Fragments From Floyd

The Snite

'tis a deadly combination: my head cold coupled with genetically inherited "photic sneezing". The stroboscopic effect of tree shadows as they zoomed past-- light-dark-light-dark --on the highway yesterday were almost enough to induce epileptic seizures. They were more than enough to induce a violent episode of sneezing on the road between the house and Floyd. And I'm talking quick-pull-over to the side of the road sneezes, which in turn, converted the plaster in the sinuses instantly into a runny effluvium the viscosity of creek water. What's a fella who forgot his hanky to do? (Actually I had mine. I'm just building dramatic tension in my little tale here, you see).

Snite. It is a word I probably would have read right on past had I not been able to recall my very first visit to southwest Virginia almost thirty years ago. I pulled up to the light in our future hometown, looking around like a tourist, seeing it for the first time and thinking "this is our town!" I waited there at the light behind a fella in a pickup truck (as almost all fellas still are in that county). While he waited, he was overcome, as I was recently, by the need to clean house, nasally speaking, with the greatest haste. So, seeing as how necessity is the mother of some pretty raw and impolite acts, and being a country boy who would never be caught dead with anything so sissy as a Kleenex on his person, and realizing that he was wearing short sleeves-- he leaned out of his open truck door, head and shoulders disappearing behind the rusted door briefly while he snite a large wet spot there on Main Street. You simply cover one nostril with the side or your thumb and blow the other one like Sachmo's horn. Voila. And welcome to town, stranger.

And so I have run across this word not once, but twice in recent weeks used by two highly cultured writers (Diane Ackerman being one, maybe B. Kingsolver the other, can't remember for sure). So it must be a word (it certainly is a wintertime behavior in common practice in some circles). Etymologically, it most likely is a relative of "snout" (see below) and from hence, the name of its discharge and from that, snite, the verb: to clear ones nose of said substance. My two cents. And it occurs to me that my brother invented a related word when very small that we continue to use to this day. If someone is sniffing so as to avoid a snite they are "snicking". The man in the truck didn't.

Origin: OE. Snoute, probably of Scand, or Low German origin; cf. LG. Snute, D. Snuit, G. Schnauze, Sw. Snut, snyte, Dan. Snude, Icel. Snta to blow the nose; probably akin to E. Snuff, v.t. Cf. Snite, Snot, Snuff. Source: Websters Dictionary

Yes, I do still have a bit of cold symptoms. Thanks for asking. And you'll want to know that I am in the stage at which, when I snick strongly, on exhalation my sinuses return that embarassing squeaky sound reminiscent of your dog's favorite chew toy. Surely there should be a creative sn---- word for it, don't you think?