Heather Bauchop
Heather, along with other nature words including acorn, adder, ash, beech, bluebell, buttercup, catkin, conker, cowslip, cygnet, dandelion, fern, hazel, kingfisher, newt, otter, pasture and willow, have been removed from the dictionary as they no longer reflect the “consensus experience of modern-day childhood” – an urban, technologically-literate childhood – a childhood that needs only words such as attachment, broadband, celebrity, cut-and-paste and MP3 player.
In New Zealand, heather is a weed, as are others of the Oxford Junior Dictionary’s deleted words, such as buttercup and dandelion. Other lost words are transplanted memories of a cultural home: catkins, conkers, willows, and bluebells. They are the fairy tale plants – childhood dreams or the dreams of a transplanted Anglo-Saxon past: each word the seed of a story.
Local words provide a deep understanding of how people and place are connected and constructed. Aotearoa/New Zealand has its own woven wordscape of place, a wordscape that connects to the land and seascape of the Pacific. Aotearoa and New Zealand both have their origins in sea journeys and are constructed from ideas. They are large names that blanket, like our long white cloud, the intricate stories of this stream and this hill and this rock, stories we have lived in and on.
Landmarks is a love affair with the specificity of place and words. Macfarlane writes that:
place speech … serves literally to en-chant the land – to sing it back into being, and to sing one’s being back into it.”
It is wise to remember that story-making on the land is a cultural action – whakapapa is a recalling of people and place. To name a place is to claim a place. When land is taken, you are confiscating language, story and identity as well as the place where people stand.
But Landmarks is, above all, a deliriously pleasurable journey through wilding words in intimate landscapes. I am taken with Macfarlane’s chapter on Childish (the landscape/language of childhood) and the prevailing sense of childishness, described as “innocent of eye and at ease with wonder.”
Macfarlane reminds us that sometimes questions are the only answers we need:
the true mark of a long acquaintance with a single place is a readiness to accept uncertainty: a contentment with the knowledge that you must not seek complete knowledge.”
there are experiences of landscape that will always resist articulation, and of which words offer only a remote echo – or to which silence is by far the best response. Nature does not name itself. Granite does not self-identify as igneous. Light has no grammar.”
Sometimes there is only wonder….
P.S. Luckily, Heather remains in the Oxford Dictionary of New Zealand English.
Heather Bauchop is a writer and researcher. She lives in Dunedin, New Zealand.
You can read Heather’s previous essays for Corpus here.