The Marion Mom’s Newcomers’ Guide to Town

In grade school, I was perpetually tardy to the swanky private school in Memphis that I attended because the New Bridge was perpetually under construction, leaving an everlasting bottle-neck with no detour options from this side of the river.

I'd enter late, head down, eyes averted, hoping to cause no interruption.

Without fail, a Memphian classmate would proclaim some intended offense such as “What's the matter? Did your tractor break down again?”

The ensuing guffaws confused me. Although I didn't actually drive a tractor to school, as an Arkansan, the idea of driving a tractor to school energized me. It didn't embarrass me.

Because I (heart) Arkansas. As I grew up here, I absorbed, more than noticed, our Arkansas pride and distinct cultural mores.

But when I married a transplant from metro-Atlanta (Atlanta, people!), I saw right away the need for some intense training in Arkansas etiquette and expectations if we were going to keep any friends.

So here, dear readers, are some quick tips on how to navigate the murky waters of Crittenden County society (these rules apply to most of the rest of the state as well…): 1. Learn to say, “Bless your heart” to veil your insults or soften your criticism, as in, “Your little garden isn't doing so well, is it? Bless your heart.” (Translation: “You must not have a lick of sense about you if you can't even get okra and tomatoes to grow.”) 2. Here, gumbo is not a stew. It's dirt. Really gummy, sticky dirt that'll make “dingy” your new favorite color for freshlylaundered tshirts (It's also why I've never really had much of a green thumb, thank you very much).

3. Choose Jonesboro over Memphis whenever given the chance. My husband still marvels at the number of people we meet in Marion who will take a leisurely trip to Jonesboro (a full hour away) for shopping needs rather than venture across the bridge to Southaven (35 minutes.

Precisely. Except for the perpetual construction traffic on the Interstates.)

4. If for any reason you do need to discuss travel to Memphis, use the terms “New Bridge” and “Old Bridge,” even though the new bridge is nearly as old as I am. They have actual names, but you'll just confuse people if you try to use them.

5. Similarly, learn where the old Big Star, the old post office, and the old revenue office were located.

Locals will give you directions using those landmarks, even though you have absolutely no way of knowing how to find these obscure places of antiquity, except, of course, by their current occupants.

6. Learn the lingo. My Georgian husband, fluent in Southern Belle southern, chuckled a little learning Redneck southern.

“Fittina” means “going to,” as in, “I'm fittina go to Jonesboro.” The preposition “on” is always pronounced “own.”

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as in “turn the lights own” (It can be very confusing).

• Walmart and Kroger are both plural in the vernacular, “Headin’ to Krogers!”

• Peench means pinch.

• Ain't is an acceptable vocabulary term you learn in elementary school.

• “Coke” is a generic term for a soda, not an actual soft drink brand.

You order like this: “I'll have a coke, please.”

“Okay, what kind?”

“Dr. Pepper.”

7. Get a truck. We shot right through the minivan stage of family life into the maxi-van phase. I happen to enjoy my fancy, black, limousine van with dual air conditioners and an entertainment system (Praise Jesus!) My poor husband inherited the old minivan, which just exceeded 200,000 miles. (Should we take pride in that?)

Admittedly, no macho vibes exude that vehicle, just an air of despair and pity, as in, “Look at that man driving a minivan, bless his heart.” A truck will also haul a trailer with manly flourish. I explained to my husband that I don't know why we need a trailer. Sometimes, you just haul a trailer in Marion to remind folks you live here.

8. Learn to fish. I grew up privileged to spend many hours on a motorboat fishing with my family for bass and crappie, which is spelled like “crappy” but pronounced like “croppy” (I also have a vague memory of catching a Mother-inlaw fish, thusly named because of its ugly visage, but that could have just been my dad's way of having a little fun.) When conversation with Marion acquaintances hit the ubiquitous awkward pause, any fishing-related comment can rev it back up again.

For. Hours.

9. Not unrelated: Learn to hunt. I don't suppose buying a hunting license actually counts as knowing how to hunt, but it can sure fool the locals into thinking you belong in the club.

When you actually do experience the testosteronefilled prowling preying, and preparing your own meat, invest in a good taxidermist. You can't let those trophies go to waste without proclaiming the true musk of your Arkansan roots.

No room is off-limits to a deer head, either. Not even the bedroom.

10. Trains. The more you complain about the trains, the better you'll fit in.

They're loud. Because of the location of the crossings in relation to our home, five or six elongated, high-decibel blasts at a time interrupt our conversation on a regular basis.

And by regular, I mean hourly. If not more. Even at night. They're also long… long enough to block every crossing in Marion in one fell swoop, and if you get excited to see one train finally clearing out, a second one will shortly come to take its place. Take a book with you if you plan to cross the tracks.

11. Tornadoes. Fix up a “'fraidy closet” and make sure there's plenty of fullycharged electronics, all your important paperwork, tennis shoes, and chocolate. Above all, if you happen to fall asleep under a tornado watch, don't sleep in the nude.

12. Torrents and thunderstorms. It seems far too regular that heavy rains flood our streets, our land, and our houses. A few weeks ago, my husband waded through thigh-deep waters in his church clothes to access his office. I think I'll buy him a wetsuit for Christmas. Theyshould include one for every newcomer in the welcome wagon.

13. You must root for the Razorbacks. Razorback Frenzy threw us for a real loop during our first football season here. I promise I've always been a Razorback fan, but most of my married life, I lived elsewhere, and therefore lived in blissful ignorance the lengths true fans are expected to go to show their team spirit. Don't even think about planning anything non-football related on the weekends during football season.

14. We don't hang out at coffee shops here. We hang out at Shake Shack. Or Cliff's… yes, the tractor supply store. 'Nuff said.

15. Join a church.

Everyone who is anyone associates with some religious organization. It's a thing my pastor calls “Southern Churchianity.”

Church offers opportunity to catch up on fishing, hunting, the latest outing to Jonesboro, the Razorbacks, and train-tornado- torrent trouble. Oh, and that Jesus guy, too, who actually, in all technicality, claims to be a resident of Marion as well.

(You'd think He, of all people, could do something about the train situation…

Am I right?!)

As far as I can tell, we're adjusting right nice. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm fittina head to Jonesboro to purchase

Dorothy Wilson lives i Marion with her husband Chris as they enjoy all the adventures life with their seven children brings. This article originally appeared in the December 2014 edition of the Marion Ledger… but the rules still apply.