Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Hebrew, Hebrew Everywhere
This morning at church, soon after the service had started, the Hebrew words within me rose. It is a peculiar sensation, and perhaps one applicable to me alone, that once I learn a sufficient amount of a language, the words arise unbidden in appropriate contexts. The trigger this time was the Hebrew/English Sh'ma, in Max Helfman's setting. Once my mind was primed, it was easy to think "Shalom aleichem" at "Lord be with you". If you have learned some basic Biblical Hebrew, the linguistic structure of the Psalms (in this case 27:1, 5-13) is glaringly obvious. My mental translation is partial and in places doubtless ungrammatical, but it is remarkable how many phrases in the service are automatically translatable - I already have switched from hearing 'Alleluia' as a rote response to an imperative plus the Name of the Most High.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Washo, Simplified
I posted recently on my mental test of Washo, but it seemed appropriate to separate the results of that test from some speculations which arose from the difficulties experienced, cross-fertilized with thoughts from John McWhorter's Great Courses lecture series "The Story of Human Language" and some browsing of articles on Riau Indonesian. As I scoured a my gray fields for words in Washo, I thought to myself that simplified languages (creoles, mixed languages, and pidgins) start with a reduction of vocabulary to essentials. I recalled the words for "eat", "drink", "go", "have come", and so on, but remembered little of the specialized vocabulary. I remembered the words for "tree" and "rock", but not the species of those genera. The other possible simplification which I noted (but resisted for the sake of completing my test) was the difficulty in remembering the subject-object prefixes. Were I not such a diligent amateur linguist, I might have decided to forsake the daunting prefixal pine barrens in favor of the independent pronouns, easier to use. Why say "labali'a'" "he shot me", when you can say "le bali'a'" "he shot me", without having to consider the appropriate subject-object prefix and vowel harmony? I love the complexities of language, but that choice is based in aesthetics not pragmatism.
In reality, I could not imagine a mixed language developing which contained Washo as a component: the native speech community was too small and the Ute-Aztecan tribes around the Washoe formed a dialect continuum which offered a much better selection for a lingua franca - I am considering it for a Scout campfire. The Plains Native American seem to have preferred to learn Hand Talk (Plains Indian Sign Language) rather than yet another language with medium-complexity words such as "milelshymshihayasha'esi" "We two will not cause you to wake up."
A simplified Washo (and I am aware that the Washo with which I am familiar has already been simplified) would have the following features: it would be SOV, use independent pronouns where possible, and possess a reduced vocabulary. It would proabably use new words for negation and causation, since the current suffixes are too grammaticalized to survive (this isn't Esperanto, after all!). The glottal stop and the voiceless sonorant and liquids would disappear.
In reality, I could not imagine a mixed language developing which contained Washo as a component: the native speech community was too small and the Ute-Aztecan tribes around the Washoe formed a dialect continuum which offered a much better selection for a lingua franca - I am considering it for a Scout campfire. The Plains Native American seem to have preferred to learn Hand Talk (Plains Indian Sign Language) rather than yet another language with medium-complexity words such as "milelshymshihayasha'esi" "We two will not cause you to wake up."
A simplified Washo (and I am aware that the Washo with which I am familiar has already been simplified) would have the following features: it would be SOV, use independent pronouns where possible, and possess a reduced vocabulary. It would proabably use new words for negation and causation, since the current suffixes are too grammaticalized to survive (this isn't Esperanto, after all!). The glottal stop and the voiceless sonorant and liquids would disappear.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Washo Review
As I was waiting for a friend this weekend at a BART station, I found myself with substantial time on my hands. After I had paced up and down a few dozen times, I decided to do a mental review of the Washo vocabulary I knew. This was a true test, as I had neither the book from which I learned it nor the dictionary which I created for the terms I had learned. I decided to start with the verbal roots (although there is no true distinction between verbal and nominal roots in Washo), since verbs are often associated with actions, and perhaps my muscle memory would aid the big grey muscle in my skull. The verbs went well; I could conjure up most of the basic verb roots, even if I temporarily flipped the verbs in the wake/sleep contrast. I even went over the reduplication process for certain plurals, although some verbs, such as 'dance', did not lend themselves to such project.
