My south is further south than y'all's.
My south is using coral rock for chalk, and tadpoles sprouting up in even the smallest post-rain puddles. It's red ants and horseflies and palmetto bugs and way too many mosquitos. It's the beach so hot you burn your feet on the sand and run from the shade of one palm tree to the next. All the palm trees near the beach are bent almost horizontal to the ground from the stiff off shore breezes. It's mangrove trees, and taking our cat-hull boat with the Evenrude outboard motor out onto Biscayne Bay for the day. Snorkeling and catching sea urchins and conchs and horseshoe crabs. It's conch chowder (with a drizzzle of sherry) and conch fritters and cuban sandwiches and mango daquiris. Mangos are best when either stolen from a branch hanging over a grove wall, or from a free box in front of your neighbor's house. Nobody has to pay for mangos.
It's big U-Pick fields of strawberries and corn and tomatoes, and a trailer in the field where they'll make you the best, freshest strawberry milkshake you could ever have. It's spending every third day of your summer vacation at the beach, and coming home in the late afternoon sundazzled and salty. It's the night air so warm and caressing on your naked skin. It's the trickle of sweat that runs down your back into your shorts as soon as you get into a car at midday. It's starting your car and aiming the air conditioner at the wheel so you can touch it.
It's huge tropical storms blasting in off the water, thunder and lightning. It's the sun shower every day at 2:30 that clears the humidity briefly.
It's the neighbor with an airboat in his backyard for going out into the everglades. It's alligators in your canal, and buffo toads in your back yard. It's how everything hangs on the first cool breeze of the evening.