Collard season, for example, is when those who think all green leafy vegetables are either spinach or turnip greens discover that
something that smells like a three-day old dead opossum when cooking doesn't have to taste like one. Eau de collard is not likely to end up in a Martha Stewart scented candle collection, but we sure like the way they
taste. Continuing with regional Tar Heel food obsessions, pig-picking season is the time of the year when residents in this part of the state demonstrate their reverence for all things natural. Unfortunately,
many non-Tar Heels (known locally as "those people") balk when they first see a pig cooked au natural. Great Eastern Carolina pig chefs do remove certain parts of the pig before cooking one, but a dead pig by any other
name still looks a whole lot like a dead pig even when merrily roasting inside a large, converted metal drum. (It should be noted that the drum is washed before being used, no matter what it housed before becoming a
pig-cooker, which only goes to demonstrate that Tar Heels are both health conscious and very clean.)
Then there's hurricane season, which is when people who live here on the coast spend six months hoarding
massive amounts of bread, milk and dog food only to discover that the minute they dispose of it another topical storm forms somewhere out in the Caribbean. Usually when a hurricane is headed toward the North Carolina
coast, coastal dwellers gather up their plot hounds (the official state dog), board up their homes and flee inward.
Since hurricanes are easily offended, it's not uncommon for one to follow them inland, leaving those
who are hundreds of miles from the ocean wondering why trees are floating down the middle of the highway. But all is not lost: Eastern Tar Heels are very generous and always share their supply of dog food with their
brethren.
Which leads to college basketball season, the most colorful and interesting period to grace the North Carolina calendar and a season that is celebrated statewide. In its honor, Carolina institutions
of higher learning build many fine, large places in which to pummel the immortal stuffing out of their opponents because they feel all inferior out-of-state teams should go down to defeat in relative comfort. Tar Heels
are nothing if not generous hosts. But, alas, in a state where every second child is named after Dean Smith, it's not possible to have enough seating room courtside for everyone.
That's why some see it as fortunate
that, even though Tar Heels are blessed with amazing resilience during the most trying of times, large portions of the populace are mysteriously smitten with an ailment each year that strikes without warning right at
the beginning of the ACC tournament and often continues all the way through the NCAA. Unless there are no North Carolina teams in the Final Four, in which case recovery is much quicker.
So – for anyone planning to
move to the Tar Heel state (and Southeastern North Carolina in particular) take heed: the folks who live here consume vast quantities of collards and pigs ready for the picking. They hate hurricanes, but have learned if
they rush inland, hurricanes – like the bulls of Pamplona – will stampede in that direction. And the sound of athletic shoes squeaking a chorus or two across the Dean Dome is sweeter to their ears than Mozart or Bach.
But if these cultural peculiarities seem too difficult, then perhaps you should consider relocating to some place less exotic than the east coast of North Carolina.
Say, Mongolia, for example.
