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Joyce Louise Bennett ​

Southern Living?

12/14/2025

6 Comments

 
Picture

My sister and her husband live in the Piedmont of the Blue Ridge just under the Mason-Dixon, and they have over the years transformed their red brick 1990s dwelling into something colonial and charming. Homey, not overdone, it is particularly lovely at Christmas. Very often I have told Ann that her house is worthy of a Southern Living Magazine photo layout, intending this to be high praise. Sissy, as it happens, is a long-time subscriber to Southern Living. When I visited her a couple of years ago around Thanksgiving time, while we were drinking coffee in her Florida room, its large windows framing the distant azure haze that hinted at the ancient and storied mountains farther yonder, I noticed among her magazines SL’s 2022 special Christmas edition. After reading one of its articles “All Decked Out: Gorgeous Southern Homes in Savannah, Charleston and New Orleans,” I suggested that she throw all of her SLs in the trash, Elizabeth Ann agreeing that the magazine is not what it once was.


Of dubious provenance and unschooled in American history and real Southern culture, those who produce SL are out to Northernize and to correct, to “enlighten” Southerners, whether we want to be Northernized, corrected, “enlightened” or not. (Enlightenment these days is defined by the morally, spiritually and intellectually bankrupt Yankee ideology.) Tone deaf Critical Theorists with nifty new recipes, they use the heartwarming trappings of the South to destroy the very heart and soul of the South.


That Southern Living special Christmas edition that I came across at my sister’s predictably pushed the “inclusion” envelope to the maximum with the aforementioned article’s introducing readers to Jordan and James, soi-disant natives of Charleston. The SL writer declared that a Southern Yuletide is “so much more than magnolia….” It is now a matter of the homeowners’ demonstrating a “sophisticated” palette.


The decorating style of Jordon and James is described as “masculine Southern,” meaning “formal spaces, exciting wallpapers, fun patterns, and black and lacquered elements….” My redneck kin, however, would have a different view of what a “masculine Southern” style might be---it would more than likely involve the head of a fourteen-point buck hanging above the fireplace, a full-strut bearded wild turkey on a shelf.


The Charleston “couple’s” house, the writer of this article avows, has an “English country home vibe,” and resounds with Bing Crosby tunes. It has long been a device of the enemies of the good, the true and the beautiful— as embodied in Southern culture — to couch the aberrant, the dissolute in trite language, sentimentality and pleasant images of domestic bliss.


But try as Southern Living might, Jordon and James, God love them, are not even Ward and June Cleaver, let alone Earl Hamner’s mama and daddy. And despite what SL would have us believe, a real Southern Christmas is not about fancy “new twists” on the old traditions. A Southern Christmas is, first, about faith and, second, about those old traditions just as they are, simple but sublime, as simple and sublime as an humble arrangement of pine, holly…or magnolia.
6 Comments
H. V. Traywick, Jr. link
12/14/2025 11:38:38 pm

"Have a holly, jolly Christm-AACK!..."
(The sound of Burl Ives being strangled to death.)

Reply
Joyce link
12/16/2025 01:42:54 pm

Very funny, Sir! 😊

Reply
Robert M. Peters
12/16/2025 06:31:06 am

Although I am a Sand-Hill Southern Baptist from North Louisiana, I was always aware of the classical saints of the Church, among them St. Martin of Tours, whose feast day is on 11 November. That is when Christmas began at our house. In my imagination, lighting a candle for St. Martin heralded the Christmas Season. We also celebrated Advent, the four Sundays thereof, with four simple candles on the breakfast table, no wreath or ceremony save for a prayer and a scripture. The coming of Christmas began with the foraging for pecans to go in mother's divinity. The cracking of pecans, picking them out and throwing the shells in the hearth were part of the ceremony. I got to choose the halves which would go on each piece of divinity. Mama made lots of stuff with coconut. In those days, Daddy always bought Mother whole coconuts because he liked to drink the juice. We always felled our own tree, usually a long-leaf pine. Mama would have me gather greenery: holly with red berries and mistletoe which I would shoot down with my my .410. Mama always spent a lot of time wrapping gifts for her nieces and nephews. I would assist. We usually went to a Christmas concert at the local college. When I got older, I would be in the Christmas program at Church. We had Christmas parties and programs at school. Each year we went to Natchitoches to see the Christmas lights. Each Christmas Eve, my paternal grandma and Daddy's sister would spend the night with us, and we would read the Christmas story. Mama's home economics girls made me a Christmas stocking with my name on it. I put it up into adulthood. At some point, it went missing in one of our many moves over the years. The greatest gift are the memories of wonderful and simple times associated with Christmas.

Reply
William Smith
12/17/2025 04:58:04 am

Speaking of coconut, the Christmas tradition of a homemade coconut cake, either made by my mother or her sister, my Aunt Jean, was an annual treat. Dad's job was the cracking, draining, and grating of the coconut. He always loved it when - if it was a sunny day, I suppose, my mother or aunt would leave the cake out in the sunshine a bit to let the juices really seep into the cake.

Indeed, wonderful memories! God's blessings and a merry Christmas to all!

Reply
Joyce link
12/16/2025 01:39:59 pm

Wonderful Christmas memories and traditions, Sir. Joyce

Reply
John Bernhard Thuersam link
12/23/2025 02:05:14 pm

Wonderful and spot-on article. The entire southeast coast seems captured by northern imports who delight in their "Southern" homes and lifestyle. They and their decorators create air-conditioned homes adorned with paintings of palms, egrets and fish. I'm sadly amused by our local preservation society and its many northern import members who claim monuments to local "Confederates" as history not worth preserving yet prefer to live in the handsome residences built by those tainted by so-called rebellion and slavery.

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    Author

    Joyce Louise Bennett lives on a farm in Virginia with her family. She is the author of Maryland, My Maryland: The Cultural Cleansing of a Small Southern State (Shotwell Publishing). Her essays can also be found at the Abbeville Institute Blog and at jlbennett.substack.com.

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