I experienced some difficulty in remembering the various movement verbs, of which there are many in Washo, more than in Russian. My eye for language patterns tells me that all these movement verbs are ultimately connected, but I lack a sufficient overview to analyze them properly. It was difficult to generate several, and I am sure I missed few: perhaps this reduction is typical of individuals who do not speak a language well (and, Lord knows, I stumble over the words of the Washo tongue). It is nice to distinguish between various means of locomotion, but a simple 'go' will suffice.
As confident in my verbal score as I could be without recourse to a lexicon, I decided to try to conjugate a verb for every combination of subject and direct object. Although this task was made simpler by the lack of grammatical number marking on the verb, a characteristic of many Native American languages, I had to pick two verbs because the subject-object prefixes differ if the root begins with a consonant or vowel. I was successful save in one regard: I could not recall the prefix for 'he Xs me' if the root began with a consonant. Nonetheless, I decided that I had passed my test with an A-, considering how long it had been since I studied the material.
(I notice that I have not finished the drafts of posts on the Washo language regarding vowel coloring and the development of subject-object prefixes. I need to remedy that and add something on the reduplication process of Washo.)
I experienced some difficulty in remembering the various movement verbs, of which there are many in Washo, more than in Russian. My eye for language patterns tells me that all these movement verbs are ultimately connected, but I lack a sufficient overview to analyze them properly. It was difficult to generate several, and I am sure I missed few: perhaps this reduction is typical of individuals who do not speak a language well (and, Lord knows, I stumble over the words of the Washo tongue). It is nice to distinguish between various means of locomotion, but a simple 'go' will suffice.
As confident in my verbal score as I could be without recourse to a lexicon, I decided to try to conjugate a verb for every combination of subject and direct object. Although this task was made simpler by the lack of grammatical number marking on the verb, a characteristic of many Native American languages, I had to pick two verbs because the subject-object prefixes differ if the root begins with a consonant or vowel. I was successful save in one regard: I could not recall the prefix for 'he Xs me' if the root began with a consonant. Nonetheless, I decided that I had passed my test with an A-, considering how long it had been since I studied the material.
(I notice that I have not finished the drafts of posts on the Washo language regarding vowel coloring and the development of subject-object prefixes. I need to remedy that and add something on the reduplication process of Washo.)
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Duty and Responsibility
I find myself in a solemn mood returning from The King's Speech, an excellent movie about George VI (Bertie) and his stammer. Although the focus of the movie was Bertie, I find my mind turning to the themes of responsibility and duty in the face of challenges. Sometimes we earn the rank bestowed upon us; sometimes we are not worthy of it. In either case, our duty is to perform our office as well as we are able, and not to shirk our obligations. If we neglect our appointed office, we make a mockery of our post, bring shame upon ourselves, and reduce our symbols of office to shiny trinkets not more valuable than a shiny tourist pin from the pier. Responsibility and duty means placing the needs of others before that of oneself, and by helping others we advance ourselves in experience and character.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
MLK Hike 2011
I had hoped to post my first post of the year sooner, but unforeseen events interfered.
The first Pioneer trip of the year - a three-day, two-night trip to test the mettle of youth and parents! After a late start, we arrived at our starting point in Henry Coe State Park, the second largest state park in California. The elevation gained by car was quickly lost by foot as we followed the trail to Poverty Flat. First, however, we followed Fish Trail, which led over hill and dale and had a conspicuous absence of fish. Several creeks brought false hope, which were cruelly dashed two or three times. The ascent from the ultimate creek to the ridge spread out our line of hardy travelers, but the reward at the crossroads was a well-earned lunch. This time of repast also allowed a chance to repair and reinforce faulty footwear before one stitch became nine.
Once we had surmounted the ridge, the descent to Poverty Flat began. Those timid souls who have not experienced the joy of hiking may not know this, but a continual downhill trail is in many ways harder on the soles than any other vertical-horizontal combination. I have seen worse, however, in the scree of the Sierra.
