It was only a year ago that my visit to Tennessee was coming to a close. Being with my son and daughter-in-law had been a joy, and I felt torn heading north to the city that had been my home for more years than I care to admit. No matter where I drove on Tennessee’s Cumberland Plateau, the wild, almost primeval landscape called to me. It wasn’t enough to park myself on the surface during visits, I felt a strong pull to belong to the land, to grow roots.

So I asked my family to find me a good realtor—who is now a dear friend—all the while thinking in the long night hours, What are you doing? People don’t up and buy a home just like that! Yet in the day, I moved forward with my pro list outweighing my con one. I hedged my bet. I would do the 6-month snow-bird thing for a while. I can always sell if it doesn’t work out.

The Divine Meddler

Okay, that’s a shameless plug for my novel of the same name, but I really believe God was pointing the way and “making straight my path.” In other words, meddling as only he can and does. I found the perfect home, nestled among the kindest, friendliest people I could imagine.

I quickly discovered that there is such a thing as southern hospitality and grace. Encounters with strangers linger a bit longer and one comes away feeling, well, kind of loved.

Before I returned to Tennessee months later, my son periodically checked my mailbox and left a few items on the counter. One was an envelope and a newspaper addressed to a neighbor. When I rang her doorbell, mail in hand, a delightful woman answered.

“I’m not ___ . I live down the lane. We’ve been so looking forward to meeting our new neighbor. Please come in!” Within a week, they invited me to lunch to meet others. As I climbed into another new friend’s ___’s back seat, she said, “Welcome home. I bought you that cranberry nut bread loaf next to you. We’re going to love on you!!” in that beautiful, lilting southern accent.

Do Unto Others

So I’m learning a few life lessons as I make this transition to southern living; and yes, there is a difference, even if 80% of the people here are from somewhere else (mostly Michigan, for some reason). Reaching out, welcoming, helping, sharing in a friendly, easy going way is the norm.

In my Rochester, New York neighborhood, there has been such a turn-over, by now I know only about four people, two of whom I’m close to. That’s on a circle of 24 houses. Here, after six months, I’m close to four people and know about four new ones, and the list is growing.

It’s about reaching out. Because people reached out to me here, I began to grow roots. To my shame, I haven’t embraced new people in Rochester (as people have to me here) and now realize it’s up to the we who are settled to reach out to new neighbors and “love on them.”

Courage

God created us to be in communion with each other, to be social. Yet some of us are shy, feel safe keeping to ourselves. But we’re all vulnerable. How did my new friends know I would embrace their outreach? I could have coldly said, “thank you, but no.” It took courage on their part and courage on mine to respond.

Roots

I wondered how a person makes a new home in a strange place. In fact, I have a plot idea based on that question. Now I’m learning how a person grows roots in new soil. One root leads to another when you say “yes” to others, even if it can be scary. At the same time, we who are already rooted, need to connect with that stranger who just moved in, even if that can be scary.

I love my “old” friends up north and love my new ones as well. My roots system has grown by leaps and bounds.