A good day for me includes a trip to the Hungry Bear Drive-In where the menu reads like a Goldilocks fable with the Papa, Mama, and Baby Bear burgers. The homemade corn nuggets are always hot and crunchy with creamy kernels that’ll burn your mouth if you eat them too quickly. That’s where the syrupy-sweet Cherry Cola with crushed ice comes in. Put all three together and you have the sweetest sentence in the Southern vernacular: “Give me one Papa all the way with some nuggets and Cherry Coke, double ice.”

The drive-in owners are real friendly, giving their frequent customers—like my sisters and me—monthly accounts. We jokingly call it the Hungry Bear Installment Plan. A place like this isn’t usually found on the city’s list of fine dining establishments, but it should be—it speaks to the Southern way of life.

This reminds me of the party we hosted for new neighbors who had moved to our Central Florida town. Guests were asked to share their favorite local places in a journal for our newfound friends. The entries were telling and, decidedly, Southern. As a Florida native living in an increasingly non-native state, this gave me reason to ponder what it means to be and what it takes to stay Southern.

The welcome journal answered this question. First was the tip to visit the local pharmacist who delivers prescriptions to your home after hours. Mysteri is his assistant who usually adds a few extra items she thinks you’ll need, and if you’re lucky, she throws in a jar of her homemade strawberry jam.

Another entry suggested swinging by the downtown florist shop whose owner not only creates beautiful centerpieces, but also promotes local interest on his popular sign outside the store with the witticisms and poignancy of Mark Twain.

Added to the list was the local doughnut stop where you’ll get a yummy combination of a hot glazed doughnut with a cup of cold milk. Familiar faces crowd beneath the awning in early morning to place their orders before the doughy creations are gone. There’s usually some banter between folks about the game last night and, somehow, you know what game they’re talking about—could be the high school football scores, whether the Gators won in overtime, or update on the regional soccer league. It doesn’t matter. It just reminds us we’re in this together.

There is an underlying notion that our state is in danger of losing its sense of community. People are moving in from all parts of the nation and beyond, bringing their customs and ways of life, collectively forming newness to our homes, cities, and state.

I’d like to think this isn’t an either/or situation between native and new, but a both/and. Living locally invites intimacy—taking dinner to a sick neighbor, catching up on the local fodder at the store, getting a jar of jam when you pick up a prescription. These are the people we know and the places we love because it is who we are. It is home.

I found the journal to be of great comfort, especially with its final entry: “Welcome to our community. May this place give to you all that it has given to us—a good home and good life.”

I’d only add one thing. Be sure to have a Papa Bear burger.