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.

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

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 that once meant a fire of bones now names the blaze of celebration. ‘Bonfire’ began as ‘banefyre’ in Old English and was later re-heard through French ‘bon’ as a ‘good fire’. Its history traces a shift from ritual pyres to communal joy.

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.

The word ‘hearth’ comes from Old English ‘heorð’, once meaning both fire and home. From Latin ‘focus’ to Greek ‘Hestia’, it has always marked the meeting of warmth and belonging.

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.

I thought lantern might be Germanic, but it isn’t: its roots lie in Greek lampter ‘torch’, carried through Latin and French into English. As nights draw in this October, I picture scenes before electricity — a lantern taken out to feed cattle, or carried across the prairie.

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.

A tart hedgerow fruit with ancient Syrian roots — English pared it down to ‘damson’, but other languages kept the plum and the city in view.

Explore the etymology and history of ‘hedgerow’, from Old English hecg (‘hedge, enclosure’) and ræw (‘line, succession’) to Bronze Age fields, Saxon charters, medieval quicksets, and the Enclosure Acts. With modern dialect forms and parallels across Europe.

Across Europe the horse chestnut is named plainly, but English alone has ‘conker’. First used for snail shells in the 1840s, the word shifted to chestnuts, from ‘conquer’.

The English name ‘horse chestnut’ is a 16th-century translation of Turkish ‘at kestanesi’, meaning ‘the horse’s chestnut’. From Ottoman horse doctors to autumn conkers, explore its story.