Two Languages Called English

 

I learned recently that children are not being taught to read  or write using cursive writing. What an outrage! Why shouldn’t today’s children suffer the same pain as us older folks when we had to struggle in learning two different systems of writing? I remember Mrs. Gillom in the 1^st grade trying to explain how this A was the same as this A and this z was the same as this z. The letters in the two systems didn’t look the same, but they were supposed to make the same sound. It didn’t make sense to me, but a lot of things didn’t make sense at that time, same as now. My classmates s and I struggled through the 1^st and 2^nd grade lessons to understand  that we had two systems of writing and by God we were going to learn both, come hell or high water. So we did. And now, after all these years of using both systems, we are told that learning both systems of writing for today’s kids is a waste of time since everyone is using computers or telephones with this A instead of this A. I suppose the educators who decide such things are correct, that it is a waste of time to learn both systems, but it doesn’t make me feel any better since I trusted Mrs. Gillom all those years ago.

I find that today I use a mix of both cursive and printing when I write something by hand, which is rare for me. One of the reasons for the rarity is the decreasing legibility of my handwriting as my pen or pencil  nowadays seems to have a mind of its own. Surely, it is not just me losing some fine motor skills as result of getting older.  

One of the other differences I find between my age group and those considerably younger is in the increasing use of impolite words in our written language; using what we called swearing in everyday written discourse. It  is especially common for today’s younger set to use certain swear words in writing. This happens, from both men and women, seemingly without regard for the audience who will see or listen to their words, perhaps even their parents.

I mentioned both men and women because after I became fluent in adult language, I came to understand that swearing was the exclusive domain of men and used only in the presence of other men and boys; by its exclusive use among all men (except, of course, for those in the ministry), we manly types were taught that women were too polite and too sensitive to undertake the use of coarse language. even in the need for precise descriptions of bodily functions. I am certain that my mother never in her life used a swear word. Even words that covered certain body functions were too coarse for her use, so she invented other words as substitutes. As a consequence, none of us in my family ever farted; rather, we released the occasional “poo-gee-bar” and everyone within hearing laughed at our embarrassment.

Not all Americans followed such practices as my family as I had assumed. I learned only recently that some early Americans used coarse language rather matter-of-factly. One of the pamphlets I purchased in Philadelphia was a tract authored by Benjamin Franklin. The title: Fart Proudly.

I would like to imagine that social media is one of the reasons for the use of awful language, but not all. Our President is one of those who seems unable to moderate his language in the presence of those like me, who are offended by such things. He seems to have several favorite expressions that he uses in speeches without concern for his audience. I have heard him talk of so and so being an SOB, and using other, equally abusive terms. His Tweets also are written without any limitations on the foul language that was formerly used only in private, whispered conversations among men.

Now, women and children seem to regard swearing as their privilege once they learn to tweet or post or ‘instagram.’ Even those words that I thought were nearly universally banned, such as the ‘F’ word, appear to be fair game for most everyone, but not me and my peers who were taught to have a little more sense in judging the appropriateness of certain words in polite circles, LOL.

Of course, we should all understand that language changes over time. New words are invented, and old words discarded as their usage declines amidst the release of new technologies. The internet, with its rapid double-thumbed approach, seems to be a stimulant in changing our language. One of these changes seems to be the common use of formerly forbidden swear words, for what purpose I am uncertain.

Here is a single example of how some words can become commonplace.

A long time ago when farming was an integral part of the lives of most people, soil fertility was of paramount importance. Unfortunately, no one knew about fertilizers until a chance event occurred when mariners scraped bird guano from some rocky barrens on desolate islands in the ocean. They brought the odoriferous solids to the civilized world to learn that Eureka! the soils thus treated produced copious quantities of vegetables. The first fertilizer was found. Soon a rapid trade began as mariners began selling the guano everywhere. And then the worst happened. The nitrogen-rich guano got wet on one particularly nasty voyage, fermented to produce alcohol, and then exploded when a mariner lit his pipe near the end of a long voyage. The new fertilizer industry quickly moved to protect their financial interests and advised all shippers to implement means to avoid the guano from getting wet during transit.

How to do this in the hold of a ship? The answer was to ensure that the guano was never on the bottom of the hold where water often accumulated during long voyages. Thereafter, dispatchers always advised shippers to keep the guano above water levels. “Ship high in transit” was the frequent reminder stenciled on shipping containers. Of course, it was soon abbreviated: “SHIT.” And another swear word was added to our lexicon. LMAO. The world goes on and on despite what I think, although I’m still angry about learning both A’s and Z’s.

 

 

 

 

Bill's Garden Report

 

Bill’s Garden Report

“But though an old man, I am but a young gardener” Thomas Jefferson

 

It is that time of year again for my garden report. Actually, the garden isn’t yet finished as I still have green tomatoes, peppers that haven’t matured, and a few ears of corn not yet ready. However, my experience in preparing these blogs suggests that if I wait until everything in the garden is finished, I probably won’t get around to giving my report, so here it is, despite my hope that there will still be more  vegetables for our dinner table.

The brightest spot thus far in this year’s garden was the success of my snow peas and green beans. I planted both on opposite sides of a frame that I built to support the pole beans and the naturally tall snow peas. Both beans and peas seemed to like the frame that I erected in early spring. The only negative to their vigorous growth was the mama snapping turtle who decided that the soil surrounding the bean poles was a perfect spot to lay her eggs. So she did. Her motherly duties of digging a hole, inserting her tail and nether parts into it and then depositing a dozen eggs or more demonstrated she had zero concern for the damage done to my beans.  I repaired her damage after she left the garden and the beans and peas resumed their growing, yielding a surprising bounty of vegetables.

