In a Flemish supermarket, the word groenten caught my eye. It means ‘vegetables’, but it shares its history with English green.

In Belgium, a supermarket sign reads ‘Huisdieren’ (‘house animals’). Dutch ‘dieren’ shares its root with English ‘deer’ and German ‘Tier’. Once the same word, their meanings diverged over time.

Discover the etymology of ‘butcher’: Flemish ‘beenhouwerij’ means ‘bone-hacker’s shop’, Danish ‘slagter’ comes from ‘to slaughter’, and English ‘butcher’ from French ‘goat-slayer’. Explore how German, Italian, Portuguese, Celtic, and Basque languages name this everyday trade.

From cranes to bogs, the name ‘cranberry’ traces a northern path through Low German Kraanbere and Dutch Kraanbes, linking birds, berries, and marshland speech.

From Greek ‘pepon’ meaning ‘cooked by the sun’, ‘pumpkin’ travelled through Latin and French before taking root in English. Its story links ancient languages with New World harvests.

Broth is one of the oldest English cooking words, rooted in a Proto-Germanic word for boiling liquid. From medieval hearths to modern bouillon cubes, its story spans kitchens, languages, and centuries

By November the weather turns and jacket potatoes make sense again — simple, filling, and familiar. The word ‘potato’ has travelled as far as the crop itself, from Taíno ‘batata’ and Quechua ‘papa’ to Spanish ‘patata’ and English. Across Europe, languages called it an ‘earth apple’ or linked it to a truffle.

The English ‘parsnip’ comes from Latin ‘pastinaca’, a word for both parsnip and carrot, and for the fork used to dig them up. Most European languages kept this Latin root, though Spanish ‘chirivía’ took a different path through Arabic. A vegetable named for the tool that unearthed it.

The word ‘poppy’ traces back to Latin ‘papaver’, borrowed into Old English as ‘popiġ’. Across Europe it left a trail of relatives—French ‘pavot’, Italian ‘papavero’, Welsh ‘pabi’, German ‘Mohn’. Once a symbol of sleep and death, it later became a flower of remembrance.

A word as soft as the fruit it names. Pear came into English through Old English pere and Latin pirum, a name that may go back to an ancient root meaning ‘to crush’. The same story ripened across Europe in poire, pera, and Birne.

The word ‘November’ comes from Latin ‘novem’, meaning ‘nine’. Once the ninth month of the Roman year, it later shifted to eleventh place. Older names such as Old English ‘Blōtmōnaþ’ and Irish ‘Samhain’ reveal how northern Europe marked the season through ritual, sacrifice, and the fading of light. The photo shows a chilly November day in Southsea.

Halloween’ began as ‘All Hallows’ Even’, the night before All Saints’ Day. Its roots lie in Old English ‘hālig’ meaning holy, and in the wider Hallowtide of saints and souls. Across Europe, related words tell the same story — ‘Toussaint’, ‘Allerheiligen’, ‘Oíche Shamhna’ — each marking the eve that once joined harvest, remembrance, and holiness.

A spiny hedge, a bitter fruit, and a name that’s older than plum, pear, or cherry. This word card explores the etymology and history of sloe — from PIE roots and Germanic cousins to Neolithic dye pots and 19th-century gin bottles.

Explore the etymology of rose hip: ‘rose’ from Latin via Greek and Persian, ‘hip’ from Old English hēope. A compound of borrowed bloom and native fruit, shaped by hedgerow lore, wartime syrup, and European cousins.

October still remembers being the eighth month. From Latin ‘octo’, Old English ‘Winterfylleth’, and Norse ‘Gormánuðr’, the name carries echoes of numbers, moons, and slaughter.

Crab apples grow at the edges of things. This post traces the word’s tangled roots — from Old English and Norse to hedgerow jelly, wassailing, and 30+ languages that name this small, sour fruit.

The word ‘hawthorn’ began as a hedge-thorn in Old English, but came to mean both a thorny tree and the berry it bears. Across Europe, the name reflects thorns, blossom, and hedgerows.

The word ‘acorn’ didn’t originally mean oak nut. It once referred to any wild field fruit. This post explores its journey through Old English, folk etymology, and dozens of translations — from ‘gland’ and ‘ghianda’ to ‘balut’ and ‘eikel’.

From French ‘mousseron’ to Latin ‘fungus’, Dutch ‘toads’ chairs’, Spanish ‘setas’, and Danish ‘beech hats’, discover how Europe names the mushroom.

The Danish word gård links to English ‘yard’ and ‘garden’. From ancient enclosures to modern courtyards and kindergartens, discover how one root shaped European words and everyday places.