Betsy Devine: Funny ha-ha and/or funny peculiar

I’m in Gainesville, Florida this week, “helping” my husband give some
lectures here. This is the northern, chilly, inland part of Florida
rather than the sunny, beachy, Margarita part.

Even so, it’s lovely in its own way–loblolly pines, palmetto, Spanish
moss. Even more lovely to me, because I remember my dad’s pleasure in
these exotic words long ago, on a family car trip (never repeated) to
Florida.

The university has about 50,000 students. That’s a college bigger than
the town I grew up in. It stretches over acres and acres of ground,
with a lot of agricultural and veterinary specialties–including a race
horse clinic. There are multiple lakes and ponds on campus, most of
them full of egrets and alligators.

worship (the campus team and mascot) is intense. In the small
downtown area, half the stores are named Gator-Something. Most have
Gator shirts or stickers for sale.

On the two hour drive south from Jacksonville’s airport, we drove
through what I think of as traditional southland. Nascar races in
Daytona had just let out, and everyone at the Waffle House was just
thrilled.

“That was so amazing, what happened with Number Four,” said the
waitress who took our order. “And I guess I don’t have to tell you who
Number Four is.” I tried to look friendly and knowledgeable, eating my
grits and wondering if I was supposed to add salt or sugar, and if a
fork or a  spoon was the right utensil.

The highways south were speckled with little churches. Some typical signs
on roadside businesses: “God bless our
soldiers.” “God bless the USA.” “God bless you.” 

I don’t understand this public concept of God, though I do understand
that it doesn’t seem strange to somebody who grew up with it. And I
might once have had a cynical sense that the signs’ secret message was
“Agnostic Yankee, go home!” But the Waffle House waitresses were so
darn nice, I’m rethinking that.