Word-Wednesday for September 17, 2025

And here is the Wannaskan Almanac with Word-Wednesday for September 17, 2025, the fourteenth Wednesday of the year, the thirteenth Wednesday of summer, the third Wednesday of September, and the two-hundred sixtieth day of the year, with one-hundred five days remaining.

 
Wannaska Phenology Update for September 17, 2025
Water Lilys On the Wane
In the quiet lakes and slow Wannaskan backwaters, the Nymphaea odorata have nearly finished their long summer performance. Through July and August, their broad, floating leaves spread like green saucers across the still water, while the creamy white flowers, fragrant and star-like, rose above them in the morning light before folding tight again toward evening. Now, by mid-September, the show is waning. Blossoms are almost gone, their petals dropping back into the dark mirror of the lakes, leaving behind round seed pods that slowly sink below the surface. The floating leaves, once waxy and resilient, are freckled with age—spotted yellow and brown, curling at the edges, surrendering to the coming cold.

Phenologically, the water lily is a calendar written in wax and water: its first shoots appear with the lengthening daylight of late spring; its blossoms peak in the high sun of midsummer; and by early fall, its retreat signals the shift toward dormancy. The plant’s energy is already sinking back into its rhizomes, which lie anchored in the muck, storing food and patience until another thaw arrives. Dragonflies still skim the pads, but frogs, once hidden beneath them, begin slip to deeper refuge. The lily’s decline matches the yellowing of the birch and the reddening of the maples along the shore. It is one more reminder that the lakes themselves are entering a quieter time, when the surface, uncluttered, reflects more sky than flower.

September 17 Fickle Pickle Wednesday Menu Special: Potato Dumpling


September 17 Nordhem Wednesday Lunch: Updated daily, occasionally.


Earth/Moon Almanac for September 17, 2025
Sunrise: 7:04am; Sunset: 7:33pm; 3 minutes, 33 seconds less daylight today
Moonrise: 1:54am; Moonset: 6:10pm, waning crescent, 16% illuminated.


Temperature Almanac for September 17, 2025
                Average            Record              Today
High             66                     90                     71
Low              44                      16                     54

September
by Hilaire Belloc

Lo! a ripe sheaf of many golden days 
Gleaned by the year in autumn's harvest ways, 
With here and there, blood-tinted as an ember, 
Some crimson poppy of a late delight 
Atoning in its splendor for the flight 
Of summer blooms and joys­
This is September.

September 17 Celebrations from National Day Calendar

• National Professional Housecleaner Day
• National Monte Cristo Day
• National Apple Dumpling Day
• Constitution Day and Citizenship Day

September 17 Word Pun
Ula works in a paperless office, which is generally good, but becomes problematic in the restroom.


September 17 Word Riddle
What do you call a happy cowboy?*


September 17 The Devil’s Dictionary Word-Pram
TENACITY, n., A certain quality of the human hand in its relation to the coin of the realm. It attains its highest development in the hand of authority and is considered a serviceable equipment for a career in politics. The following illustrative lines were written of a Californian gentleman in high political preferment, who has passed to his accounting:

    Of such tenacity his grip
    That nothing from his hand can slip.
    Well-buttered eels you may o'erwhelm
    In tubs of liquid slippery-elm
    In vain—from his detaining pinch
    They cannot struggle half an inch!
    'Tis lucky that he so is planned
    That breath he draws not with his hand,
    For if he did, so great his greed
    He'd draw his last with eager speed.
    Nay, that were well, you say. Not so
    He'd draw but never let it go!


September 17 Etymology Word of the Week
tempest
/TEM-pəst/ n., a violent and windy storm, from late 13th century, from Old French tempeste "storm; commotion, battle; epidemic, plague" (11th century), from Vulgar Latin tempesta, from Latin tempestas "a storm, commotion; weather, season; occasion, time," which is a derivative of tempus "time, season" (see temporal). Latin sense evolution is from "period of time" to "period of weather," to "bad weather" to "storm." Words for "weather" originally were words for "time" in languages from Russia to Brittany. The figurative sense of "violent commotion, flurry, excitement" in English is recorded from early 14th century. The figurative tempest in a teapot "great disturbance over a small matter" is attested by 1818; the image is older in other forms, e.g. storm in a creambowl (1670s).


September 17 Historic Events, Literary or Otherwise, from On This Day

• 1683 Dutch scientist Antonie van Leeuwenhoek is the first to report the existence of bacteria.
• 1789 William Herschel discovers Saturn's moon Mimas .
• 1835 Charles Darwin lands on Chatham Island in the Galapagos Archipelago.
• 1849 Harriet Tubman is the first to escape slavery in Maryland with two of her brothers.
• 1861 First class for escaped slaves taught by Mary Peake at Fortress Monroe Virginia (now Hampton University).
• 1911 First airplane flight across the US from New York to Pasadena, California, in 82 hours and 4 minutes.
• 1923 Sutton Vane's Outward Bound premieres in London.
• 1934 RCA Victor releases the first 33 1/3 rpm recording: Beethoven's Fifth Symphony performed by the Philadelphia Orchestra, led by Leopold Stokowski at the Philadelphia Academy of Music.
• 1954 Lord of the Flies by William Golding is published.
• 1961 Samuel Beckett's Happy Days premieres.
• 2024 Norway becomes the first country where electric cars outnumber petrol vehicles.

