LIVING IN MINNESOTA,
I understand the nuances of accents and local phrasing. We are constantly saying, “Yah, fer shure,” and “You betcha” as we eat our hot dish and drink our pop. We head into the “snoooow” talking about how hardy we “Minnesoooootans” are. So we’re thrilled when we travel to a place that is heavily accented and proud of it, just as we are.
On a recent family road trip to New England, we went to church one Sunday morning in Woburn, Massachusetts, located 9 miles north of Boston. The night before, our waitress taught us that the town is pronounced WOO-bin, not a long-drawn-out WOE-burn, as I had originally thought.
At church, the priest was VERY Bostonian. He talked about “Gahd” and “the Lahd” and the love we have in “ah hahts.” His rousing homily was wonderful, and the congregation sat riveted as he used his colorful words—and pronounced accent—to explain Bible stories.
Coming from one proud and prominently accented part of the country to another, it was ah-some to have this experience in the Bah-ston area.