I’ll turn it around, I moved from Pennsylvania to western Kentucky when I was a teen. While KY was a “border” state during the civil war, my section was definitely confederate.
The town square features a Confederate soldier memorial and the door to the courthouse, to paraphrase a southern writer, faces defiantly southward.
I was a “Yankee” to my new classmates.
Two years later, I again moved from KY to LA (that’s Lower Alabama 'round those parts), more specifically, the region of Mobile Bay (the incredible, portable, bay).
When my new classmates asked me from where I moved, I was happy to say “Kentucky” since I was no longer a “Yankee”. KY, I thought, was definitely Dixie. My camouflage was complete, thought I.
Nope. I was still a Yankee. Kentucky, to them, was definitely “north”.
Strange ideas from them, they had no idea that Pennsylvania, for example, had rural areas. It was very rural where I lived (about 25 miles east of Pittsburgh). I lived on 3 acres and my neighbor was a full production dairy farmer. They pretty much thought you hit the Mason-Dixon line and it was pavement and penguins until you hit Canada. Most, if asked, also said the Mason-Dixon line was right around the KY/TN border, not hundreds of miles farther north.
We moved into a rental house when we arrived near Mobile. The landlord sent a teen boy over to fertilize the lawn one day. The bags of fertilizer were in the garage.
He walked in and spotted this odd object. It was a big, flat, orange blade on a wooden handle with a matching orange plastic grip on the other side. He held it up and asked my sister (who was near because she thought he was cute) what it was. It was a snow shovel. He had no idea what it was.
My father, in Pennsylvania, said a coworker claimed that one day he was going to tie his snow blower onto his car’s roof and start driving south. The first place he was asked, “What is that?” would be the place he’d retire to. I used to think that was a joke.