Of Southern Comfort

It has been a family tradition every time we drive up north to the cabin by the mountains. Twice a year, during spring or summer, and then during fall or winter. 

That old country store and restaurant where we stop for Southern comfort food on our drive up to the cabin— the rocking chairs waiting outside, the Southern gift shop with all the childhood candies and soda pops, and the wonderful trinkets especially during the holidays. The big warm fireplace awaiting us as we sit at our table. That tiny game left on every table so the kids (and parents) take turns to see who can play it the best. The hostesses who call the kids “dahlin” or “sweetie pie”. And of course, the food. Southern. Comfort. Food. Hmm, I could smell and taste them as I write this. 

There’s a reason they call it “southern comfort”. They have the best southern hospitality. Comfort food. Family feast. Laughter. And that extra piece of chocolate or moon pies that we each pass through the cashier as we pay on our way out. 

When I began writing this, my husband and I were driving up north to our cabin in the mountains. And every time I see a sign. I scream the name out loud. I still feel the excitement. But it’s different now. Not just because of the kids flying out of the nest to live their own lives, but with the illness that is ravaging the entire globe. We could still go if we want to. But we chose not to. We feel it’s not quite safe. Yet. 

I don’t know where I’m going with this but all I know is my heart aches, longing for times gone by. The family tradition, the southern hospitality, the sound of laughter, of kids running around, and the best comfort food. 

Comfort. The comfort of having to go anywhere without worrying about touching anything or anybody. The comfort of family and friends get-togethers without having to worry about who’s sick or not. The comfort of being inside an enclosed space without thinking if the place has good ventilation. The comfort of sharing a meal with the entire family without thinking if the kids have washed their hands enough. 

I long for the time spent together when the family can come to that place again. I can’t wait to smell the comforting scent of Southern food, the reassuring voice of Southern hospitality. I can’t wait for things to get back to how it was. 

But now we have this “new normal”. It’s been a year since. So, do we still call it new? Is this the “norm” now? Can we still get back to how we were before this savage of an illness affected us all? We all have gone through a lot, and yet here we are doing our best to make sure things will turn around for the better, What would “normal” look like when this is all over? 

I’m hoping that when things settle down, I can still find the comfort that this Southern country store offered during my kids’ growing years. That it will be there waiting for us with the rocking chairs waiting upfront, the scent of childhood candies and scented candles in the front store, the cozy wood-burning fireplace, the hustle and bustle to serve the best comfort food in this part of our world, and the lovely southern voice that comes with hospitality. 

 Southern comfort. Just breathing that in as I close my eyes gives me the warm embrace of hope that only “the South” can satiate. 

Here’s to the future. Here’s to upcoming waves of laughter. Here’s to comfort food. Here’s to comfort. Here’s to a brave new hope.  

Let’s all do our part. Keep your hopes up. We’ll all get there. We are not stuck. There is a way out of this chaos and uncertainties. Things will eventually get better. How things look now is not how they’ll always be. The best days are yet to come. We’ll all get together again and eat our meals next to the comfort of the big wood-burning fireplace as kids play around and my favorite hostess hands me my favorite rootbeer.

“When we deny our stories, they define us. When we own our stories, we get to write a brave new ending.” ~Brene Brown