September 17 Author/Artist/Character Birthdays, from On This Day

• 1605 Francesco Sacrati, Italian composer.
• 1711 Ignaz Jakob Holzbauer, Austrian composer.
• 1714 Gottlieb Rabener, German author.
• 1748 Robert Wainwright, English composer.
• 1767 Henri-Montan Berton, French composer.
• 1771 Johann August Apel, German writer.
• 1783 Samuel Prout, British water color painter.
• 1795 Saverio Mercadante, Italian composer.
• 1814 Stefano Ronchetti-Monteviti, Italian composer.
• 1815 Halfdan Kjerulf, Norwegian composer.
• 1821 Arthur Saint-Leon, French composer and dancer.
• 1834 Edouard Pailleron, French poet and stage writer.
• 1849 Vaclav Juda Novotny, Czech composer.
• 1854 Hans Müller, German music writer.
• 1859 Richard Henry Warren, American organist and composer.
• 1861 Owen Seaman, British poet.
• 1873 Max Švabinský, Czech painter.
• 1875 Vyacheslav Gavrilovich Karatigin, Russian composer.
• 1877 Jean Hure, French composer.
• 1878 Vincenzo Tommasini, Italian composer.
• 1880 Désiré Inghelbrecht, French composer, conductor and writer.
• 1883 William Carlos Williams, American poet.
• 1884 Charles Tomlinson Griffes, American composer.
• 1885 Uzeyir Hajibeyov, Soviet composer.
• 1890 Lubov Tchernicheva, Russian-British ballerina.
• 1892 Hendrik Andriessen, Dutch organist and composer.
• 1905 Jorge Urrutia Blondel, Chilean composer.
• 1908 Franz Grothe, German composer.
• 1910 František Hrubín, Czech poet.
• 1913 Jørgen Jersild, Danish composer.
• 1916 Mary Stewart, British science fiction author.
• 1916 Ove Abildgaard, Danish poet.
• 1917 Isang Yun, Korean-born German composer.
• 1930 Lalgudi Jayaraman, Indian Carnatic violinist and composer.
• 1935 Ken Kesey, American author.
• 1936 Jennifer Dickson, South African-British artist and photographer.
• 1936 Mischa de Vreede, Dutch poet.
• 1937 Albertine Sarrazin, French author.
• 1947 Jeff MacNelly, American Pulitzer Prize winning cartoonist.
• 1954 Joël-François Durand, French classical composer.
• 1956 Brian Andreas [Kai Andreas Skye], American writer, sculptor, painter.
• 1963 Rami Saari, Israeli poet.
• 1963 Wendy Northcutt, American author.
• 1972 Bryan McCormack, Irish artist.

Words-I-Looked-Up-This-Week Writer's Challenge 
Write a story or pram from the following words:

• cantabank: /KANT-uh-bank/ n., a second-rate ballad singer.
• citrinity: /si-TRIN-i-tee/ n., yellowness.
• doppelgänger: /DÄ-pəl-ɡaNG-ər/ n., an apparition or double of a living person.
• grithbruch: /GREET-brookh/ n., a breach of the peace.
• lown: /lōn/ n., a calm or quiet state; stillness, tranquillity; shelter; a peaceful place; adj., of the weather, a body of water, or some other natural feature or phenomenon: calm, still; of a person: gentle, calm, quiet; of a place: sheltered; cosy, snug; adv., calmly, quietly; peacefully, tranquilly; (also) in a low voice, softly; so as to be sheltered or protected; cosily, snugly, chiefly in to lie lown: to keep out of trouble, to lie low.
• oakum: /Ō-k(ə)m/ n.,     loose fiber obtained by untwisting old rope, used especially in caulking wooden ships.
• ology: /AH-luh-jee/ n., an academic discipline or field of knowledge; esp. one of the physical, biological, or social sciences.
• pannier: /PAN-yər/ n., a basket, especially one of a pair carried by a beast of burden; each of a pair of bags or boxes fitted on either side of the rear wheel of a bicycle or motorcycle; part of a skirt looped up around the hips.
• sodality: /sō-DAL-ə-dē/ n., a confraternity or association, especially a Roman Catholic religious guild or brotherhood.
• swale: /swāl/ n., a low or hollow place, especially a marshy depression between ridges.

September 17 2025 Word-Wednesday Feature
The Rhetoric of Return
epanalepsis: /ep-uh-nuh-LEP-sis/ (ἐπανάληψις) n., a taking up again or repetition, from the Greek verb analambanein - “to take up” or “resume” - conveys the sense of circling back, of picking something up once more after it has been set down. In rhetoric, epanalepsis names the deliberate repetition of the initial part of a clause, line, or sentence at its close. Put simply: the beginning returns at the end. This structural embrace generates a sense of completeness, closure, and intensified focus.

