Word of the Day

… courtesy of Merriam Webster, with slight modifications by me:

September 13, 2010

Word of the Day

flounder

\FLOUN-der\

DEFINITION

verb

1
: to struggle to move or obtain footing : thrash about wildly
2
: to proceed or act clumsily or ineffectually

FELIX’S EXAMPLE

My floundering efforts at launching a viable farming business left me with great respect for the tenacity of farmers who succeed.

DID YOU KNOW?

Despite the fact that “flounder” is a relatively common English verb, its origins in the language remain obscure. It is thought that it may be an alteration of an older verb, “founder.” To founder is to become disabled, to give way or collapse, or to come to grief or fail. In the case of a waterborne vessel, to founder is to sink. The oldest of these senses of “founder,” “to become disabled,” was also used, particularly in reference to a horse and its rider, for the act of stumbling violently or collapsing. It may have been this sense of “founder” that, some 200 years later, appeared in altered form as “flounder” in the sense of “to stumble.”

Bluegrass on Starr Mountain

I just read today’s blog entry by the country doc, bluegrass musician and writer Dr. Tom Bibey. He describes a bluegrass jam some years ago held in a field somewhere in North Carolina, the Bomb Shelter – a  “you can’t get there from here” sort of place. Wonderful description of arriving at night for the session:

We parked the truck in the field, and walked down towards the Shelter.  Jack and the boys had a bonfire going in a fifty gallon drum.  The fire crackled and the sparks drifted up and disappeared in the night air.

Makes you feel you are there. Good writing. Doc is looking for a publisher for a book he has written, The Mandolin Case, a book I hope to buy and read someday. His blog entry today reminds me of a memorable time in my life, listening to bluegrass in a similar place – I have no skill at music, just enjoy the results of those who have worked to perfect their talents. My own efforts to play anything were sad, but did result in my sister taking over the Martin guitar I had bought in an overly enthusiastic moment; she did the guitar proud.

Fishing and the Moonshiner

Many years ago, I went with a group of other boys, mostly younger than I, with several of their fathers on a Saturday in June, bound down to North Western Alabama. Our destination was a cove carved out of the west flank of Sand Mountain, a portion of the Cumberland Plateau. The stated purpose was to go fishing in the mountain stream, Long Island Creek, that had created the cove, named for the quite long island in the Tennessee River, just above where the creek emptied into it. In truth, the men wanted to give the boys a chance to get outside, out of our suburban neighborhood, and see a slice of Appalachian history and geology.

Catching a few fish, and observing wildlife were useful incentives.

After a longish drive around the northern end of Sand Mountain, we swung south and west, finally turning into a narrow, rutted road nearly over grown with weeds. We could only penetrate a few hundred yards before the cars had to be parked. We got out and explored an old cemetery just at the end of  the usable road. One of the fathers remarked that family members visiting the cemetery had probably kept the road passable to just that point.