This year I purchased my seeds from Burpee’s mail order catalog. One of the intriguing things the catalog showed was miniature corn that could be planted in a patio container, according to the ad. Surely my small raised bed gardens could be used instead of a patio pot so I laid out my plans and marshalled the work bench in the barn in preparation of planting my seeds. We had a lot of cold, rainy weather when I decided it was time to plant. The consequences of this delay in my planting plans was that I left the seeds in their packages in my barn while I waited for warmer weather. It didn’t occur to me that mice might just enjoy my seed corn. They did. I found the package of seeds had been chewed with the largest part of my seeds missing and some partially chewed by tiny teeth. Disappointed but not undone, I planted everything that remained and anxiously awaited corn on the cob that I expected to harvest about now. It didn’t work out as I had hoped.

The seed fragments didn’t germinate. After a few weeks, I had only eight stocks of corn from the unmolested eight kernels and nothing from the seed fragments. The few stocks grew slowly. One night some sneaky critter dug up  five of the eight, leaving me three healthy corn plants with a total of five ears that I have been watching like a hawk. I haven’t pulled any of the ears yet, but I expect to feast on the paltry little things soon. I marked the corn experience as strike one in my battle to derive some benefit from all my labors in the garden.

In addition to the peas and beans, I had remarkable success with six kale plants that I purchased from our local greenhouse. It was the first time I had grown kale and I came to understand that many people don’t like the green, leafy veggie that can substituted for lettuce in a salad. I also came to understand that six healthy plants are enough to feed a family of eight or ten. Our family of two didn’t make a dent in consuming this prolific plant – just ask if you would like me to send you a year’s supply.

Strike two in my garden was the results of the three zucchini plants that I grew. They grew to enormous size and I watched over them with hot anticipation for a bumper crop of the tasty ‘tubers’ that I enjoy in salads or as a stand-alone veggie. Never mind the fact that they grew so large they covered their neighboring plants.  (Now I can’t tell what the neighboring were since they were smothered out of existence after several weeks. The huge zucchini also threatened the existence of four little tomatoes that are still struggling to make fruit.) I began searching thru the massive leaves  every day for my first zucchini treat, but I found that as soon as the flower on the newborn tuber dropped off, a rotten end became evident and I was forced to toss the little devils. I looked it up. It was blossom end rot. The garden book said the plants needed calcium. Almost unbelievable, the cure was said to be dosing the soil with a calcium supplement. I didn’t want to tell you this, but I dosed my zucchinis with Tums and sure enough the blossom end rot disappeared. At this writing I still have had only three or four little tubers, so I am ranking the experience as strike two.

Do you like sauerkraut? I do. The reason I like it is because the preparation of the kraut after you grow the cabbages is incredibly easy if you happen to own a large crock with a close-fitting lid. I happen to have such a useful article and I decided to put it to use again this year, never expecting that this would become my strike three occurrence for this year.

I grew four cabbages from seedlings and, as luck would have it, I placed them next to the ill-fated corn plants. Since the corn largely failed, the cabbages had the benefit of extra space and careful watering as I watched over my corn. The result was a crop of four large cabbages, fully formed and free of the nasty little worms that sometimes hide in the folds of the cabbage. Last week I decided it was time to harvest the attractive cabbage heads and begin the process of making kraut. My better half insisted that I follow a recipe for making the kraut to ensure the safety of the finished goods from the canning operation. I reluctantly agreed. The recipe said I needed 20 pounds of cabbage – my four weighed a measly seven pounds. I purchased three more cabbages from the farm market bringing my total to seven cabbages weighing in at 24 pounds since the farm market had even larger heads than I.

Last weekend I decided it was time to make the kraut. I set up my base of operations on the raised outdoor deck. I lugged the heavy six-gallon crock to the deck. While stopping to catch my breath, I did a quick calculation: I would be adding 24  pounds of cabbage and 3 or 4 quarts of brine to the crock bringing it to a total weight of … too much to carry up and down the six steps to the ground and the garage where I decided to ferment the kraut.

The new calculation provoked me into carving the cabbages on  the deck and carrying the shredded mess into large handfuls for transfer to the crock. I began. I had made 5 or 6 trips up and down the stairway when I began to notice a strange buzzing sound. On trip number seven the hornets had enough – they attacked. Three or four of the little devils stung my face and two got my right hand as I was desperately swatting at them. The battle was touch and go for a second, but I escaped their attack and made for the barn where awaited my hornet spray bottle full of a poison so deadly that even angry hornets shudder when they see me with the bottle in hand. It took me a few moments to regain my composure and retrieve the 2^nd spray bottle that I needed after using an entire bottle on steps to the deck.

I went back to the tedious job of slicing the cabbages into slivers as small as I could make them. Another hour passed and stings became a distant memory as I watched the crock get fuller and the pile of seven cabbages get smaller. I was concentrating so intently on my cabbages that I didn’t happen to notice the grey clouds forming overhead. The clouds coalesced and a soaking rain began to fall. I calculated that it would be easier to get a little wet while I finished the job rather than to put away all my tools, find a place to store the uncut cabbages, and carry the  crock to the garage for safe keeping. I gritted my teeth, massaged the sting spots on my face and continued slicing the cabbage. A song popped into my head and I smiled while I sang, “Choppin’ broccoli, choppin’ broccoli.”

Another hour passed as I worked in the rain that had become a deluge. The fatigue that set in from the climbing, stinging, and rainfall made the making of sauerkraut the end of the inning for this year’s garden. I bet even Thomas Jefferson would have said “Whew!” or Damn! 

Awww well, next year’s garden should be even better with all the things that I learned not to do from this year.