“There was a land of Cavaliers and Cotton Fields called the Old South. Here in this pretty world, Gallantry took its last bow. Here was the last ever to be seen of Knights and their Ladies Fair, of Master and of Slave. Look for it only in books, for it is no more than a dream remembered, a Civilization gone with the wind…”
—Ben Hect
I am a scion of the South, in particular what was once called the “Old North State” of North Carolina. My forefathers’ names could be found in the 1790 census of my home county in Central North Carolina, on Confederate Memorials, and in the ranks of the men who fought in the green fields of France for the “liberation” of Europe. The word “Yankee” is as repulsive to me as what has become of my beloved Carolina. And yet after four decades in sunny Carolina, I packed up my house, my family, and all of the affectionate memories of my native land to seek refuge in the Yankee North, in defiance of all conventional wisdom and present national trends. You ask why? Here is my story…
North Carolina, and the South generally, are not what the popular imagination believes. Since my childhood at the height of the Reagan years, I have witnessed the creeping conquest of my civilization and its transformation into the very vision that motivated Confederate soldiers in their resistance to federal tyranny so long ago.
My aforementioned family heritage? Neither the local criminals, nor the effete Yankeefornian transplants, nor the “economic migrants,” cared for such romantic notions. Heritage or faith in meant little for public respect.
I was just another ignorant, local obstacle to each of the own separate plans of every transplant.
In the hi-tech New South, full of Soros prosecutors, mega-corporations, and crime, I was at my wit’s end. Although there were dwindling middle-class job prospects and escalating discomfort in any and all public spaces, the South was still all I knew. I experienced a lot of things, but peace was not one of them. From the gas station to the strip mall to the Chinese restaurant to employment at Big Multinational, Inc., peace wasn’t on the menu.
I’m a Mayflower American. But could I countenance the thought of living on my family acreage? Utterly useless. My employer, stores, and the entire region were still compromised by a new culture that was no longer conducive to my desired way of life.
The acreage was there, but in the wise words of Hillary Clinton, “At this point, what difference does it make?”
Between the Yankees and the new demographics, my inheritance seemed pointless. It even seemed an offense against my children to plant them there. I saw little good for them if I stretched these trends out for the decades of their lives.
The South is still living on a Bible Belt reputation it does not currently warrant, especially in any area with jobs. Why? Perhaps that is another investigation. But the Bible Belt is no more, so far as I could see. The appeal of it would have been a natural ease with one’s neighbors, public spaces with Christian identifiers or at least compatible vibes, and neighbors who might at least be the same from one year to the next.
The rest of the world believes the South is one thing. But it ain’t that thing no more. Summer vacation in the far north revealed to me that communities like I desired still existed.
The farther into the rural north I went, the more southern it felt, all the way to the pickup trucks and flags and Bible signs in the parks.
I found myself as a man with a household of nine. Seven kids needed to have a place and to have people. And I needed lower blood pressure.
I had to look forward, and not backward. I needed to make a decision that I never wanted to make. So, I began to search.
Where shall I plant my children? How can my children inherit the Southron covenant and attach themselves to some land and people?
Where can my children build a life for my grandchildren?
An old Baptist church covenant reads: “When we remove from this place, we engage as soon as possible to unite with some other church where we can carry out the spirit of this covenant and the principles of God’s Word.”
This was my spirit in finding a new home.
Few things occupied my mind for years as much as this single question: where shall we go?
I investigated everything from Northwest Arkansas to Eastern New Hampshire. Northern Minnesota to rural Oklahoma. It was all on the table. I only required being east of the Rockies, for access to family. And the South quickly disqualified itself. Like any good Millennial, I spent a few years at my computer to decide. What was I looking for?
What should you desire? How do you choose?
Here was my checklist:
Lack of Growth
Yes, lack of growth. All growth is blue growth. In the short term, a few more red people may move to some place than blue people. But over decades, all growth trends toward cosmopolitanism and Leftism. Colorado, Arizona, Texas, Georgia, North Carolina, and Virginia bear witness to the corrosive quality of increased GDP. I used the census figures from 2000 and 2020, and I eliminated every place with meaningful growth. If it grows, it trends blue, and I was playing a game of decades to place new roots. I wanted a home, not a new place to live.
Low Crime
Violent crime is utterly unacceptable, as it’s part of what I needed to escape. I wanted a county with murders that can barely be measured over decades. How does one get low growth and low crime? This eliminated lots of places. But I only needed to find one place.
Deep Red County Politics
And a good sheriff. I can’t stop the feds. But having real neighbors as allies goes a long way.
Friendly Demography
Places that tend old are okay or even desired. But the aged demography must be from natives, not largely from blue cities with second homes in the area. If the workforce is old, and the neighbors are old, my young ones are likely to have opportunities simply for being rare. The place also needs to be shielded by some factor (weather or topography or something else) to make future demographic change or influx unlikely.
Adequate Jobs
The Southern options, in my experience, had been to send all my children through the college/PhD gauntlet or let them hopelessly compete against illegal labor in trades (even the skilled ones). Does a place with plentiful work exist without these constraints.
I needed a place where my children didn’t have to compete with international labor in the local market. Where is the place in which one sees a white guy on a lawnmower? Where is the place in which a white guy is framing a house? In most places, this actually doesn’t exist. I saw this in the North. This observation on vacation piqued my interest. The farther north I went, the more Old Southern it felt.
The Stranded Wife Test
Where is it okay for my wife to break down in her car? Which places make you hopeful there will be help? Which places make you fear?
Generic Historical Protestantism
I understand most areas are not meaningfully Christian and that is not on the table. But where will my neighbor most naturally understand me? On the town council, where will I sound least crazy? Cultural inertia is a real thing.
Access to Community
Where is there a good church? My social circle needs five to eight meaningful families with lots of kids. That seems a reasonable baseline for a friend group and a potential spousal operation for kids. Does it have that? I didn’t need a young or active town. But there do have to be some people. A town of 1,000 or 20,000 could have this, but likely not above or below that.
Low Property Values
Can I buy enough land to hand down to my kids so that they might want to stay in the area, have spouses to marry, and have jobs to do? Can they make their own work? Will my kids be able to afford to build their own lives there?
Natural Resources
I love water and mountains. Did it at least have some rolling hills for a baseline? Access to a lake or pretty sunset is requisite.
Summary
Unfortunately, the South, from Galveston to Atlanta to Richmond are living on a reputation that no longer represents reality in my experience. Whether it’s in Nashville, Charleston, Tallahassee, Mobile, Birmingham, or Baton Rouge, the South is simply not what it was. Peace is hard to come by, and slow growth is hard to find. Desiring stability and continuity across generations, in a generic Protestant form, with a low crime and low growth, forced me to go North.
I did find this place, and we’ve been planted for two years now. The future feels bright. My doors are unlocked. I burn wood eleven months a year, and my blood pressure has never been better. Snowblowers are fun toys. And my new church is wonderful.
I’m living in the house in which my neighbor was born. The community has continuity. The town Christmas events in the public square read passages from Scripture without apology or mixing messages. A generic background of nominal or cultural Protestant Christianity is assumed in most places. My librarians are pastors’ wives. No blue hair. I don’t think I’ve seen any public moral indecency that I’ve had to explain to my children.
It’s not perfect and we are striving to make it better. But it is an absolute breath of fresh air and it feels like the South that I wanted to inherit.
Consider the rural North.
