Yesterday afternoon, we drove to Bladen County to spend the day at Brandon’s parents’ place, having a “Peanut Boil.” For those not living in North Carolina, this is pronounced “Peanut Boll.” (Sometimes it sounds like “bowl,” and sometimes “bull,” depending on who’s speaking and how quickly it’s said.) We ate boiled peanuts and oatmeal raisin cookies and drank sweeeeeet tea and grape Crush. Brandon’s parents’ place is country, in all the loveliest ways. Driving there, we passed fields with rows of cotton, and we stopped at Bo’s grocery store for some hamburger buns, for the burgers we ended up not eating to save more room for peanuts.
I had never had boiled peanuts (whenever you see that, just say to yourself: bolled peanuts—it has to be one syllable, or it doesn’t count) before we moved to North Carolina. I’d seen the guys selling them on the side of the road, but that didn’t seem like something I’d want to try. But, these boiled peanuts are really something else. First of all, they’re huge. One peanut might be three or four inches long, and thick as a roll of nickels. You open the shell by biting the peanut’s “nose,” and if it’s a juicy one, there will be this heavenly salty, nutty broth first. Then, the peanuts, which are soft with a creamy texture. Mmmm, mmmm. We left with a gallon bag for us, and one for Warren and Sharon, who, sadly, couldn’t make it.
Next month is the North Carolina State Fair, which has, we’ve been told, fried anything (candy bars, pastries, fruit), ice-cold fresh milk, and things to watch: a demolition derby, a tractor pull (whatever that is), bluegrass, square dancing. Sometimes it strikes me that I am living in a place I am decidedly not from. I wasn’t technically from Florida either, but I lived there from age four on, so I might as well have been. I could say I wasn’t from there without actually feeling like it. And most of the time, I don’t think about it—I’m living in a beach town, and a beach town is where I feel I’m from. But then I drive a little west and I’m passing cotton and saying “peanut boll.” I wonder if I’ll live here long enough to forget I’m not from here. If I’ll stop feeling a little like a tourist (fried candy bars!) and more like a native. In a way, I don’t want to feel like a native. I feel Floridian with a bit of West Virginia thrown in. If I felt North Carolinian, who would I be?
If it happens, or if it doesn’t happen, if we stay or eventually move, if we end up with kids who have Southern accents, well, at least there’s always boiled peanuts.
9 Comments
It’s that refrain of where home really is and what really makes home. I guess where one is from is not always the same thing as home, but the deepest meaning of home. I think you’re right though, that though there are mixed feelings about leaving behind roots to adopt new ones, as long as you’re learning and enjoying along the way, it’s great!
I’ve only had one “bolled peanut” in my life, and it really wasn’t bad. Very much exceeded and defeated my expectations. Still, I’ve only had one. After your description, I’d like to try them again… just maybe not from a roadside vendor.
I should probably be afraid of stopping for boiled peanuts on the side of the road in Central Florida, but I’m not. It’s significantly more convenient than boiling peanuts all by myself for myself! The funny thing is that while I like peanut butter and peanut sauce and so forth, I rather dislike roasted peanuts. But I love me some bolled peanuts!
Also, this State Fair you speak of sounds delightful.
I never really feel like I’m from anywhere. Maybe it’s a fractured identity thing. Or maybe it’s a Florida thing. Silly as it sounds, so far, Hawaii is the only place I’ve ever been where I actually felt like I truly fit in (because just about everyone is of mixed heritage and the odd ones out are the ones who aren’t!) I think maybe you’d feel like you’ve set down roots in NC if you had children there, who identified with things like tractor pulls and whatnot.
haha you’d probably be me
north carolinian through and through.
with livermush and cheerwine and bolled peanuts!! (sorry i hit submit too soon earlier!)
I have lived here my whole life and I still don’t feel like I belong. I am not a southerner and everything you mentioned about the NC State Fair would annoy me to death. It’s amazing how even people who are “from” somewhere can not feel like they are “from” that place.
I guess that is what a wandering heart does to a person…
Zea: if you and Sabrina take that road trip up here one day, let’s plan it for when the peanuts will be ready, and then we’ll have Brandon boil you some nice and fresh!
Sabrina: I do wonder if it’s a Florida thing to not feel like you’re from anywhere. Or, a thing you get when you’re raised in a place where you weren’t born. I don’t think I felt like I was from Florida really until I left, and now I realize I identify with that part of the world probably more than any other place. But that could also be because I had the feeling that most of us Floridians weren’t really from Florida either, so there was a component of shared non-identity, or at least the perception of it. If you ever move to Hawaii I should be very interested to hear whether that becomes home-like, whether you feel rooted there in a way that’s new, or what.
Betsy: You’re adorable. I can do Cheerwine, but I don’t know what livermush is and don’t think I want to find out…
Dave: I often forget that you’re “from” here. You don’t seem Southern, really. What I wonder is this: Am I looking for something that doesn’t even exist? Is it possible to feel one belongs to a place? My parents feel that way about West Virginia. They were born and raised there. But, I don’t have that. Maybe I am intrinsically different; perhaps it’s a personality thing. There’s another part of me that says, though, if I could just manage to end up in California or the Pacific Northwest…but I wonder if I’d get there and “find” my Southern self coming out. Maybe I just like contrast.
If you ask my dad, he would tell you that I have been a West Coast-er my whole life. I have always pulled for West Coast sports teams and loved the weather.
I think you can feel like you belong to a place, but I don’t think the locale will be the determining factor. I feel like I belong in Wilmington, but I don’t belong in the South and esp. not in a southern beach town. It’s a slow lesson in contentment that I will probably struggle with my whole life. I have always wanted adventure and different, changing scenery but God has something different for me and I have to learn to submit my plans to Him. Not that I think there is anything inherently sinful about wanting to be somewhere else, but it can turn in to discontentment and really effect every part of your life (trust me, I am speaking from experience). And I do think that it has a lot to do with personality. Melissa feels like she belongs here and loves it. I know plenty of people who feel the same way. That is just not me. So for now I will stay a Seattle-ite living in a southern beach town, ha! (I say that with no regret. I love my life!)
Maybe one day PC3 will launch a campus on the West Coast and we’ll all move out there. Ha, you never know! One can dream.
There’s definitely something to being content wherever you are. There are a lot of wonderful things about Wilmington that I enjoy even though I’m not from here. Feeling like I fit in is not my highest concern about a place. I think it’s possible to dream about something else while remaining content in a place, so that’s what I’ll keep on trying to do.
Jesse and I have always wanted to visit Seattle. When we save up enough money, that’s first on our vacation list. You’ll have to give us some recommendations for what to see, where to eat, etc.
I would love to go to Seattle too!! I think Brandon might be convinced if we were going to attend a Mars Hill service, but he is not a fan of “city things”. I love a good musical or show, and coffee shops surrounded by cool restaurants and stores. Brandon, however, does not like crowds, so most of those are avoided. I do get great bolled peanuts, though, and lots of fun camping trips!