The South and Electric Cars
By Ricky Fitzpatrick for The Creative South
The South and electric cars have a relationship best described as “polite but cautious,” like two people at a church dinner, eyeing each other across the deviled eggs. They’re not opposed to each other, exactly. They’re just… taking their time.
Whenever someone in town gets a new electric vehicle, people gather around it the way they used to gather around a baby calf born with unusual markings.
Lots of staring.
Lots of nodding.
A few quiet, whispered assessments.
Nobody wants to say the wrong thing.
And honestly, I get it. My personal history with rechargeable technology is… mixed.
The first cordless item I ever knew was the Dust Buster, which my mama used like it was a spiritual calling. That thing stayed plugged into the kitchen wall like it was on parole. It made a sound like a mosquito with asthma, but by-golly, it worked.
The next great advancement in cordless living was our cordless phone, which we used so long that by the time we finally replaced it, the iPhone 11 had already come and gone. It had static, it had a battery life shorter than a gnat’s attention span, and every time it rang, we had to remember where we last left it, which was usually under a pile of laundry or inside the recliner.
And yet, still a win.
In 1996, I got a rechargeable weedeater from Sears.
Lord help us all.
This thing was the world’s first lawn instrument designed not to actually eat weeds, but to politely tap them into submission. It didn’t cut anything. It just gently nudged the greenery until either the weed gave up or the weedeater did.
The battery took four hours to charge and gave us, on a good day, about nine minutes of half-hearted spinning. I’d charge it after breakfast and hope I could finish trimming the driveway by sundown.
Two out of three ain’t bad, but it’s not exactly the kind of record that fills a man with confidence about powering his entire vehicle the same way.
Which brings me back to electric cars.
The concept is beautiful: quiet, clean, smooth, futuristic. People say driving one feels like gliding.
But gliding, traditionally, has not been a big part of Southern transportation culture. We prefer rumbling, vibrating, and occasionally rattling engines that let the whole county know we’re on the move.
Also, Southerners trust horsepower more when the horses can be heard.
And then there’s the charging question.
I can’t even keep my phone above 12%, and now I’m expected to keep a whole car alive? This feels optimistic.
Still, I’m trying to keep an open mind.
The other morning, I saw a man at the QT plug his truck into a little charging station that looked like a futuristic gas pump. He stood there sipping his coffee, looking calm, confident, and vaguely enlightened, like a man who had transcended oil changes and destiny itself.
And I thought: Maybe there’s something to this.
Maybe it’s okay that times are changing.
Maybe a silent car isn’t so un-Southern after all.
Maybe it’s like sweet tea…it can be made a bunch of different ways, and everyone still finds the version they like best.
So no, I don’t own an electric car myself. Not yet. But being a Southerner has taught me many things, including this one:
It’s never too late to try something new…especially if it comes with a warranty.