The Daily: 21 February 2024

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Once upon a time, I got up on the stage and played piano for people. I did not stand on a stage willingly. I am not a performer. I still don’t like bearing the full attention of people, even after years of teaching science and speaking on books. To get around this phobia, I strove to forget that I was performing and, instead, lost myself in the music. And so it always came as a mild shock when the music ended and the audience broke out in applause. There are pictures of young me, my hands still hovering over the keyboard, looking up with wide surprised eyes and a crookedly embarrassed grin. I hated performing… but the applause was worth it.

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Wednesday Word

for 21 February 2024

hellebore

For the focus this week I chose the rather intimidating Lenten rose. Even the name is frightening at first blush, sounding something like a forceful penetration of the underworld into ours. Except that’s probably not what it means.

The first part of the word may derive from the Greek ellos, stemming from a proto-IndoEuropean word meaning “reddish brown”, a root that shows up in words like elk and elm and the name Ellen/Helen. (So was Helen of Troy a redhead?) The meaning of the Greek word is “fawn”. The second part of the word may be bora, “food of animals”. So this word may literally mean “food of fawns”. Which, in addition to being poetically lovely, is actually factual in some places…

Hellebores are some of the earliest plants to sprout out of the winter soil, some early enough to be called Christmas roses. These long-lived and tough plants will reliably push through the snow for decades. And they are, indeed, much needed winter food for deer. However, they are not food for most other mammals. Hellebore will cause severe problems if ingested. Fortunately, humans learned long ago not to eat stuff that smells like soap, no matter how sweet it might taste. I don’t know how deer get around this. Other ruminants like cows and goats are poisoned by hellebore. But then, deer have managed to metabolize yew also. So they’ve obviously spent a good deal of time partnering with microbes that can break down plant poisons.

I have never had a hellebore show its leathery leaves, much less bell-like blossoms, before late February, even in New Mexico where February is spring (and actual spring is a hellish season of wind). I’ve also not grown too many of these plants, because I don’t grow much poison just on principle. While the early blooms are lovely and they brighten up the densest shade, I’m afraid a furry family member — or even the smaller and less experienced humans — would suffer. Perhaps worse. Winter flowers are not worth that.

So I have an uneasy relationship with hellebores, one that leans toward the sound of the word, not its derivation. And, in fact, the derivation is only barely supported by linguistic evidence. Many language scholars believe that this is a word that predates the IndoEuropean languages — where it undoubtedly means a bit of upthrust hell to brighten your early spring. (Ok… probably not…)

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If you choose to wax rhapsodic about toxic winter flowers, you can respond in the comments below or go visit the All Poetry contest for February. Your response can be anything made from words. I love poetry, but anything can be poetic and you needn’t even be limited to poetics. An observation, a story, a thought. Might even be an image — however, I am not a visual person, so it has to work harder to convey meaning. In the spirit of word prompts, it’s best if you use the word; but I’m not even a stickler about that. Especially if you can convey the meaning without ever touching the word.

If you have nothing to say, that’s fine. But if you’ve read this far, then I’ve made you think about… hellebore.

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©Elizabeth Anker 2024