You can tell you’re from Arkansas if...

(This is an excerpt from Just Another Day in Paradise.)

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a column that told how to tell if someone was from Chicago. I appreciate the comments folks had about it. They all were pretty nice. After that column ran, I heard from Don Matthews, who offered a list of things he’s learned living in Arkansas. Here are a few of the examples.

Possums sleep in the middle of the road with their feet in the air. (Let me add that so do armadillos.)

If it grows, it sticks; if it crawls, it bites.

People actually grow and eat okra.

There’s no such thing as lunch. There’s dinner, and then there’s supper.

Iced tea is appropriate for all meals, and you start drinking it when you’re 2.

“Fixinto” is one word.

It’s not a shopping cart, it’s a buggy.

Going to Wal-Mart is a favorite pastime.

Fried catfish is the other white meat.

All festivals in the state are named after a fruit, vegetable, animal, grain or insect.

Don’s list prompted me to see if there are other bits of Arkansas data available, specifically ways to tell you’re from or in Arkansas. There were, and here are some of them:

You carry jumper cables in your car (mainly to have them for your car).

You have no problem spelling or pronouncing Ouachita.

“Down south” means Louisiana (or, if you’re in court, the Arkansas Department of Correction).

You know people who have hit a deer, or you have hit a deer.

You’ve had school canceled because of cold, heat, a tornado or opening day of deer season.

You think orange barrels are part of the interstate highway system.

You have security lights on your house, garage and barn, and leave all three unlocked.

You know that, at least for the southern part of Arkansas, the state bird really is the mosquito.

You see “No Hunting” signs full of bullet holes.

You give directions and say “over yonder,” “right near,” “down the road a piece,” or “you know where (fill-in-the-blank) used to be.”

When the forecast calls for an inch of snow, you go to the grocery store to buy milk and bread.

You don’t have to buy rock for a construction project because, at least in parts of northern Arkansas, underneath the half-inch of top soil on your property is all the rock you could ever need.

Your sentences end with prepositions: “Where’s my huntin’ cap at?” or “What’s that made of?”

Eureka Springs is considered an exotic place.

You don’t make any plans for outdoor activities until you’ve gotten Ned Perme’s forecast.

You subscribed to the Arkansas Gazette.

You can tan, get a burger and rent a video all at the same location.

No matter where you go to college, the Arkansas Razorbacks is your team.

You think Frank Broyles should be named the patron saint of athletics.

When anyone asks how you liked where you went on vacation, you reply, “It was different.”

You’ve been to Turkey Trot.

You have neighbors with more hunting dogs than your family has members.

You think Forrest L. Wood should be named the patron saint of bass fishing.

Your truck breaks down and news of it reaches town before you do.

You know any road sign that says “Scenic Highway” actually means the road is crooked as a dog’s hind leg.