Normally, I go by my secret agent name.
I tend to think the things that make life worth living are grown in the sunshine and bought on the side of the road going down 441, whether it’s south towards Jekyll or north towards Dillard. I’m a couple of days’ drive from home now, but I sure do try to get back as often as I can.
I wish I were more deeply steeped in the South; I’ve never boiled peanuts, I don’t dress my children in freshly-ironed cotton, and I don’t have much of an accent. But when I’m not there, I do consider myself an expat, for what it’s worth. And every time I think about Jonathan Potter meeting Walker Percy, I get all choked up.
As far as this group is concerned, I try to exert a civilizing influence, but there’s only so much I can do.