Editor’s note: this column was originally written just after the April 27, 2011 tornadoes hit Alabama.

Most all of us around here have borne the brunt of remarks from people outside the South about being rednecks. Well, I’m here to tell you right now that I love me some Southern rednecks! And I use the term with the greatest affection and respect.

Rednecks have Poulan chainsaws, bulldozers, four-wheelers and big ol’ trucks — and they know how to use ‘em. They aren’t afraid of getting dirty or of hard work.

After the tornadoes, as soon as the wind died down, they were the first ones out there, clearing the roads so that emergency vehicles could get where they were needed. They waded up to their knees in debris so that people could get out of their driveways. They were checking on neighbors who lived in the hardest hit areas where cars and normal vehicles didn’t stand a chance.

 If you were the victim of the storm and found your driveway miraculously cleared, you can thank a redneck. If you have a brush pile a mile high and you didn’t do it yourself, you can thank a redneck. If someone brought you a shirt to put on your back that day, or hauled your furniture to a storage facility, rescued your dog, or just held your hand as you cried — you can probably thank a redneck.

Those good ol’ boys waded through water filled with gas and glass, nails and torn tin roofs — and no telling what else — to offer assistance to people stranded in the rubble of their homes. They wore camo jackets and John Deere caps, spit tobacco and more than likely did a little cussing, but they got the job done, and they are the ones who were still out there cutting up trees and burning brush long into the night and for weeks after the storms hit. That’s how rednecks say, “I love you.”

They didn’t wait to be asked…they just “got ‘er done” in the truest sense of the phrase. They didn’t stand around jawing and waiting for someone else to take charge, they went to work doing what they do best — moving earth, pushing aside massive trees with root systems as big around as a VW, and tossing aside boards with splinters the size of kitchen knives.

And they did all this without any thought of their own comfort or safety. They put their scuffed cowboy boots and worn work boots on the ground and tread across roof beams and unsteady floors to make sure there was no one left inside the wreckage of everything from two-story brick buildings to mobile home and barns. (They didn’t have to stop to look for a flashlight or a pocket knife — they already had one with them).

They rounded up their neighbor’s cattle and horses and coaxed kittens out of trees where the winds had tossed them and they cried like babies when they found someone’s hunting dog broken and bleeding.

They waded into poultry houses and caught terrified chickens, tossing mountains of dead ones onto piles to burn. They began to hang tarps and nail plywood over broken windows to save their neighbors’ belongings. They didn’t stop for hours on end, hooking chains to cars, trees and any and everything that had landed helter-skelter as the tornado tore through. That’s how rednecks say, “I love you.”

Rednecks just show up when there is work to be done. With a silent nod, they just pitch in, salvaging refrigerators and overturned boats and hooking up generators. They don’t care if they look cool and they didn’t have to shave before they left the house. They are tough as nails and love their mommas fiercely. They still say “Yes, ma’m” and “No, sir,” to anyone older than they are. They eat cornbread and pinto beans and drink tea so sweet a spoon will stand straight up in the glass. They sweat and swear and have grease under their nails sometimes. They can deliver a calf and half an hour later be sitting in church, scrubbed to a fare-thee-well. And did they ever save the day when the thunder rolled and the lightning flashed and the wind knocked down the houses where they were born!

They don’t do it for the glory, and wouldn’t dream of taking a dime for it, and are sometimes even offended if someone asks how much they are owed  ‘cause that’s how rednecks say “I love you.”

 Maybe they do drive loud trucks, but when we needed bobcats and front-end loaders, or someone to crank a cantankerous chainsaw, they were the ones we turned to.

Rednecks know the feel of rope burns and blistered faces. They get those red necks from the sun beating down relentlessly as they labor in the dust and smoke. They think sunscreen is for sissies and they don’t worry much about anti-bacterial soap or drink fruit-flavored water.  

Give me a Southern redneck any day when trouble comes — when the sky darkens and the winds howl, when fences get blown over and the lights go out, and there are trees and houses strewn like matchsticks as far as the eye can see, what in the world would we have done without these rednecks?

Thanks to all of you dear rednecks, you deserve medals for what you have done after the storms. And don’t think the world didn’t notice — they did. And you made all of us proud.