READING THE SIGNS

For those of us who are literate, navigating our world is easy: we can read road signs, identify names on buildings, read messages and immerse ourselves in books.

Of course, you know about the importance of dotting your i’s and crossing your t’s – paying close attention to the details of something. Clearly the signwriter for the above business forgot about this when he climbed down from the scaffolding and declared his task had been completed! The other interesting thing about the sign above is that it is written in longhand. Now, this means writing by hand using complete words and letters, as opposed to typing or using emoticons or recognisable icons. Look at the watch below:

As I said, it is easy to read words wherever they might pop up in our lives … what if the world suddenly returned to using runes – those characters from ancient Germanic alphabets (futhark) used in Scandinavia and across Europe from roughly 200 to 1200 AD? Even spectacles wouldn’t help us with this task!

These days few people use atlases or road maps to help them navigate from one place to the next. There are all sorts of apps on our phones or even in cars to do that for us – even in colour and with a voice to prompt us ahead of time. How many times have you experienced that slightly irritated voice saying recalculating when you failed to pay attention in time. I loathe it whenever I am told to turn east in a strange city with tall buildings that blot out the sun … where’s east? I want to ask, desperately seeking other landmarks I can use instead. Think of the travellers who depended on a silent, yet dependable, compass to find their way across seas, deserts and mountains – and who arrived at their destinations!

FLETCHING

Do you sometimes get side-tracked by a word you have come across – even if its meaning is clear in the context, which you read it in – and find yourself delving into its etymology, other meanings of either that word or variations of the word and then find yourself marvelling at the richness of this language we know as English?

Fletching is a word that tripped me up recently. It made me think of birds, feathers, arrows – and people. This is definitely worth a closer look, I thought, and found myself going down the proverbial rabbit hole of discovery.

Etymology first:

Fletch means to fit feathers to (an arrow). The arrow part of the meaning is significant because a fletcher is an arrow-maker.

People next:

Fletcher has been used as a surname from as far back as 1203. This is because fletching can be regarded as an occupation, skill, or trade. There are any number of other surnames that reflect an occupation. The ubiquitous surname, Smith, for example, derives from the Old English word smitan, meaning to smite or hit and was given to a blacksmith – a crucial medieval tradesperson who worked with metal to forge tools, weapons, and horseshoes. Other occupational surnames include Carpenter, Miller and Taylor. My maiden name, Curror, is of Anglo-Saxon origin and refers to a person who was a messenger or who dressed tanned leather.

Arrows then:

Those interested in archery or bow-hunting will know that fletching is made up of three or more feathers. One of the fletches is a different colour and is called the cock or index fletch. The remaining fletches are referred to as the hen fletching. Oh dear, this reminds me of a neighbour having to purchase both a unitwist male coupler and a unitwist female coupler – that’s plumbing for you! Anyhow, these feathers on an arrow are important as they help to stabilize it during flight.

Birds: fletching is a time when chicks require a large intake of protein, which is important for healthy growth and the development of muscles and feathers. Strong feathers are essential both for proper flight and effective insulation from the elements. Sources of protein include caterpillars, aphids and a variety of insects – these all form a critical food source for wild birds with young to feed.

Try looking up ‘fletching’ in this context and the internet mostly throws up sites that focus on ‘fledglings. ‘Fletching’ and ‘fledgling’ thus appear to be interrelated.  It is useful to know that ‘nestlings’ refer to the chicks still in the nest, not yet fledged, while ‘fledglings’ refers to the young birds that have left the nest. At this stage they are fed what is normal food for the adults as well as insects, until they are able to fend for themselves.

This particular rabbit hole still has a way to go, so I shall climb out of it while I can still see light at the top!

WHEN THE RIVER RUNS DRY

I have taken the title for today’s post from the opening lines of a poem by Erica Lyn:

when the river runs dry

only the stones remember

the rush of water over their backs

the currents that wore them smooth

This is a good introduction to the way I am feeling at the moment: while we are desperate for rain, I read of (too much) rain in both England and the northern parts of South Africa, and (too much) snow in Norway. We reached 38℃ yesterday and so, once a coolish breeze began moving through the curled-up leaves of the trees, I sat outdoors both to get some relief from the heat and to watch birds.

Then – a wonder – the sky clouded over and grew darker; the breeze strengthened enough to send dried up leaves eddying down onto the crisp grass that once was a lush lawn … then … a miracle: thunder rolled around the hills; birds left the feeders and sought shelter within the branches of the trees as a flash or two of lightning surprised us all. I too went indoors. Then … the thunder rolled away, as did the clouds, and the sky turned a beautiful blue without a drop having fallen!

I turned to this poem by Robert Dederick: Whilst Walking in a Dry River-Bed

Though walking in the middle of a road
Becomes unsafe as more and more there is
Too much too at me pricking like a goad
Toward one or other of extremities,

Some primitive in me lies not too deep
To nudge me out from under boundary-trees
Whence any creed or anti-creed could leap
To jar off-balance my antitheses

And here for once his nudgings not in vain,
Between high banks rare waters swirling round
Gouged as an earnest of their swirl again
Over these stones more bleached meanwhile than drowned.
 
Here to the primitive in me his due:
Plumb down the middle I can walk, and do.
Robert St Clair Dederick was a South African poet who was born in Atherton, Lancashire, England, on 27^th September 1919. He settled in South Africa during 1951 and, over the years, his achievements included him being a retired solicitor and legal advisor as well as having been a freelance broadcaster and sports journalist on the Cape Argus.  He also won the South African State Poetry prize in 1967 and the Thomas Pringle Award for creative writing in 1971. He died in Cape Town on 8^th December 1983.

References:

https://medium.com/@e.lyn.day/when-the-river-runs-dry-1117e3138066

Chapman Michael (ed) A Century of South African Poetry AD Donker Johannesburg1981.

ABOUT SOMETHING SOFT

Do any of you recall playing a game called – I think – Nelson’s Eye? It involved blindfolding a ‘victim’ before leading him / her around the garden to feel different parts of Nelson. The bark of a tree might be his skin, for example, and ferns his hair. Eventually, the victim would be asked to feel Nelson’s eye: usually something soft and squishy, like a rotten tomato. The subsequent shrieks of horror were always well worth the lengthy build-up to the climax of the game.

The tomato (or other fruit) had to be soft in order for the game to have the desired outcome. ‘Something soft’ has pleasantly positive connotations too:

My sheepskin teddy that eventually wore out when I was in my thirties.

The wrinkled cheeks of my mother.

Each of my newborn babies.

Newly-washed hair.

Biscuit dough.

Then, there are the pleasantly soft sounds such as:

The chuckles of African Green Pigeons.

Burbling calls from the Laughing Doves.

The softness of rain.

An owl hooting in the dark …

…

And the whisper of love.

AQUA

Some colour is required on this blog, so why not start at the very beginning and start with A for aqua. Here is an aqua sky with two donkeys on the foreground, grazing on a little island of grass at the end of our street.

I would also like to share with you this lovely drawing of a Lilac-breasted Roller given to me by my granddaughter, Ceridwen.

Then there are the Agapanthus, which are indigenous to this part of the world.

An aqua pullover in front of which the wearer is making Cat’s Cradle shapes.

Our swimming pool in the garden.

Lastly, spot the aqua on a Scrabble board!