A few weeks ago,
I had the good fortune of visiting the Norwegian National Centre for Foreign
Languages in Education (www.fremmedspraksenteret.no)
in Halden, near the Swedish
border. While there, members of
the center took me and my fellow roving scholars to observe lower and upper
secondary schools. The trip provided a good foundation for the workshops that
I’m sharing with upper secondary students here and included a fantastic tour
and dinner at the Fredriksten Fortress, constructed in 1661 when a new border
with Sweden necessitated fortifications.
I am relatively untraveled in Europe, and I marveled at everything from
the thick walls of the gates to the cobblestone streets inside the Citadel to
the cannons to the image conjured by our guide of a bakery and brewery serving
the fortress’s residents. The superior photos of my fellow rover, Sarah Benson, will illustrate:
I
thought that my fellow historians would especially appreciate an astute local-saying
regarding history, memory and Swedish King Charles XII, who died in a siege of
the fortress in 1718. Conspiracy
theories have surrounded his death since it occurred, and some believe that he
was killed by his own men. The evidence
for such a conclusion is shaky at best, but the story brings many tourists to
the fortress. As a result,
residents of Halden like to say, “Long live the death of the king!”
What
struck me most, however, was our guide’s observation that “Trees are a
peacetime invention.” Fredriksten now serves as a park and amphitheatre, and
trees dotted the hillside along the back of the fortress and sheltered the
outdoor concert space. But none
were there during the fortress’s fighting days. According to our guide, trees interfere with sight lines and
those we were enjoying had grown since the fortress ceased to serve military
purposes.
The
comment was much on my mind for the following two weeks as my son began to
struggle with the language barrier at his school. I’m not fond of martial metaphors to describe family
relations. And school mornings have not been a war. Nonetheless, battle may come close to being
the appropriate word. His school
has been warm and welcoming, and we know we are hardly the first parents to
navigate a classroom without the native language. Still, exhausted by struggling with the challenge of learning
a new system in a new language, we have gratefully greeted Friday afternoon,
having lived to fight another day.
Weekends brought
more time in English, our own schedule, and, not least, trees. We hiked among the trees in the forest above
the city.
We picked mushrooms
under dripping branches on a rainy Sunday morning.
On school days, I would look to the trees after I dropped my son off and marvel at the timely arrival of autumn. My son brought home pictures of leaves labeled in Norwegian and colored them in red, gold, and brown.
On school days, I would look to the trees after I dropped my son off and marvel at the timely arrival of autumn. My son brought home pictures of leaves labeled in Norwegian and colored them in red, gold, and brown.
