The man as leisurely as a sip on a Mint Julep.


As a compulsive storyteller and story-listener, living in the South has provided fascination and fodder for me. Like the Irish, Southerners are lyrical in their thought and speech, chronicling the local through verse, drama, a pick on a guitar.

Think Mark Twain, Edgar Allan Poe, Frederick Douglass, Kate Chopin, William Faulkner, Tennessee Williams. And this is only a sampling from the immediate post Civil War period – a time when the South was utterly devastated and had no business contributing to the canon.

Post war stars of the literati include Eudora Welty, Flannery O’Connor, Harper Lee, William Styron, Truman Capote, Tom Wolfe, Anne Rice, John Grisham, Pat Conroy and Tom Robbins, just to name a few.

(Ok, I know I went heavy on the writers here, but what do you expect?)

It is because of the South that we have Jazz, Country and Rock-n-Roll music. Around the world, hearts ache, flutter and rejoice to the distinctly southern sounds of Johnny Mercer, Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton, Lyle Lovett, Jimmy Buffett, REM, The Black Crowes and yes, Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Because there is a depth in Dixie, one that plays muse to those of us inclined to interpret and examine. Maybe sing a love song. It lies beneath the wrap-around porches and behind the polite banter. In the tiny, time-warp towns that dot the valleys.

It is evident in the writings of Thomas Jefferson, notably “The Declaration of Independence.” In perhaps one of history’s great ironies, this document, written by a southern gentleman and slave owner, includes what has been called the greatest sentence ever written:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

sally mann jump

Still, at least for Yankees, the Hollywood invented “Dukes of Hazzard” TV show seems a more typical example of southern culture.

Now, I’m not putting the blame squarely in the lap of un-watchable early eighties television here. It would appear the South’s reputation as a cultural backwater has been around for a while. It really took off in the 1920s, when Yankee writer H.L. Mencken penned a satirical piece highlighting the South’s inability to produce anything of cultural value. He became wildly popular after the publication of his essay, and his perceptions have stuck, taking on a life of their own and feeding the imaginations of coastal city rats.

Sally Mann underwater

Years ago, when I acted in a British play (“Grace” by Doug Lucie), I portrayed a southern woman.  A theater critic (NYC born and bred) spotlighted my excellent southern accent while disparaging another actress whose cadence “seemed fake” to him. Only that I’d gotten my accent from TV and my fellow actress was a real live southerner from Alabama.

I’m not saying this to pick on the critic – not much, anyway. It’s just that we northerners think we know southerners the way people think they know Britney Spears. We’re vaguely aware that regional inflections exist, but are utterly incapable of distinguishing between a Texan’s drawl and a Virginian’s lilt. We snicker about the South’s preoccupation with the Civil War. The statues of Stonewall Jackson and Robert E. Lee, the re-enactors.

“War, war, war,” if I can quote Scarlett O’Hara. Get over it!, we say.

But can you really blame southerners for their obsession? The Civil War was the pivotal event in our country’s history – the one that scarred us, shaped us, grew us up and made us who we are today. It happened on southern soil – the fighting and the bleeding, the burning, the gouging and the tears. Then the aftermath. The shame which lives on.

Sally Mann haunted landscape

As Sally Mann points out, southerners are the only non-immigrant Americans who know what it’s like to lose. To return home in utter defeat…to crawl back to their families quite literally on their hands and knees. To have been on the wrong side of history and morality.

When you look at other cultures who have had to navigate devastating losses – the Slavs, the Germans, the Jews, the African-Americans – they share with the American South a fixation on who we are that’s difficult for your average Yankee to understand.

Here is my interpretation.

Yes, the South is the place of lynchings and the Ku Klux Klan. But it is also a place of self-reflection, of having to own up to devastating mistakes. Of trying painfully, desperately to change, without losing a sense of identity and dissolving into self-loathing and bitterness. Or violence.

Despite the specter of the past, or maybe because of it, there is a fellowship here that I never encountered in any place I’ve lived in the North. A sense of family and level of comfort between the classes and races that I admit took some getting used to.

Not because I didn’t like it, but because I simply didn’t expect it.

In many parts of the South, including my own neighborhood, the poor, middle class and rich still live on the same street. When there’s a big storm, we offer those who lost power a place to hang out. When there’s snow, we help shovel each others driveways. We know each other’s kids. We smile and wave at each other. We don’t lock our doors.

And yes, I mean “we” now. We’ve been here long enough that we can’t say “they” very credibly anymore. This is the place our children call home.

There are Confederate flags tacked in the windows of ramshackle country homes and there’s a proliferation of “Don’t Tread On Me” licence plates. Delusions of grandeur permeate every level of society. There is ignorance, and a simultaneous fear of moving on and being left behind. But southerners don’t have the luxury of placing themselves above it all the way northerners do. The way I used to.

Southerners have had to look one another in the eye for a long time, and deal with a disgraceful past. Clumsily perhaps. Imperfectly. But with a sense of “the local” that Sally Mann inherently understands. Her images of Civil War battlefields depict strips of land that have absorbed blood, death and despair, but remain luxurious. Reclining sensually, and with a weary grin, they tell our story.

