All over the United States there are a slew of dialects. Those words and phrases that we grew up hearing thinking everyone used them. But later on in life we learn that isn’t the case at all and there are those that have no idea what we are talking about when we use those words or phrases.

That was certainly the case with me. The only difference was I learned early on that our “dialect” was fading out of existence. I heard about linguists studying that dialect and making recordings of the “native” speakers in an effort to preserve it. I just laughed about that, we aren’t natives, we’re Americans. That was before all this identifying and labeling everything became such a hot topic.

I make no claim to speaking that dialect, although some have said they hear me speaking it. I left that behind in 1971 when I joined the Navy. I did know people that spoke in that fashion, mostly older folks that were friends with my parents and I thought they talked funny even then. A few were difficult to understand. Still, I guess I picked up a few of the sayings, the little turn of a phrase they would use. But, a fluent speaker, a native speaker? No, I don’t think so.

I was thinking about that yesterday. You see, while the rest of the country is occupied with Pumpkin Spice Latte’s this time of year, I was making my first apple cake. Yes, this is the time of year for apples and everything being made with them. It is something that has become a sort of tradition in my home, apple cake from an old family recipe. My mother got that recipe from my niece’s grandmother. That was back in the 1900’s.

Now it’s just the wife and I and a whole cake is a lot, especially apple cake. We decided to share it with my son and his wife. After cutting it in half and wrapping it up carefully I dropped it off at his house. They had no idea I was making a cake or planned on giving half to them. It was just something I decided to do.

That brings me back to what I was talking about, dialects. In the dialect of my youth, the local parlance as it where, there was this saying: “Let’s go home and see what the neighbors’ brought in” My mom would often say that after we had been out for any number of reasons. Perhaps we had been to the beach or visiting relatives, engaged in some community activity or whatever. At the end of the day that is what would be said, “let’s go home and see what the neighbor’s brought in.”

Occasionally there would be something “brought in.” Never a note or anything to say who had brought it in, just a basket with some fish, corn, potatoes or whatever else the “neighbor” had an excess of. It was a tradition in my town. I don’t know if that tradition continues today or not. I wonder if that takes place in other areas of the country and if they have a saying for it. I expect that they do.

I do use these little sayings, phrases and turns of speech occasionally. Makes me think of home. They say home is where the heart is, but I don’t think that is the case. I think home is where our childhood memories reside. My heart isn’t there, my heart resides with my wife and family wherever we find ourselves. But I do find comfort in the familiar.

Another of those old sayings gives me comfort when things just don’t go the way I had hoped. Maybe I went on a vacation, and it rained the whole time, or I went to the ballgame and my team lost. Maybe some big adventure just turned out to be a disappointment. In those situations, I might say, “well, we had a damn fine sail.” Yes, there is a whole story that goes with that, I’ll share that in another post, another day.