I’ve been reading the Chicago Manual of Style, 17th Edition for some projects I have coming up.
Scintillating! Riveting! A must-read! (I kid! Mostly . . .)
It has got me thinking about a foundational question: Why should we care about syntax, grammar, punctuation, etc.? After all, aren’t all those rules about commas and quotation marks and subject/verb agreement really just an opportunity for type-A personalities to lord it over the rest of us?
Is a typo really that big of a deal? Is it the end of the world if my words lack polish? So what if I’m a bit careless?
A few years back, I stumbled upon a poem by Rudyard Kipling tucked into the pages of Stalky & Co. called “The Birthright”: “We have such wealth as Rome at her most pride / Had not or (having) scattered not so wide.” In Kipling’s estimation the English language is a birthright, an inheritance more precious than diamonds, rubies, and sapphires set in gold.
We might generalize Kipling’s perspective: all language is a birthright. Language has been entrusted to humanity as a gift—either to use, protect, and improve, or to abuse, assault, and destroy. Bewildered, the poet sees his fellow English speakers tossing its “pearls” before swine:
Which things, through timeless arrogance of use, We neither guard nor garner, but abuse; So that our scholars--nay, our children--fling In sport or jest treasure to arm a King;
Kipling saw a world where the language he cherished was being kicked about in the street—and not just by children but by those who knew better!
Paul writes to the Ephesians that our talk can only have one of two outcomes: “Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.” (Eph 4:29) Either our words corrupt or build up. There is no neutral option.
Might we think of our first language as a birthright from our ancestors—indeed, from God himself? Even now, we are playing a role in how we pass our native tongue down to the next generation. I wonder whether our birthright will be left better than we found it.
What if we thought of our first language as soil to be tilled, fertilized, irrigated, planted, and harvested? A plot of land to be improved for future fruitfulness? Perhaps we might be a bit more careful with our commas, delightful in our diction, and scrupulous in our syntax.
Here’s a recipe for those mornings when it’s too early to bother with words at all: It’s called a blueberry grunt!
Think of it as biscuits stewed in jam. It’s a one-pot wonder—warm, steamy, a bit tart, and satisfying on a foggy Saturday morning. We always make this in our dutch oven.
Don’t have blueberries? We’ve used strawberries—or even two cans of pineapple chunks—with great success. We usually double it for our big family.
Blueberry Grunt
Jam
1 cup (227g) water
1/2 to 3/4 cups (98g to 149g) granulated sugar
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1 quart (680g) blueberries (fresh or frozen)
Dough
2 cups (240g) flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons (57g) cold butter, cubed
1 cup (227g) buttermilk, cold
Instructions:
Stir all jam ingredients into a heavy-bottomed pot (preferably dutch oven) over medium heat. Bring to gentle simmer.
Meanwhile, mix dough ingredients as you would biscuit dough. Stir together dry ingredients in a large bowl, then rub in the butter cubes, then stir in buttermilk until a spoonable dough forms.
Once the jam is bubbling, use a dough scooper or large spoon to dollop the dough on top of the jam. Do not stir! Put on lid and lower temp to lowest setting.
Cook lidded for 15 minutes. Take off heat and let steam for 5 minutes. Enjoy!