Firth things firth

If I had a nickel for every time someone has asked me to explain what a firth is, I would have almost five cents by now.

Mostly it's people who live closer to Dayton than Dundee who ask such questions, or the followers of pasture pool more accustomed to Augusta than St. Andrews. Nevertheless, even such as these deserve to go to their graves no longer furtively firth-ignorant. Fer sure.

Afore one speaks of firths, forsooth, one must firth speak of Forth. First and foremost, friends, the Forth is a river. A fine, fine, wondrous river of fabulous and fantastic beauty. Yet everything must eventually come to an end, and so it is with beautiful rivers as well. These wide river-ends the English call estuaries, but those finer folk further in the bracing north call them firths. Not just because the language is more refined in the north, mind you, but... well, because that is what they ARE, you see. Firths.

And, aflight or afoot, near or afar, you'll find no finer firth than the Firth of Forth. Frankly. Yet here we must pause to ensure our quaint colonial friends are not led far afield in their frantic fathomings, for it must be explained - firmly - that as fine as it fairly is, this firth, this fantastical Firth of Forth, it is actually a fjord.

I am at a loss of words, at least F-words, to continue.

Fungool.

Pittsburgh Steel, part dà dhà

The realm of the Picts was divided into several provinces, or sub-kingdoms, one of which was known as "Fib". By A.D. 1160 or thereabouts, it was being spelled "Fif". Today it is known as Fife, and a more beautiful ex-Pict sub-kindom you would be hard-pressed to find.

Fife is no longer a Scottish county, but is rather something called a "lieutenancy area". I won't make an attempt at that; Scottish lieutenancies and local government regions are well beyond the scope of your average American's need to know, and, let's face it, desire to know. Suffice to say that this gorgeous bit of green Scottish heaven is tucked away by the sea, between the Firth of Tay and the Firth of Forth. Try to say THAT fast three times when you are drunk, laddie! I have heard rumors, however, that Fife is up for a captaincy soon, or even a majorcy in the near future.

The picturesque city of St. Andrews is perched there near the sea. In addition to the magnificent ruins of St. Andrews Cathedral, pictured above, it is rumored that some other folk have taken up the game of golf in nearby environs. Since I have already done the People-of-St.-Andrews-love-Bobby-Jones golf post elsewhere in this blog, I won't get sidetracked about golf here. However, there is MUCH rich history and interesting stories to be found in Fife, and I may revisit it for that purpose sometime in the future.

In November of 1835, a boy was born in Dunfermline (one of the three districts of Fife) to a weaver and his wife. It is the story of this little boy that this little series of posts is really about. He was to become America's second-wealthiest man behind only John D. Rockerfeller.