I've been thinking about the intersections between vocabulary and geography lot lately.An example. The other night at practice I forgot to bring a water bottle. There was an empty one in my car, and so I wanted to determine if there was a water fountain anywhere in our practice space or if I was just going to have to suck it up/ pass out from dehydration.
"Is there a drinking fountain around here?" I managed to ask that night's practice leader between asthmatic pants.
"A what?"
This is where I paused. Either the nice tall man hadn't heard me over the sounds of chatter and velcro, or he was also from Wisconsin. I took a leap of faith.
"A bubbler*?" I ventured.
He shrugged and went into the hallway to look, while the girl sitting next to me took a sudden interest. "You did not just say 'bubbler!?!" She looked amused. I somewhat sheepishly admitted that I had grown up in Wisconsin, and she told me that her husband is from Rhode Island, where the term is apparently also used.
Another girl gave me her extra bottle of water and practice continued on, but my mind lingered on my hopeful attempt at regionalism.
I was born in Massachusetts and until I was about seven I had a fairly awesome little New England accent. Then we moved to Wisconsin, where I was made fun of for saying things like caw instead of car (or key-ar, if you're going to be Midwestern about it) and eventually my accent faded into something that was no longer "posh" New England, but definitely not a character from Fargo either. Despite the fact that my accent seemed fairly impervious to Wisconsin, after just three and a half years of living in Ontario, I've noticed that my lately my vowels are more rounded, and my bosses tease me when I mention "clocking out."
What I'm getting at with all of this rambling, is that I don't really sound like I'm from anywhere particular. I just sound like I'm from North America, generally. So while some people can answer "where are you from?" just by the way they say "ya'll" or "caw" I tend to look toward regional vocabulary if I want to add some flavor to my indistinct intonations. This also means that when I say "bubbler" or unthinkingly slip an "eh" at the end of my sentence I get raised eyebrows or made fun of for trying to be Canadian. But to me these words are like little badges, showing where I've been and which places have left an impact on who I am. If accents are like vocal landmarks, I sometimes feel like I'm left surreptitiously building little trails signs out of my vocabulary. Your ears might just skim right past the "bubbler" in my sentence the same way you might not notice that someone arranged a few sticks just so while walking in the woods. But its there. And, as I fumble to explain that I'm only living in South Jersey, no I'm not really from here, these words are a comfort, inconspicuously pointing towards home.
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*A definition according to Wikipedia:
The 'bubbler' was developed in 1888 by the then-small Kohler Water Works (now Kohler Company) in Kohler, Wisconsin, which was already well-known for its faucet production. While Harlan Huckleby is credited with the actual design, it was Kohler who patented it and trademarked the name. The original bubbler shot water one inch straight into the air, creating a bubbling texture, and the excess water ran back down over the sides of the nozzle. It was several years later before the bubbler adapted the arc projection, which allowed the drinker to partake more easily.
And now you know!