Sally Mann Georgia

All photographs by Sally Mann.


  1. BRILLIANT! As all your writing, and a new discovery for me Sally Mann. A sense of belonging is absolutely great. Where we live it is essential to fit in. Whether one ended up by choice or force.
    I lived in the Deep South in the late 60s and it was segregated, but there was no dislike for Mexicans, so my experience was wonderful, welcoming and warm; my step grandfather was considered a Southerner, a Virginian; ironically born in Mexico, but to very white American parents.
    Today in South Florida we jokingly, (but accurately ) say we live in a suburb of Manhattan. People are as Urban and characteristically as abrupt as can be.
    A mere thirty minute drive north does get me to the God Fearing and Gun loving areas that begin Florida’s Bible Belt a place where I cannot even remotely imagine fitting in or being welcome.

    • Parts of Florida are SO Manhattan. Parts of Charleston, SC are now, too. It’s weird how the South has been colonized in parts. Charlottesville, being home to UVA, is a sort of island, but all around it is deep country. We drove through a tiny town – and I mean tiny – on Sunday, and it could’ve been the 1930s.

  2. Beautiful, Victoria. I have seen Mann’s work exhibited once and I’ve visited briefly Louisiana and I adore Southern writers (I remember a course on Faulkner and other Southern writers at Mount Holyoke). I think you are spot on on the issue of losing and of course many legacies.

  3. Fascinating article and comment, Catalina. I need to come and visit the Southern states to learn more about this, My knowledge of this is so shallow and undifferentiated. Very interesting and beautifully written (and photographed) – as always ❤

  4. Come visit us, Christoph! We welcome spouses and dogs 🙂

  5. Wonderful, beautifully written and wise! As a northerner who has only visited the South, I love the people, the history and the gracious beauty of places like Georgia and South Carolina. Places like Savannah and Charleston draw me in and make me stand back respectfully, filled with awe at their quiet beauty and a much harsher history than anything I have grown up with. I have spent too little time in these beautiful places to have any real understanding of them, but it is clear that Northern stereotypes far miss the mark. Thank you for writing and sharing for this wonderful post!

  6. Thank you, Robin.

  7. Lunar permalink

    I’m a displaced Yankee too and it’s different sometimes, but not overall unpleasant. And it doesn’t hurt that the southern gentleman stereotype mostly holds true…

  8. bmayes76 permalink

    I am a Southerner born and bred. I LOVED this!! My fathers family is all from Michigan, but my mothers family is from the South. When I went to visit my relatives up North, the difference in the way people are treated was a shock to me and my senses. While I loved visiting with my Yankee family, I feel more at home with strangers in the South. Wonderfully written and thank you for helping others understand!

  9. Louis Burklow permalink

    As a Southerner who lives in California, I find myself trying to explain to others what it’s really like to live there. This post does a better job of it than I ever have. Great work, VIctoria.

  10. Thanks, Louis. I think the South is the most interesting part of the country and that always baffles my CA friends (we used to live in SF)

  11. vickylonia permalink

    I am forced to ask for more if there is.
    Good writes you gat here.

    My name is Vicky Lonia
    I have a blog too
    Just followed you, do follow back. Thanks.

  12. Love it! You nailed it! However, I’m going back to the ‘potty picture’ – Much more imagery! (Smiley Face!)

  13. I love the potty picture, BR!

  14. Mark permalink

    My Versailles (KY, horse country) is not the one of your picture. I’m a transplant from upstate NY, not the city. I’m not even sure Kentucky is the South, but it’s sure not the North, despite being North of the Mason-Dixon line and fighting on the Union side in the Civil War.

    The first thing I notice is the pace. It’s more relaxed. It annoys my wife, who is from Japan and as is typical in a country where you miss the train if you are 30 seconds late, always in a hurry. I think she’ll be OK, in a few years… I think I’m home, for the first time in my life.

    The second thing that strikes me about the South is the churches. They are everywhere, and a much bigger part of everyday life.

    Very thoughtful article, thank you.

  15. Thanks for reading – and I missed the churches. You’re right – they’re everywhere.

  16. D Taylor permalink

    I also live in central KY, a transplant from western NY. Churches are everywhere here, more than 18 in 5 mile radius of my house in a rural part of the county, but not far from a small city. I live on a country lane with wealthy and not so wealthy folks-huge to small small houses. People are much more friendly here than w. NY- and life is somewhat slower. As Mark stated, I’m not sure KY is the south, but neither is it the north. Two cities in my county fought against each other (mostly) in the Civil War and skirmishes/battles occurred not far away.

    • KY may not “officially” be part of the south, but it has always felt very southern to me. Granted, I’ve only been a visitor…thanks for reading 🙂

Trackbacks & Pingbacks

  1. Northern Lights, Southern Exposure: A Yankee’s Thoughts on Living in the South | Defining Ways

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: