When language goes South
I love language. Especially English. That’s likely because it’s the only language I speak.
I’ve read that outside of Icelandic, English is one of the most difficult languages for a non-native speaker to learn. Inside of Icelandic, I bet it’s even harder
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I was listening to a radio show that deals with words and unique regional phrases, and a caller rang up the hosts about the word, “spell.”
The lady who called lives in Appalachia, where she said spell is a word of many uses.
I’m from Ashdown, Arkansas, and there, the word spell also has many uses. Both places start with an A, so maybe that’s the connection.
As the conversation went on, she made a good point. Spell does have a lot of uses, none of which are actually a correct usage of the word. But any Southerner worth their weight in idioms understands every meaning.
Most folks from anywhere below Little Rock have thought about something for a spell, endured a cold spell or a dry spell, knew someone who had a breathing spell, and has been invited to come in and set a spell.
Back in the 60s, at least once a week the Clampetts invited all of us to come in and set a spell. Even offered to let us take our shoes off.
The word squash is another versatile Southern word. We squash the other high school football team, squash any effort to cancel a patriotic event, squash spiders when the wife screams, the sack boy at the Piggly Wiggly often squashes the bread, and we fry squash if the squash bugs don’t get it.
We don’t like a lot of racket, certain people might be running a big racket, but we play sports with a racquet.
Southerners reckon a lot. We reckon we might go to the Cracker Barrel, reckon it might rain, reckon a feller might be right, and reckon we might go visit kinfolk if the creek don’t rise.
Reckon is a shorter way of saying we might be fixin’ to. Fixin’ to go to the Cracker Barrel, fixin’ to visit kinfolk, or fixin’ to fix some that needs fixing.
If we’re not fixin’ to go somewhere, we might be about to carry someone somewhere. You can carry me to the store if you want, or you can just carry yourself right on outta here.
We don’t partake of other people’s drama because it don’t amount to a hill of beans. Cause quite often, those folks don’t know beans about what they’re saying anyway.
Women often get madder than a wet hen about something. When they do, men know better than to tell them it don’t amount to a bill of beans. The ladies may stay madder than a wet hen until the cows come home.
They may have been angered by someone who got things all cattywampus. That often happens when people reckon they know what they’re doing, but they actually don’t.
Sometimes instead of getting madder than a wet hen, people fly off the handle. Those folks are usually men.
Southerners have many
ways of calling someone stupid, all of which have met a level of acceptability by the women down at the church. If someone in the South says, “Well, aren’t you precious,” or “Well, bless your heart,” they’ve done reckoned you’re a brick shy of a load.
And if they say, “Quit being ugly,” they aren’t recommending plastic surgery. They mean for you to straighten up and fly right before they throw a hissy fit on ya.
You just might want to hold your horses.
Negative people in the South are told, “Can’t never could.” And if “You think you can’t, you’re right.”
If someone says you’re cooking is so good it, “Makes them want to slap their momma,” they’re not actually planning on going home and doing that. Their daddy would quickly show them why they thought they were too big for their britches.
If you’re visiting the South and leave someone’s front door open too long, they’ll likely tell you you’re lettin’ all the good air out. That’ll happen whether they have a winder unit or just a water cooler.
Yep, that lady from Appalachia made a good point. Southerner’s have our own way of communicating just like those folks in Iceland. But we try to make exceptions for folks.
Bless their hearts.
John’s latest book, “Puns for Groan People,” and volumes 1 and 2 of his series “Write of Passage: A Southerner’s View of Then and Now” are available on his website, TheCountryWriter.com, where you can also send him a message and hear his weekly podcast.
©2022 John Moore