Enjoyment of snow days has its term limits

Jan. 19—A dozen big black birds poured from an oak above the road as we drove by.

"There's a murder of crows," the Old Man said, and I laughed. He was forever corrupting the language for his own amusement, willfully forgetting any terms he thought unnecessary and dubbing people with nicknames that were rarely kind but always searingly accurate. I assumed he'd coined this gem on the spot.

"How do you come up with things like that?" I asked. "A murder of crows."

"No, that's what a bunch like that is really called," he insisted. "You can look it up. I'm not the first one to entertain himself with words. There are names for lots of groups of critters. A murder of crows just comes up because it's one of the few you actually see from time to time. There's a knot of toads, a crash of rhinoceros and an unkindness of ravens, to name a few. Most of those terms are as old as English itself."

We had driven fewer than five miles and had already passed two ragged patches of black and white fur welded to the pavement, then we passed a third.

"I know where to find a flattening of skunks," I said, crinkling my nose, and it was his turn to smile.

"There you go," he said.

"Is that what it's really called?" I asked in surprise.

"Well, probably not," he allowed, "but feel free to call it anything you like. You never know what might stick. Besides, you have as much right to name things as anyone. Just because someone else already named them doesn't change anything. It's no one's business but your own."

"People will say that's not right, though," I said.

He made a face that indicated he was silently editing what he would say next so as not to offer a more colorful remark than he thought I was old enough to hear.

"There are people who rejoice in spoiling the fun of others," he said. "They're miserable, though they may not know it. Anyone can fall into that rut, by the way. When you find yourself about to throw cold water on someone else's simple happiness, think about why you want to do that, then, generally, don't. For things in the world, make up any terms you like. For people who don't like those terms, make up nicknames."

I thought about this as we drove. It made sense.

"Making up terms and playing with the language is a fun way to add a smile to your days every day," he said. "If no one gets the joke but you, who cares? You're the one who went to all the trouble of making it up. If you like it, that's the point. Entertaining other people with your wit is fine, but don't feel like you have to have validation for every witticism you spout out. For that matter, make it a habit not to spout too many of them out. Folks get tired of that and will make themselves stop laughing just to avoid giving you encouragement."

Through the windshield, bare cotton stalks swayed in a biting breeze under a gray and cheerless sky. The temperature hovered in the upper 20s. Though for a week forecasters had been predicting the clouds would soon open up and cancel school, they'd yet to render a single flake.

"It looks like we're in for another disappointment of snow," I said, "which means I'll have to go back to my misery of classes taught by an aggravation of teachers."

"I'm sure they are all looking forward to seeing an ignorance of students," he shot back. "Why, there'll be grumblings of boys and girls everywhere. The coaches will probably have to conduct a wail of paddlings to restore order."

Shortly, we arrived at our destination, an overgrown ditch bank that flowed into a creek. We released a hard-headedness of beagles who, against what seemed to be their considered better judgment, struck out a race of rabbits that entertained us for the balance of the afternoon.

Finding ourselves back near the truck with daylight to spare, the Old Man asked if I'd like to pick up and go hunt one more spot.

"I guess I'd better be getting back," I said, looking again at the roiling but fruitless sky. "I have a tedium of homework to complete."

Kevin is the weekend edition editor for the Daily Journal. Contact him at kevin.tate@journalinc.com.