Showing posts with label Clare. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Clare. Show all posts

Friday, 1 January 2021

Almost no birds today have vernacular names

Almost no birds today have vernacular names. Bird names have become standardized, homogenized, conscripted into what is considered proper by scientists for classification. A century ago a birder could have told what county, even what village, he was in by the folk name for a long-tailed tit. In his Treatise on the Birds of Gloucestershire, W. L. Mellersh collected no fewer than 10 local names for Aegithalos caudatus, the long-tailed tit, among them long Tom, oven-bird, poke-pudding, creak-mouse, barrel Tom, and in the south of the county, long farmer. For John Clare in Northamptonshire the long-tailed tit was, delightfully, the 'bumbarrel'.

J. Lewis-Stempel, Meadowland (2014), 97

Thursday, 31 December 2020

Nothing conserves like poverty

Sometimes neglect is good. In the city the rich folks live on the hill. In the country it's the poor folk. The big beef farmers and the corn barons have the flat land. Hill farmers are frequently too capital-lacking to make changes in the landscape. Or spray gallons of herbicides on to it. Nothing conserves like poverty. One summer I let the field go, instead of shuffling livestock on to it.

The peasant poet John Clare called plants 'green memorials'. By late June the field had sprouted flowers I'd forgotten existed, flowers such as knapweed and bugle, which were testament to an agricultural usage other than animal parking lot.

J. Lewis-Stempel, Meadowland (2014), 11-12