Moving to the South, I thought I was coming home. I had visited Mississippi my whole life and had an idyllic view of Dixie.
The first few weeks in the Knoxville area felt dysphoric - I got excited every time I met someone with an accent. I read every Foxfire book I could find and sought out conversations about beans and cornbread, chestnut trees and Natan Bedford Forrest. I was mostly disappointed (though I did and still love talking to the older folks who still retain their regional love).
Three years later, I have come to terms with the slow death of southern culture. I hate that it's fading, and I'm willing to work hard to impart what's left to my kids. But it just hasn't been passed on. The only thing left really is a smattering of accents, some fishing and hunting, and allegiance to local football teams.
The greatest threat is not Yankee transplants, not even close. It's the third world. They are moving into the same places in an effort to leech off the economic fringes.
We're not in a battle to preserve regional culture anymore - we're trying, and we must, preserve the most rudimentary American values - faith, freedom, family.
Entire American cultural pockets, peoples and unique ways of life are undergoing mass genocide and no one gives a damn.