On naming a gnome

I know, I promised to post this yesterday but was still getting comfortable with the name. Plus, today is the first day of meteorological Winter, the gnome to be named is on skis, and naming is a serious business, you know.

"... naming involves much more than simply assigning a label to something that has already been identified. The act of naming is one of the central mysteries of human cognition — it is the visible tip of an iceberg whose depth below the surface of conscious thought we have only just begun to plumb. ..."

In ages past, during the latter part of the last millennium, I found myself in college studying English literature. That's where and when I encountered Everyman (1. (Theatre) a  medieval  English  morality  play in  which  the  central  figure  represents  mankind,  whose  earthly  destiny is dramatized  from  the  Christian  viewpoint). But the skiing gnome in question is not Everyman, nor even everyman. Who is he? What's his name? Certainly not Rumpelstiltskin! Remember Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet?

“What's in a name? that which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet.” 

Was Shakespeare denying the significance of a name or emphasizing the beauty of Juliet?

Sigurd, the canoeing gnome

Photo by J. Harrington

When the canoeing gnome arrived several years ago, a name was almost immediately obvious. He is named Sigurd, in honor of the Quetico-Superior wilderness advocate. A skiing gnome raised a more elusive naming challenge, almost of linguistic proportions. A short list of options was considered but none seemed to fit comfortably. Then began playing with not only words but with sounds. That brought a realization that there is a name, of ancient origin and known to me for most of my life, that sounds, and feels, as if it is a proper fit for our skiing gnome. The name is Noam, in honor of Noam Chomsky. So, today I'm pleased to introduce you to Noam the gnome, a skiing linguistic dissident, who fits in very comfortably around here in the North Country, especially this snow-covered season. There's no doubt in my mind that he and Sigurd will enjoy each other's company.

Noam, the skiing gnome

Photo by J. Harrington

They Call the Mountain Carlos

By Ray Gonzalez

They call the mountain Carlos because

it is brown, though its purple slopes

at dusk suggest other names.

Those who name it have to brand

the earth with something they know—

a name, a face, even the heat that says

"I know Carlos and he is the mountain.

I am going to cover his eyes in light."

They call its peak Carlos because

it is the sharpest feature on the face

that stares south, watching people

cross the border, pausing to catch

their breath and meet the cliffs of

Carlos because he is there.

When they ascend the canyons inside

the face, Carlos shifts and the climbers

discover what he has done.

The moving earth changes everything

and they are forced to stop playing

the game of naming a mountain

that keeps touching the sun.

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