Before we reached Poverty Flat, we had to cross a stream two or three times, an omen of the next day's journey. The crossings were challenging, but not terribly so.
The Poverty Flat campsite (for Poverty Flat itself lay above us) was on the floodplain of a small mountain stream and lacked any of the amenities familiar to car campers, save for the world's cleanest outhouse in the middle of nowhere. The night air down in the hollow was extremely cold, but we had almost enough light to read, thanks to the nearly full moon which shone in icy glory high above.
In the morning cold and damp, we arose, refreshed and reinvigorated, and consumed hearty breakfasts in preparation for the day's journey. This was the longest day of our trek, since a camper observing the Outdoor Code must camp where the campsites are, rather than bivouacking where he pleases. Our first ascent of the day followed the old cow trail out of Poverty Flat to a crossroads. After another steep descent, we reached a confluence of two creeks, whose combined flow led into the ominously named "The Narrows".
Here a decision had to be reached: whether we ought to go up, around, and down the hill to China Hole, or brave The Narrows. Apparently the tortoise we found there had waited longer than his life allowed. After much spirited debate, and information from fellow travelers who had come from China Hole, we decided to go through the Narrows. This would prove a challenge to the younger and older members of our group. The older Pioneers showed their skill in helping others across the more difficult stretches, despite a few spills here and there. The scenery within the Narrows was certainly dramatic. After we had passed two rocks that reminded me of the Argonath, a formidable challenge presented itself: wading knee-deep water or climbing a slick rock to reach the stepping stones further down. All eventually made it across, and only one simple crossing of a smaller stream remained.
China Hole was a pleasant resting spot, where we took lunch and dried the equipment made wet by our Narrows traverse. A different group, who had descended from the campsite where we had yet to ascend, was disporting itself in the water.
The ascent from China Hole began steeply in the shade, then sun, but soon changed into a steady climb through buckbrush, planted to stabilize the hill after the 2007 fire. There were patches of oak, but even the most ardent naturalist would be hard-pressed to remain excited about another half-mile of buckbrush high enough to qualify for the Hampton maze. Eventually we reached the turn off, which would have allowed us to come from Poverty Flat much more readily, but then where would one's sense of adventure be? Adversity reveals character, after all.
Our campsite on Manzanita Point was slightly closer to car camping than that of the previous night (this one had tables and firepits). There was no wind and the damp so evident in Poverty Flat did not exist here. Many Pioneers decided to sleep under the stars. Ironically, I, who am known for shunning tents whenever possible, had set up my tent in false expectation of having to share it. Once I had set it up, it seemed a shame to not use it.
The one disadvantage of Manzanita Point was the water supply. Whereas in Poverty Flat we had ready access to a moving stream, here we had to draw water from a brackish artificial pond slightly down the road. Doubtless this would have seemed a small inconvenience to our ancestors, but it was a new experience for many of the Pioneers, and they organized a task force to collect water. Inexperience with such inconvenience made a another expedition necessary, and one insightful young man made yet a third trip.
That night we had a proper campfire, although the program was rather short. I acceded to telling a ghost story, but begged for a couple of minutes to compose my narrative. It was not my most polished effort, but it sufficed, I think. I would certainly be willing to try again, given more time to prepare.
On the third, we rose again and broke bread. The early morning reveille helped to some degree with a quicker departure, but what happened in the end I cannot say. I had volunteered to go ahead with the water crew. Once the group united and continued on its way home, there was some grumbling about yet another ascent, which would have been anticipated (intellectually, if not emotionally) if the map had been studied more carefully. The younger Pioneers, however, plodded steadily along, trusting that they would reach the end of the 16-mile journey. We reached the cars, changed, and returned to the city.
The first Pioneer trip of the year - a three-day, two-night trip to test the mettle of youth and parents! After a late start, we arrived at our starting point in Henry Coe State Park, the second largest state park in California. The elevation gained by car was quickly lost by foot as we followed the trail to Poverty Flat. First, however, we followed Fish Trail, which led over hill and dale and had a conspicuous absence of fish. Several creeks brought false hope, which were cruelly dashed two or three times. The ascent from the ultimate creek to the ridge spread out our line of hardy travelers, but the reward at the crossroads was a well-earned lunch. This time of repast also allowed a chance to repair and reinforce faulty footwear before one stitch became nine.
