Notes from a Small Village

I’ve lived in Balerno since 1991. It’s home. But Illinois, the American state where I grew up, is also home. I think of myself as a transplant – uprooted from the rich, dark farmland in the Midwest, and replanted in harder, rockier UK soil. Though I feel quite at home here, growing up in a place with different customs means that I don’t always see things in the same way as my neighbour.

Alike but different

“Quick, come look at this bird!” called my husband. “What is it?” We were visiting family in the States, and my other half was looking out the window.

“It’s a robin! Can’t you tell by its red breast? We have robins in the UK.”

“Not like this we don’t. It’s huge! It must be four times their size!”

I considered for a moment, summoning up a picture of the robins so popular on British Christmas cards. My husband was right. This American version seemed to be a different bird. “I have no idea,” I said. “I guess I just think of the ones I see in the UK as babies.”

By this point I’d become used to the fact that so many things in our two similar countries were alike but not alike. In both places salt and pepper shakers have a different number of holes. But in the US the salt shaker is the one with fewer holes, while shakers in the UK are exactly opposite. Consequently, in my early years in Britain I over-salted my food, thinking I needed to tip the shaker more than I actually did.

That was nothing compared to setting my tongue on fire with mustard that was the same yellow colour as the mustard back home. Tears streamed down my face as I gulped down glasses of water. So alike, but so different.

In fact, there are many things that are “similar, except for . . . ”. Pancakes, for example. In the States they are puffy and covered with butter and maple syrup, while in the UK they are flat, like crepes, and topped with lemon juice and sugar. We both celebrate annually with fireworks. In the US this occurs on a warm summer evening, following a BBQ and maybe a dip in the pool. In the UK we watch fireworks in November, standing in a cold, wet muddy field for as long as we can bear it before hurrying indoors for a hot cuppa!

Both countries have lemonade. Here it’s a fizzy drink, much like 7up. Back home it’s made with fresh lemon juice and pulp, sugar and water – it’s not fizzy. And both countries have tea. Here it tastes good. Back home it’s dire. In fact, I usually pack teabags when making a trip to my home country! And the list goes on. We are alike but different.

I wonder if this all started when an American and Brit met up one day and agreed to do things differently wherever possible. “So, you want three holes in your salt shaker? Fine, we will go with two. You drive on the left? We will take the right. Yellow mustard is scorching hot there? We’re happy to make ours mild. What? Your chickens lay brown eggs? No problem, we will get ours to lay white – much easier to dye at Easter!”

Speaking of Easter, the way we decorate and treat our eggs is so different! Americans buy their kids egg-dyeing kits (thank goodness we got the white ones!) The decorated eggs are left for the Easter Bunny to hide outside – carefully, as they are works of art – along with colourful plastic eggs filled with chocolates. And then children hurry round the garden with their Easter baskets, keen on finding as many eggs as they can, while parents watch and give big hints. In UK the emphasis is on large chocolate eggs, not small ones that come from chickens. Although some people decorate eggs, I’ve not noticed egg-dyeing kits. Some parents organise Easter egg hunts, but it seems that egg rolling is more common.

I learned to keep the decorated eggs intact for as long as possible, using them as a table centrepiece before eventually cracking them to use on salads or for making devilled eggs. So why would anyone colour them beautifully and then smash them to smithereens by rolling them down a hill?!

To be continued next issue …

Author’s note: Since writing this I’ve learned that egg rolling is an annual event at the White House, so I guess it is practised in the US! But I’m a Midwesterner, and I never saw it or heard of it before coming to the UK.

Notes from a small village is contributed by Suzanne Green. Suzanne, a freelance writer/editor and writes regularly for Konect. She is married to Andy and they have two adult daughters.