Tag Archives: Childhood

Germany

Winter Wonderland

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There’s something really magical about the first real snowfall, despite the slow drivers on roads, icy bike paths, and bus delays. When it started to snow a couple days ago, my grade 11 class stood up as one unit and clustered around the windows, pressing their noses to the glass, taking photos. When my grade 7 class came in a few minutes later, they dropped their bags at their chairs and ran to the windows as well. To say the least, it was heartwarming to see the whole class, comprised of individuals who normally erupt into chaos upon being so physically close to one another, crowded in one line against the windows, looking out at the trees and rooftops.

The first snow is one of those moments where children see the environment in a totally new way, even though it happens every year, and where adults remember what it feels like to be children. Walking home from the climbing hall last night, a route I decided not to take with my bike due to my earlier encounter with unpleasant riding conditions, we sang quietly, “It’s snowing, it’s snowing, it’s snowing.” Our wonderland air was crisp and cold, fresh, winter.

On the way to school, again choosing to leave the bike at home, I walked under the sort of trees that inspire illustrations in children’s books and watched the red glow beginning on the horizon. As my first students came in for the day, we observed the parting of the clouds, the first rays of gold greeting red rooftops and the tallest tree branches. We don’t always see the sun in wintertime here.

Winter is the Earth’s opportunity to sleep, to rest and restore before coming alive again in spring. Rest and restoration is something we all need, and perhaps the short, dark days can be seen as a way of making the time and space for that. This is also a time to huddle close to family and friends, to warm the hearts, souls, and cold feet. We have visitors coming soon, the Christmas Market has opened, and fresh snow keeps us moving slowly, changing the way we structure our days.

It’s a beautiful time, winter, and I’m glad it’s here.

Germany

A Sweet Start

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Over the weekend I had the opportunity to participate in the wonderful German tradition of the Schuleinführung, the beginning of school for children entering grade one. Also known as Schulanfang, this is the point at which a child becomes a schoolchild. This is a long-awaited moment and the celebration when it finally arrives is a testament to that. Endlich Schulkind! proclaimed decorations, cards, and an invitation we received.

Part of Alles Gute zum ersten Schultag, or wishing a child well on the first day of school, comes the tradition of presenting the child with a Zuckertüte, or cone filled with sweets, gifts, and perhaps school supplies. The cones are often made of highly decorated cardboard, but can also be rather fancier and made of fabric with the name of the child embroidered. Some are as tall as 85 centimetres, out of which quite a few goodies are excitedly unpacked. However, as my German teacher pointed out, a Zuckertüte is also a way to sweeten the serious responsibilities that are about to begin.

On the Saturday before school starts, the soon-to-be grade one children and their parents attend a ceremony at school in which names are called and the Zuckertüten, lovingly prepared by the families in advance, are presented. In the afternoon, the parties begin. Amidst Kaffee und Kuchen and later dinner, guests greet the child, who has been trained to give handshakes and say thank you, and present more gifts and supplies to help a child enter their new phase in life. On this particular swelteringly hot Saturday, plastic pools and children running around in various states of undress were a feature of both parties we attended, as were tables of adult relatives and friends enjoying a range of beverages.

After some time at the first party located in the village firehouse, we remained at the second until after midnight, leaving long after the fireworks that were allowed only because rules in villages are relatively relaxed. At that late hour, some children were still occupied with various painting pursuits and one couple managed a few dances until laughter got the better of them. As is custom in Germany, we said goodbye to each table on our way out, having done just the opposite upon arrival. Everyone is greeted, regardless of whether you know one another or not.

This element of community is something I really enjoy about social events here in Germany, and it was absolutely lovely to be a part of a Zuckertütenfest, the celebration of a child moving forward in the world. For the first of what will be many moments, children get a hint of what is to come, of how they would be expected to comport themselves. This is a big change, an exciting one, and that is indeed something to celebrate.

Zuckertüten have a long history in Germany, and there are regional differences along former East-West lines, as well. (Interesting reading in German here and English here.)

Weimar – July 2021
On My Mind

The Old House

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Whenever I dream of “home” I dream of the old house, specifically the kitchen, which was always my favourite room.

I remember the walls yellow and later orange-red, the cherry wood table and matching chairs stained with a blue accent that I knew was beautiful long before I was old enough to develop taste in furniture. I wonder if there are still math problems visible on the soft wood when the sun shines just right. I wonder if they can still be felt when you rub your finger along a seemingly smooth surface. It was always bright in the kitchen, even when it was dark outside, and I remember the upheaval of removing one pantry to build a desk and replacing the floor that children and toys had long treated too harshly.

The kitchen was the geographic centre of the old house, the first room you saw from the front door, and the first room you entered after bursting through the mudroom door in playclothes, smelling of sun and sweat or peeling off layers of snowpants and gloves. We did our homework at the kitchen table, ate dinner as a family, played board games, sat around to share the worst news and the best news. Almost every photo that we have from a birthday or holiday was taken in the kitchen. Every gathering with friends and extended family started and ended in the kitchen.

We always had a radio there and we listened to talk radio in the morning and music in the afternoon. Sometimes the bird was out on the island when we got home from school, and late in the evenings, the dog turned the island into a race track. The kitchen was the part of the house we lived in, and it’s the room I picture when I think about growing up.

I don’t remember much from my dream last night, but I was back in the old house, back in the old kitchen. I haven’t been inside since I moved to Malaysia nine years ago, shortly after which my parents sold the house and moved across town. I drove by once and soon I’ll drive by again to show it to someone who has only seen it through Street View on Google Maps. The photo there is of a house where I still lived, the car in the driveway not yet my brother’s. I wonder what it looks like now. I wonder what parts of it are best-loved now.

The kitchen is the room I always want to see when I visit a home for the first time. That’s the room I want to be in, the room where I feel most invited and most comfortable. Guests are shown first to other spaces, but kitchen parties are always the best parties. Time in someone’s kitchen is intimate, cozy, personal, and I think there’s some love there, too. It’s in the kitchen where we work alongside one another, where we see what’s not so tidy, where we take raw ingredients and make them into something magical.

It’s no surprise that the kitchen in my parents’ “new” house is the room I’ve spent the most time, the room I like best. It’s the first room you see from the side door, which is the only door they use, and it’s the room that contains the daily traces of people – reading materials left on the counter, coffee cups out ready for use, recipes tucked under the fruit bowl.

Last night I dreamed of the old house, which is always the case when I dream of “home”. My dream started and ended in the kitchen, and as always, it took me right back.

Vienna, Austria – January 2020