The term "escutcheon" also refers to the shield-like shape on which arms are often borne. The escutcheon shape is based on the Medieval shields that were used by knights in combat. Since this shape has been regarded as a war-like device appropriate to men only, ladies customarily bear their arms upon a lozenge, or diamond-shape, while clergymen bear theirs on a cartouche, or oval. Other shapes are possible, such as the roundel commonly used for arms granted to Aboriginal Canadians by the Canadian Heraldic Authority.
Wampum was made of beads fashioned from Venus Mercenaria, the pieces with purple spots worth twice as much as those without. Whether the beads could be described as cartouche shaped I can't say. The shells are also found in abundance in kitchen middens excavated in this area, or rubbish piles of long lost kitchens layered with strata or refuse from which archaeologists read into the past. I understand one was excavated at the Lott House in Marine Park. Middens make good tracers because the high alkaline content from shells help preserve the animal and vegetable remains cast among them.
I have no kitchen midden, I have no idea where my kitchen trash goes, but I did set up my composter yesterday. For the brown bottom layer I used a lot of hydrangea clippings and some Plane leaves I swept up in front of the house. I made the mistake of throwing some fairly rotten brussels sprout trimmings into the pile which will stink to high heaven once it gets a little warmer out. While they're frozen solid a little longer among the dry brown hydrangea blossoms Venus will reign between my neighbors and I, but I'd better be careful once things warm up or else Mars may enter the picture - our yards are fairly close together here in Brooklyn. And perhaps I should avoid casting the onion scraps in there also. When I lived in the suburbs, my mentor, who had an enormous backyard compost pile, laid her dog to rest in her compost heap, which freaks me out even as I admire her total lack of sentimentality and any hint of the embalmer's tweaked fixation on keeping the dead isolated from the cycle of life.
2 comments:
We'll see how long it takes for the local animals to find your rotting vegetables. Keep that pile hot and turning!
When I lived in West Sayville, Long Island, during my high school years, we used to do a lot of clamming. The economy of the town was based on clamming, and there were many professional clammers in my dad's church, all of them Dutchmen. The clammers paved their driveways with clamshells. The cars' tires would gradually break them down. Under the pavement of the streets was a bed of clamshells; a pot hole would always reveal the original pavement.
As high school kids we always took the Latin name of the clam to refer to the clam's shape recalling, well, a vagina. Were we just prurient high school boys?
The youngest clams we called "seeds," less than an inch thick. We had to throw them back. Next smallest were little necks, the most succulent. Next came cherry stones, still chewable, but best for baking and cooking. When they got bigger than that we called them chowders, because I guess they had gotten so old and tough that's all they were good for.
That's interesting. Somewhere in France a postman built a castle from shells, right?
I recently read that all young clams are male, but some switch sexes if conditions arise which can support a new generation. Built in sustainability. Don't tell the religious right, though, about all this sex changing! They'll try to write some ordinance against the whole phyllum of Mollusca.
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