Yes, you’ve pretty much summed up the nuances of conversation in Georgia.

Kaolin does have its uses. I used to go to the train-yard and pick up the lumps of kaolin that fall from the kaolin trains, and bring it home and use it to make home-made herb (and kaolin) facial masks.

And yer right of course, about the suspicion with which georgians regard folk who move up to them yankee states like south carolina and tennersee.

Or florida. cuz hell, florida may be south of us but its fulla damn yankees.

R the P committed downright sacriledge when he not only moved in with a carolina yankee, but moved all the way up to one a them unspeakable far northern lands. Cain’t quite remember the name of it, but if it starts with “New”, you know its bad. Anything new is bad.

But I reckon I did an even worse thing by moving ‘cross the ocean to one a’them furreign lands. With furreigners! Then when I moved back I went right to Louisiana. Ain’t nothin’ but a buncha frenchies round them parts.

its obvious there weren’t enough kaolin in my blood to keep me tied to the land of kaolin.

But its real good fer yer skin.

“How’s the weather down in Savannah, Bill?”

“Oh, you know, hot as kaolin on a black tin roof in Ju-ly, Jeb. How’s Augusta?”

“Well, it’s hot, but we ain’t got much kaolin due to the fact that some other state is nearby and they ain’t got much kaolin. I think that state’s called South Carolina, but I can’t be sure”

“Yeah, I reckon it’s called South Carolina, but I ain’t never been up there to that Yankee state. I had a cousin what moved to North Carolina, but I don’t know what happened to him. We don’t talk about him no more, bein’ he’s a traitor and all.”

“Good God Almighty, we’ve gone at least 30 seconds without mentionin’ kaolin! We gotta say it ten times now to make up for it! Kaolin, kaolin, kaolin… [it goes on ad nauseum...]”

“Whew, I reckon we dodged a bullet on that one. I can’t believe we didn’t say kaolin for so long. Well, I’ll see you later; I gotta go pick up some kaolin for my squash garden.”

“Sounds good. Kaolin ya later, buddy.”

I could be off base, but that’s how I imagined it. Other than pies, has this kaolin any practical use? Presumably, it is made of something toxic or else it wouldn’t be a state treasure?

18 kids? I’d never remember their names. Hell, after that many I wouldn’t remember my own name.

Which reminds me of a story of Ross forgetting his own name… oh.. gotta go write that one down….

Was she either a very devote Christian or an addict to the chemical inbalances?

Especially from kids at school whose dads also worked in kaolin mines.

“Ooooo.. those kaolin quarries are BOTTOMLESS. And so-and-so’s third cousin went swimming in one and drowned and they NEVER FOUND HIS BODY because.. you know… bottomless…”

The reason I mentioned kaolin pie, and Cooking with Kaolin is because so many women claim to develop pica during pregnancy. (pica is defined by the Health Info website as “the persistent eating of non-nutritive substances [such as paint, string, hair, animal droppings, insects, soil] for over a month. The behavior must be developmentally inappropriate and not part of a culturally sanctioned practice.”, and in the south a lot of women claim to be struck by cravings for clay (both the red and the white), though I think its probably just another way to draw attention to the fact that they’re about to shoot out that 7 billionth human being from their loins.

And whenever someone mentions Kaolin, someone has to talk about the Kaolin mines, and how so and so’s third cousin went swimming in them, drowned, and was never heard from again.

I couldn’t find a “Cooking with Kaolin” book by the way.

There was a commercial a few years back of fellow Georgian Jimmy Carter in which he spoke solemnly about something, and it was presented in black and white to add to the solemnity. I remember thinking “He looks so old!” I saw him later in color, and he was much younger looking. Sometimes black and white can be harsh.

I’ve also noticed that whenever someone announces they are pregnant (I’m pregnant!) then suddenly there are 700 stories about the worst possible thing that could have gone wrong during the delivery/trimesters/conception.

Stories I have heard (or told) about someone in one of those states.

“We went at it so heard, that he knocked me off the bed. Then I knew I was pregnant.”

“You’re in your first trimester? Most miscarriages happen then.”

“The fetus calcified, and the woman carried it for 37 years. It kept growing as layers of calcium lay down around it.”

“I knew someone whose baby died within her, and they made her carry it for another month. And then they made her delivery it vaginally.”

It is almost as if the speaker is trying to shock the woman into miscarrying so they can tell another story — “I told her the deliverying the month old dead baby story, and it shocked her so much, that she miscarried. Y’all, I’m not joking. I’m not making this up. It really happened. You better be careful. That could happen to you. When’s it due? Because I knew this one woman whose baby was born over a month late, and the baby’s fingernails had wrapped down over her fingers. It was awful! That could happen to you.”