Ann Ipock
            Humorist, author, speaker

Georgetown Times

Roots That Sprout Southern Hospitality

By Ann Ipock                                                     January 9, 2008

Y’all, I just want to say that Southern hospitality is alive and well up North — that is, if you want to call Wilmington, N.C., “up North,” as hubby Russell jokes.

If you don’t believe it, just listen to these true stories of how friends in my new neighborhood have brought me into the fold by making me feel just like one of them, nearly adopting me, as it were.

Yep. We pulled up roots a few months back, eagerly anticipating our new lives here, and have not been disappointed (though we do miss our old friends).

How many people can say their neighbor stopped her car in the middle of the road just to say hello, then within five minutes was giving her new friend (me) a chiropractic treatment? Well, sort of. Gloria waved when I was outside watering my newly planted wisteria, but all I could do was the beauty queen quarter-turn wave because I had a terrible crick in my neck. Don’t worry. I told her of my plight, or else she’d probably have squealed tires getting away from me and my scary robotic-like stance.

Her reply was, “I know how to fix that. Care if I try?” Before I could say “spinal manipulation,” she whipped into my driveway and marched inside my home, ordering me to sit on a hard-back chair. I did. Then she stood behind me, bent her arm and with the tip of her elbow, pressed in a firm, circular motion, deeply massaging the tissue between my neck and shoulder. Voila! I was more or less “cured” in less than five minutes.

But wait — there’s more (lots more)! How many people can say that the president of the homeowners association stopped in to say hello and ended up helping his new friend (me) make up her bed? Again, I was outside tinkering in my yard when Flo (a very active retiree) stopped by and asked me how things were going. I invited him inside to tour our home, and since he’s friendly, curious and mannerly, he couldn’t refuse. He oohed and aahed, commenting on what we’d done here.

As I stepped into our bedroom (I always save it for last because it’s my favorite), I moaned, “Oh, no! I didn’t make up my bed yet.” I was so embarrassed! He said that didn’t matter, then surprised me with, “Come on! I’ll help you. I help Hazel make up our bed every morning.” And he did.

We’d only been here a few days when Alma, who lives next door, came over with goodies: fruit and flowers. Now we go to lunch together and share other things. I recently baked brownies for her. She brought me over barbecued pork. We often discuss music, since she taught in the schools here until retirement, and Katie, our daughter, is a music (flute) major. Oh, and we even water each other’s tomatoes when one of us goes away.

But one very kind friend who did not make his presence known to us directly (but is now adored as well) is Hugh. Little did we know that he’s the one who’s been throwing the newspaper on our front porch each day.

And the only reason I found out was a neighbor introduced us on the sidewalk — a frequent occurrence in our small-knit community. What happens, I later learned, is that our newspaper carrier throws out everyone’s paper and it lands on the sidewalk.

Then, Hugh, on his near-dawn walk every single morning, reaches down, picks up the paper and throws it onto our porches. Isn’t that amazing? You gotta love him! It’s interesting in that the first week we had our paper delivered, we found it on the porch — only to discover the next week we found it on the sidewalk.

We were tempted to call and give the newspaper folks a fit, but shrugged it off, thinking their normal carrier was on vacation.

Another set of neighbors, Betty and Al, walked by and admired the Black-Eyed Susans I was planting one afternoon late. Sensing Al was a serious gardener, I asked him where he’d place the flowers if he were me. The next thing I knew, he picked up the shovel and began digging a hole. A real gentleman with manners plus.

And though I’ve not witnessed a “Welcome Wagon,” a Welcome SUV came by one Saturday with Pat and Peg inside, armed with a directory, our bylaws and a good luck wish. Our chat was fun and enlightening.

Another great meeting: When daughter Kelly, granddaughter Madison and I swam in the pool one afternoon, we began talking with our friends Mary and Jack. They attend the church where Russell works (as do Flo and Hazel).

Mary suggested Russell go golfing with Jack, as he has a regular tee time every Saturday nearby. And he has. Russell misses his old foursome but really enjoys his new golf group.

And finally I met a darling single woman by chance at the mailboxes one day. Kim and I hit it off and within minutes were chatting like old friends. And because we have the same style home and were both relatively new in the neighborhood, we discussed everything from arranging furniture to storage closets to water sprinklers. She travels with her job, but we share lots of news and laughs when she comes home.

One last thing: The ladies here even have bi-monthly luncheons and I just attended my first one. As we sat on the waterfront, dining on hush puppies, fresh seafood and sweet tea, we compared notes of where we’d come from and how long we’d lived here. There was lots of laughter and friendliness, as we women — younger and older — bonded. I can see myself in 20 years or so, probably the oldest one at the table, telling the stories I just told you. I love it up North and now you see why.

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