Once we had surmounted the ridge, the descent to Poverty Flat began. Those timid souls who have not experienced the joy of hiking may not know this, but a continual downhill trail is in many ways harder on the soles than any other vertical-horizontal combination. I have seen worse, however, in the scree of the Sierra.
Before we reached Poverty Flat, we had to cross a stream two or three times, an omen of the next day's journey. The crossings were challenging, but not terribly so.
The Poverty Flat campsite (for Poverty Flat itself lay above us) was on the floodplain of a small mountain stream and lacked any of the amenities familiar to car campers, save for the world's cleanest outhouse in the middle of nowhere. The night air down in the hollow was extremely cold, but we had almost enough light to read, thanks to the nearly full moon which shone in icy glory high above.
In the morning cold and damp, we arose, refreshed and reinvigorated, and consumed hearty breakfasts in preparation for the day's journey. This was the longest day of our trek, since a camper observing the Outdoor Code must camp where the campsites are, rather than bivouacking where he pleases. Our first ascent of the day followed the old cow trail out of Poverty Flat to a crossroads. After another steep descent, we reached a confluence of two creeks, whose combined flow led into the ominously named "The Narrows".
Here a decision had to be reached: whether we ought to go up, around, and down the hill to China Hole, or brave The Narrows. Apparently the tortoise we found there had waited longer than his life allowed. After much spirited debate, and information from fellow travelers who had come from China Hole, we decided to go through the Narrows. This would prove a challenge to the younger and older members of our group. The older Pioneers showed their skill in helping others across the more difficult stretches, despite a few spills here and there. The scenery within the Narrows was certainly dramatic. After we had passed two rocks that reminded me of the Argonath, a formidable challenge presented itself: wading knee-deep water or climbing a slick rock to reach the stepping stones further down. All eventually made it across, and only one simple crossing of a smaller stream remained.
China Hole was a pleasant resting spot, where we took lunch and dried the equipment made wet by our Narrows traverse. A different group, who had descended from the campsite where we had yet to ascend, was disporting itself in the water.
The ascent from China Hole began steeply in the shade, then sun, but soon changed into a steady climb through buckbrush, planted to stabilize the hill after the 2007 fire. There were patches of oak, but even the most ardent naturalist would be hard-pressed to remain excited about another half-mile of buckbrush high enough to qualify for the Hampton maze. Eventually we reached the turn off, which would have allowed us to come from Poverty Flat much more readily, but then where would one's sense of adventure be? Adversity reveals character, after all.
Our campsite on Manzanita Point was slightly closer to car camping than that of the previous night (this one had tables and firepits). There was no wind and the damp so evident in Poverty Flat did not exist here. Many Pioneers decided to sleep under the stars. Ironically, I, who am known for shunning tents whenever possible, had set up my tent in false expectation of having to share it. Once I had set it up, it seemed a shame to not use it.
The one disadvantage of Manzanita Point was the water supply. Whereas in Poverty Flat we had ready access to a moving stream, here we had to draw water from a brackish artificial pond slightly down the road. Doubtless this would have seemed a small inconvenience to our ancestors, but it was a new experience for many of the Pioneers, and they organized a task force to collect water. Inexperience with such inconvenience made a another expedition necessary, and one insightful young man made yet a third trip.
That night we had a proper campfire, although the program was rather short. I acceded to telling a ghost story, but begged for a couple of minutes to compose my narrative. It was not my most polished effort, but it sufficed, I think. I would certainly be willing to try again, given more time to prepare.
On the third, we rose again and broke bread. The early morning reveille helped to some degree with a quicker departure, but what happened in the end I cannot say. I had volunteered to go ahead with the water crew. Once the group united and continued on its way home, there was some grumbling about yet another ascent, which would have been anticipated (intellectually, if not emotionally) if the map had been studied more carefully. The younger Pioneers, however, plodded steadily along, trusting that they would reach the end of the 16-mile journey. We reached the cars, changed, and returned to the city.
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