What Southerners called a mobile home is a Kansas “trailer house.”
A Kansas “garage” is where vehicles are repaired, but in the South is where the car lives. Kansas cars live in a “car house.”
Minnesota folks have phrases you don't hear in the South or in Kansas, “doncha know.” That is one of them; “you bet-cha” is another one.
Standing at the front door of Naomi Baptist Church on Easter Morning I heard a man say that a neighbor had “holped” set some posts the day before. “Holp” is an archaic version of “help,” as “holpen” for “helped,” the past participle.
You don't hear about people “loping” anymore, but we lope when we jump over something. I first heard the term when a man described the last time he saw his horse. “She walked up and ‘loped’ that fence.”
People who fiddle with horses know of a “lope” as a way a horse moves — not a gallop, not a walk, not a full run, just “loping along.”
An old Southerner standing on the corner greeted a stranger. Wishing to bid more than “good morning” he added the only name that fit, “Mister Man.” In the South someone called “Mister Man” took no offense.
In some places a funeral home is called a funeral “house,” but not down here and not in Kansas.
In deep South Georgia there was a woman who would not allow anything that could move to be still. She was an industrious woman who hated idleness. Her children and husband must have lived in a steady state of exhaustion because she would not allow them to “lollop.”
“Lollop” was her word for sitting around doing nothing.
A Southern term that has no counterpart in Kansas is “chunk.” They know what a chunk of ice is, but if you asked them to “chunk” that blob of ice they would be confused.
“Chunk is another word for “toss” or “throw.”
At a dinner-on-the-ground (“pot-luck” dinner in Kansas) someone might offer a dish that doesn't look that appealing, so you decline a full helping and settle for just a “moufle,” a Southern term for “mouth full,” or small helping.
There are others but I’m fixin’ to skedaddle to the kitchen to eat a bait of supper.
Joe Phillips writes his “Dear me” columns for several small newspapers. He has many connections to Walker County, including his grandfather, former superintendent Waymond Morgan. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.