One day I ask my mother why she called ordinary white potatoes “arch” potatoes. Growing up I often remember being sent to the basement to fetch either sweet potatoes or “arch” potatoes. Now as a mother myself, I realized I had no idea what "arch" meant, although I considered it might have to do with starch.
My mother didn’t look up from stirring something in a big skillet on the stove, “I don’t call them arch potatoes,” she said simply.
“Yes, you do,” I said. “You say there are sweet potatoes and arch potatoes.”
Patiently stirring, she answered, “Well, I guess you would say “Irish” potatoes.” She emphasized the long ‘’i” sound, and said the word very slowly.
“You’re kidding me,” I exclaimed. All these years I had mistaken the word “Irish” for “arch.” To even vaguely understand how this happened, you have to understand Appalachian English, which can be unintelligible to outsiders, and apparently occasionally to some insider’s children.
A Way of Speaking
Some people claim that Appalachian English is related to Elizabethan English. That settlers, isolated in small family groups in the mountains, never saw their language evolve from outside contact. Other people say the language reflects English used in the American colonies, and still others point to Scotland and Ireland, motherland to many Appalachian settlers. Either way, it is a distinct and colorful dialect.
For example, my mother often scolded us for “gauming” (messing) up her house. And when we were slow to obey her words, we were “as slow as Magoosly.”
“I’ll skin you alive,” meant we were in big trouble, and if we were hyperactive, we were “like a hen on a hot rock.” It was “untelling” (impossible to know) how long until supper, but most likely we would eat “dreckly” (directly.)
We “shaved” out between garden rows and “raked” out leftover scraps from dinner. Sometimes we were “heedless” (refused to listen to advice.) Our milk went “blinky” (sour.) We liked our bacon “brickle,” (brittle), and rotten meat smelled like pure kyarn (road kill.)
In the winter, we had a “skift” (dusting) of snow. In the summer, we were “work-brickle” (hard working,) but enjoyed quiet evenings listening to the “jar flies” (cicadas.)
“The” was pronounced “thee,” as in “thee sun is about to set.” We had no word for afternoon, but like the book of Genesis, morning and evening made one day.
When Dave and I visited my grandparents home in Kentucky a few years back, I spent a good amount time translating for him. Especially the elderly, who had very little formal education, could be hard to understand. To complicate matters, my dad had a habit of making up his own words for things, like "Colorado Kool-Aid" for Gator-Aid and "cucumber storm" for a big thunderstorm. On the other hand, my mother often complained that she couldn’t understand Dave’s Wisconsin accent, and noted how often he asked, “What’s that?”
Word from the Heart
People often talk about a heart language, usually the one spoken by our family when we are born. In this language, we are best able to communicate our thoughts, feelings, desires, fears, etc. Messages spoken in this language touch us in a profound way. Nelson Mandela said, “If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart.”
I don’t know if Appalachian English is my heart language. I understand it well, but I don’t speak it. Since I attended public school in Indiana, I speak more like a Hoosier, with some occasional Chicago “a” thrown into words like “dad” and “flag.”
I am blessed to have grown up in an environment with such a rich verbal history. I am equally blessed now to daily hear Native American, German, Norwegian, and Mexican dialects. What a fabulous glimpse of the vast crowd from every nation, tribe, people and language worshipping before the throne of God. God may have scattered the peoples with diverse languages way back in Babel, but reunites them with the language of love, shown most vividly through Jesus. “God showed his great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners.” Romans 5:8
God speaks our heart language, no matter what earthly language we call our own. We need only to listen. “Look! I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in, and we will share a meal together as friends.” Revelations 3: 20
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