 Where
does your accent come from?” This question always startles me a little
and delights me a lot, and I have to admit that I’ve heard it not
infrequently on my travels. More surprisingly, I hear it on the streets
of my hometown, Duluth, Minnesota, where at least I have the easy
answer of pointing up hill to my house and birth home.
“I got it from up dere, eh.”
People can imagine that I’m pointing to heaven if they’d
like; I do feel the linguistic mark of my region is something of a gift.
Now, I have been accused of (or as I liked to think, credited
with) being either a Canadian or a Yooper. People in the know quickly
peg me as Minnesotan. Since I’ve also lived in Superior, Wisconsin, I
can claim a string of cheesehead … making me a culturally mixed,
circle-tour-of-Lake Superior kind of gal.
Truth be known, the roots (which should be pronounced like
the “oot” in zoot suit) of my syntax come from my bizarre blend of
Swedish and French Canadian heritages. It’s exactly the combination
that came up with “Duluth” from a Frenchman whose name ended in “du
Lhut” (the latter of which should also be pronounced with the “oot” of
zoot suit).
So ingrained are my words in my region that when I was a
summer nanny in France, my two young charges thought that “Uff da!” was
downright American by the time that I left. I still imagine their first
visit to New York where they proudly say, “Uff da, I am speaking ze
good American, no?” I only hope New Yorkers are as polite as we are
taught to be and respond with “Ya shoore. You talk goot English.”
For those preparing a visit to our shores this summer, I
thought that I’d jot down a few tips for how best to blend into our
neighborhoods. Granted, each region has its nuances. For example, while
a “bloody Mary” is more likely to be ordered on the U.S. shores of the
lake, a slightly varied “bloody Caesar” is the most popular Canadian
cocktail. Proving that people prefer to drink to someone else’s past
monarch. The easiest way to avoid being an obvious out-of-towner in
this case is simply to order beer.
While “eh.” as a period or “eh?” as a question mark at the
end of a sentence is understood anywhere around the lake, you’ll hear
it most in Ontario or Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. “Ya know” and “then”
(or “den”) is more common in Minnesota and Wisconsin.
I apologize in advance to the grammatically sensitive folks
who stub their ears on our regional faux pas. (These are the cultured
people who ask me, “From where does your
accent come?”)
Yes, we will inquire if you “have boughten” something at a
cool Canal Park shop or if you’d like to “come with” when we go up the
shore. In principle, we know that it’s “have bought,” and sometimes we
cringe internally at our oops. We also aren’t the type to torture a
preposition and leave it dangling, but our practical immigrant
ancestors just felt that adding “us” to “come with” was too extravagant.
Should you make too big a deal about our little grammar
errors, however, you are unlikely to get invited to come with, or
without, any of us.
Ya know, we got our pride then, eh.
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