Tag: regional english

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Culch – Flashback Friday- September 3

Culch, or sculch, is neither the name of a grunge rock band or a “Great Old One” from the Cthulu Mythos.
Culch has a variety of related definitions here in New England mostly related to waste or junk. Being from New York City, this word made zero sense to me. Told to move a barrel of odds and ends at a boatyard described as culch I looked about and wondered if this was like some of the new fish hazing rituals aboard ship. ” Go find me a left-handed skyhook, fast.” I smiled widely, to imply that I was not so easily lead astray, only to be told to “get the damned two-wheeler and move that barrel of culch.” OK, I rapidly figured out the relationship of the barrel, the contents, and the order to move it with the two-wheeler. I was still less sure about the true nature of culch.
Over time I learned that culch could apply to a wide variety of materials. In aquaculture, culch is the bed of crushed stone and shell prepared for oysters to adhere on. In a boatyard, it frequently is used to refer to scrap. Typically, culch is broken, defective or somehow just odd material, but often too good to throw away. So, it gets put aside in a barrel or box for later disposition. My friends who make mast hoops save the worthwhile culch to sell as seconds at boat shows; too good to throw out, but not good enough to put a company name on.
In general, marine professional, boatbuilders, marlinespike artists and carvers are masters of reuse and recycle. Good carving wood is precious; I can’t afford to throw out good leftovers. That’s why my shed looks like a lot of other woodworkers and boatbuilders with odd pieces of sassafras, teak, mahogany cherry, oak, and pine. Lots of the cut-offs wind up as small carvings, bowls, spoons, cutting boards and the like.
As in boatyards the final results of reuse and recycle winds up feeding the woodstove. The ash gets spread on the garden. Not a lot goes to waste. If only plastic were as easily recycled.
The story is that the term culch came to New England with the first English settlers. I do not think that it persisted in areas beyond the reach of the tide though. I’ve mostly heard it in Coastal New England. It’s dying out, and it’s not probable that most folks outside of aquaculturists, boatbuilders and the like will know what the hell you mean, but, hey – it’s a nice obscure word that you can use innovatively in a variety of self-determined situations if you want to insult someone, and not have them understand what you just called them.
Culch!

  • shorts, leftovers, ​and culch in the process of conversion into carved products
  • the end of the road. next stop the wood stove; then the ash is for the garden.
  • Small cherry planks salvaged from firewood.
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Labor Day

If you are “from away,” you may have driven past a little ritual on route 95 near the Maine and New Hampshire border. At the end of the Labor Day holiday, some local folks hang out banners over the highway’s last stretch into New Hampshire. Some are polite expressions “see you again next year.” some are less polite and express the desire that you permanently exit to New York or Massachusetts. There are mixed feelings about the dependence on tourist dollars. The income is needed, but the desire not to have a way of life and the environment swamped by the annual influx causes some conflicting emotions.
While living along the Maine coast, I always had an ambivalence to the whole thing. First, I was from New York, the ultimate “from away” location, but I was “married in” due to my wife and her family. They’d been there since before the first Census. Nobody was going to call the Capn’s son in law a Summer Complaint. I also worked the same jobs everyone else did and did not have the money and leisure that many visitors had. All this got complicated by the fact that my natural New York accent was fading over the years in New England, and I was picking up and using local English. I was not a native, but I was not a New Yorker anymore, either.
What happened one day at the boatyard where I worked illustrates the issue.
Spinney and the yard crew were especially amused when folks from New York City would take me for a local. Spinney jokingly suggested that one Brooklynite ask me how locals pronounced items. If my looks could have killed, Spinney would have dropped on the spot. But I dutifully rendered the local pronunciation of things in my most inauthentic Maine accent. I felt like a performing dog. Off to one side, the crew struggled to keep straight faces. When done, I tried to explain to them that I was from Manhattan. They laughed so hard they turned red. Afterward, I promised Spinney that I’d get even.
Spinney turned to me and said: “now you know how we all feel when they ask us how lobster is pronounced, or how we say Bar Harbor. We’ve done you a big favor Wes…you don’t ask for “kaufee” anymore first thing in the morning.”
OK, I guess he had a point.

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Adventures in Coastal Living – Some Hot!

<p class="has-drop-cap" value="<amp-fit-text layout="fixed-height" min-font-size="6" max-font-size="72" height="80">Long before we had verification of climate change, my wife, her mother and aunt would fan themselves cool and utter a sound and phrase that I have never heard away from coastal Maine. It's a slight gasp made on inhalation followed an exclamatory expression. In this case," (a small gasp)_-huh. Some hot." It can be phrased as a statement or as a very faint, barely noticeable question. A fanning gesture frequently accompanied it. Long before we had verification of climate change, my wife, her mother and aunt would fan themselves cool and utter a sound and phrase that I have never heard away from coastal Maine. It’s a slight gasp made on inhalation followed an exclamatory expression. In this case,” (a small gasp)_-huh. Some hot.” It can be phrased as a statement or as a very faint, barely noticeable question. A fanning gesture frequently accompanied it. 

On the last several extended trips Down East, I’ve noticed that regionalisms and local words and terms seem to be in retreat. The three ladies I was talking about grew up before standard TV English and pronunciation swamped the hundreds of regional variations of English found in New England.

Ten years ago, I was waiting for the sun to rise over Naskeag Point on the Blue Hill peninsula. I was waiting to take video for a project I was doing for a client. Somewhere in the fog near me were two fishermen. They were oblivious to my presence and chatting in coastal English. When the sun rose and burnt off enough of the fog that we could see each other, they greeted me in rather plain Television English.

I’ve come to miss the local and regional things I’ve picked up over the years. When my kids look at me oddly and ask what do I mean, I patiently explain what a “cat run across the field cousin” is, or what it means to go somewhere by going ’round Robinhood’s barn.

Please, If you speak a local English variant, hold onto it, cherish it and make sure your kids learn it. Don’t allow the “standard” to swamp the individual beauty of your voice.

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