Epanalepsis is distinct from other figures of repetition. While anaphora repeats words at the beginning of successive clauses, and epistrophe repeats them at the end, epanalepsis joins beginning to end within a single clause or line. It often takes the form of a circular utterance: “The king is dead, long live the king.” Such circularity emphasizes continuity, inevitability, or timelessness. Its effect can be meditative, emphatic, or ironic, depending on context. Poets and orators have used epanalepsis in many ways for which Wannaskan Almanac readers will no doubt recognize.

Epanalepsis has ancient roots in classical and religious texts. In the biblical tradition, its circularity often conveys eternity or the unchanging nature of God. Consider Revelation 1:8: “I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending.” Though not a strict word-for-word epanalepsis, the structure enacts the device’s spirit: a divine cycle with no outside. Homeric poetry also uses formulaic repetition frequently bends toward circular emphasis. The invocation of epithets — “rosy-fingered Dawn” — occurs at both the start and close of descriptions, giving the impression of eternal recurrence.

Shakespeare used epanalepsis with particular fondness and force. In Hamlet, when Polonius describes the prince’s apparent madness, he says: “Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.” Here the word “madness” frames the line, reminding the listener that the subject both opens and closes the thought, reinforcing the sense of paranoia: madness, once suspected, dominates the entire horizon of interpretation. In King Lear, Lear’s bitter lament provides another instance: “Nothing will come of nothing.” The circular phrasing captures futility. The structure makes the phrase both aphoristic and memorable; the audience cannot forget the echo that locks the thought in place. Shakespeare often turned to epanalepsis when characters wrestled with inescapable truths, repeating the initial word at the end to dramatize the prison of obsession, the inability to escape one’s own beginning.

John Milton used epanalepsis in Paradise Lost to heighten grandeur and solemnity. In Book I, Satan proclaims: 

All is not lost; the unconquerable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield:
And what is else not to be overcome?

Though not a textbook example of single-word epanalepsis, the rhetoric circles back to its own opening claim: that “all is not lost.” The speech closes by reinforcing the resilience declared at its start. Elsewhere, Milton’s epanaleptic phrasing carries more theological weight. By returning to the same word or idea, he evokes the eternal cycles of divine creation and rebellion. The effect is to remind readers of infinity: the beginning is always also the end.

The Romantic poets, with their fascination for memory and recurrence, found epanalepsis a fitting tool. William Blake’s The Marriage of Heaven and Hell proclaims: "Eternity is in love with the productions of time.” Alfred Lord Tennysball's In Memoriam A.H.H. uses similar circular devices to capture grief’s recurrence. Phrases such as:

I hold it true, whate’er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
’Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all

echo their own beginnings in their endings. 

Modern poets also turn to epanalepsis for emphasis, as in T. S. Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock:

In the room the women come and go 
Talking of Michelangelo.

The refrain circles back each time it appears, beginning and ending with the same “room” where nothing changes; each stanza begins and ends in the same place. Eliot’s use of refrain is a broader form of epanalepsis, giving the poem its haunting cyclical motion. The repetition suggests paralysis: despite movement in the middle, one always ends where one began.

In oratory, epanalepsis has proved especially powerful because it gives a phrase both punch and memorability. One of the most famous examples is from the Reverend Jesse Jackson’s 1988 Democratic National Convention speech: “We must always turn to each other, and not on each other.” Here the phrase “each other” both begins and ends the sentence, emphasizing solidarity. The repetition delivers the moral imperative of unity. Similarly, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, in his 1933 inaugural address, used a related form: “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” While technically a case of antimetabole, the effect is epanaleptic: the word “fear” both opens and closes, creating a circular resonance that captures the paradox of fear feeding on itself. Martin Luther King Jr.'s mastery of biblical cadence often deployed epanalepsis. In his I Have a Dream speech, when he declared, “Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”, the repetition of “free” at beginning and end creates a jubilant loop of liberation.

From its Greek etymology—a taking up again—to its appearance in sacred scripture, Renaissance tragedy, Romantic elegy, modern verse, and political speeches, epanalepsis suggests return and resonance. It compresses meaning into a circular structure where the beginning reappears at the end, leaving no escape from the central word or idea. This poetic device also endures because it harmonizes with the human ear’s love for rhythm and for the elusive notion of closure. Sometimes transcendence can make a brief, glimmering appearance between birth and death.


From A Year with Rilke, September 17 Entry
Like Islands, from Early Journals

I am learning to see something new. In addition to sky and land, a third thing has equal significance: the air.

Things usually appear to me as finite and limited in comparison with the great body of Earth. But here there are many things that seem like islands—alone, bright, caressed on all sides by ever-moving air that makes their forms stand out so clearly.

Aleko and Zemphira by Moonlight
by Marc Chagall

Be better than yesterday, 
learn a new word today, 
try to stay out of trouble — at least until tomorrow, 
and write when you have the time.






*A jolly rancher.