As many of you know, I personally believe the Masters should be treated like a religious holiday. We should all stop what we are doing, turn toward Augusta and not move for four days. Well, really 5 because to me it all starts with the Par 3 Tournament on Wednesday. The grandfather of golf, Mr. Bobby Jones, really knew what he was about with the start of that tournament and the groundwork he built in at Augusta National. I cannot imagine a more beautiful scene than Amen Corner. I cannot imagine more history walking through a single space in time than standing with my father and looking down a fairway to see Arnold, Jack, Gary and Chi-Chi walking up the fairway laughing and joking with each other. Azaleas, green grass, pimento cheese and egg salad sandwiches served with Lite Beer and sweet tea. Honestly, this is why the world truly wants to be Southern.

At the same time we who are of a deeply southern heritage bring out our seersucker, white bucks, and Panama hats (felt hats are put away until after Labor Day) this weekend. We pose proudly next to our wives and children, cook meals on the grill after which we will immediately fall asleep with Jim Nance’s voice echoing through the dens of the Southland. I am deeply sorry for anyone who differs with this statement but white shoes and seersucker, linenand white dresses should only be worn after Easter and they get put away at Labor Day; greasy lawyers, cheap TV personalities and televangelists notwithstanding. When the Dawgs and Tide kick off their seasonswe put away those items, and the cowboy boots, khakis and polos become our standard uniforms. If you are unaware of this simple and time tested rule then understand it’s for your own good to abide by it. Otherwise, it’s just tacky, which by the way is southern woman for inappropriate, outrageous and unfathomable. Bless your heart.

I always find it interesting that people who will not darken the door of a church the rest of the year pack it out at Easter. Don’t get me wrong, we are glad to have you! We hope you’ll remember churches do this every week of the year not just this one Sunday in the spring. In the south, Easter is seemingly punctuated by an endless array of sunrise services or in the more non-denominational and evangelical circles “Sonrise.” Some 40-plus years ago my mom, dad, our first cousin Reniece, and her husband Max packed their three boys and me in the station wagons and hauled us all to Winston-Salem, N. Carolina to visit family. While there they got all of us up and dressed to take us to the Moravian Sunrise service. This tiny group of Protestants made enough of an impression on me and my cousins that at a recent funeral we were all still talking about it. Easter memories are strong down here.

I say all of this not to disparage the rest of the world but to simply point out that indeed the Southland does have a unique heritage, a unique history all its own. This is my personal experience and I encourage you to make sure you tell your own. Make sure your children and grandchildren know these traditions and why we have them because without them we will be a rudderless and lost people.

I want to wish each of you a Happy Easter and dedicate this column to a good friend, Bob Jones IV, yes the grandson of Bobby. Thank you for all you did for us!

—Outdoors columnist James Pressley can be reached at jameskpressley@gmail.com .