It was feculent weather on Saturday at Slieve Gullion Forest Park. We cajoled our short-legged Beaver Scouts uphill (children aged 6-8), settled for a picnic and instantly the heavens opened. We grabbed a few wet bites of pinics, enjoyed watching the local hunters training their gundogs with dummies on the hillside in a brief window of dry weather, and then sauntered back downhill. We waited, out of the rain but watching very happy ducks in their rain-lashed pond, for the Cubs and Scouts (on longer hikes) to join us for our transport home.
We thought we were wet, but we weren’t really. When the older scouts arrived, drenched to the skin through multiple layers of “waterproofs”, we understood what feculent really meant. Their off-road trail had turned to a slippery morass down which they had slithered.
So, feculent (pronounced fek-ull-ent), first defined in Dr. Johnson’s dictionary of English (a book I really must buy), means that something is foul, turbid, muddy, or containing the dregs of fecal matter. Delightful.
I’ll be spending my week washing the feculent remains of that hike from our gear and praying the weather isn’t similar at our overnight camp next weekend. I keep reminding the world that June is meant to be summertime in Ireland, but the world isn’t listening. It’s raining as I write this.
Until next time, happy reading, writing, and wordfooling,