News from the Collège de Tirelonge

      One of Johanna's recent lab reports for Physical Science bore the conclusion: "We should find out the names of supplies in French before we go shopping." Here's why:

      The experiment called for hydrogen peroxide which -- silly me -- I assumed would have a name that sounded similar in French. I couldn't find anything of that description, so I picked up a brown bottle of something from the first aid section of the supermarket. The bottle looked like a hydrogen peroxide bottle, so I thought we'd give it a try. Well. The experiment involved filling a balloon with oxygen, which was going to be produced when we mixed the hydrogen peroxide with yeast. We were then going to release the oxygen near a candle burning under a glass jar, at which point the candle would burn brighter, demonstrating an important property of oxygen. Whatever I bought produced nothing when mixed with yeast, which I suppose is better than the alternative (that I bought something explosive). I then had an inspiration. We would mix vinegar and baking soda, which produces some kind of gas, fill the balloon with that, and see what happened. Those of you who know more about chemistry than I can already guess the results. The balloon filled nicely with gas, we released the gas into the jar with the candle, and the candle sputtered out (actually, it didn't even sputter, because some vinegar had gotten into the balloon as well, and it doused the candle immediately -- and made a mess of the kitchen counter). A quick visit to Google informed me that what we had produced was carbon dioxide gas. I comforted myself with the knowledge that Albert Einstein, Winston Churchill, and even Oprah Winfrey were at one time considered failures. (I learned this from a blog entitled "50 Famously Successful People Who Failed at First.")

      I will be making frequent returns to that blog, as homeschooling in Switzerland does present some unique challenges. Yesterday, Luc, Jo, and I had a meeting with the children's doyens. These people are basically guidance counsellors, who are each assigned to work with one grade level of children in the local public school. They follow that particular group all through their middle school years, which I think is a nice idea. Anyway, we should have met with them earlier, but it takes me a while to work up to making French phone calls, and I had some others earlier on the list. The two worst things about going to meetings which I have set up on the telephone are: 1) I am always a little nervous that I have the wrong time, since in addition to the numbers being in French, they also use 24-hour time. So I had written down 16h30, but you never know. 2) Unless I remember to ask for the spelling of the person's name with whom I am meeting, I usually have no idea what it is. This time, I had forgotten to ask, so all I knew is that we were meeting with a woman whose name sounded like it began with "s." Before the meeting, I had written down the things I needed to find out or obtain: Scope and sequence for history, geography, and the sciences, so the children could choose paper topics; French textbooks, which I had been told I could get for free; and previous-year copies of the Evacoms, which are the standardized tests the kids will take in May. I gave myself a strict pep talk about not leaving the meeting without answers to my questions, and I told the kids to look as happy, smart, and well-adjusted as possible. They had to go to running practice right after the meeting, so in their Stade Genève track suits, they at least looked sporty.

       The good things about the meeting: There was a nice big sign hanging from the ceiling directing us to the secretariat, where we were supposed to present ourselves. The staff mailboxes were in plain view, and only one doyenne had a name that began with "s." The doyens spoke less English than I do French, so they were very patient with me. Best of all, I did not have to ask a single question, as they were outstandingly prepared with website recommendations, a calendar of test dates, and textbooks for not only French, but math and English as well. Also, all of this took only about 20 minutes.

       The bad thing about the meeting: The kids hopped on the bus to Stade Genève right outside the school, leaving me to walk the mile home carrying a stack of 15 textbooks.

       The good thing about the textbooks: Whenever we start to develop inferiority complexes, we can open up the English workbook and knock out a few exercises.

Forme des phrases complètes avec les mot suivants:

a) can/speak/I/French/.

b) Julie/the/Can/piano/play/?

c) can/Denis/not/baseball/play/.

I'm feeling smarter already!

       

The Cows Coming Home

      I'd like to open this post with a few random observations, each a propos of nothing and none interesting enough for a blog of its own. Then I will move to the real topic, which involves more pictures of cows than you've ever seen (probably), and certainly more than I've ever taken. (In the spirit of crediting sources, thank you to a dear friend for the "observation" idea. I do realize that it was yours first.)

      Observation #1: This has been a really successful cooking week. I baked brownies from scratch that actually tasted as good as brownies from a box. I also welcomed the autumn chill with risotto and my first run at polenta (with pumpkin -- so yummy). To top it off, Johanna, Lucas, and I stretched the meaning of nutrition class to allow us to make our own Asiago cheese bagels on Friday. Although the project did involve several steps (including boiling before baking -- who knew?), it was actually surprisingly easy, and the bagels, though not Panera, were outstanding.

     Observation #2: All of a sudden, our family is consuming astonishing amounts of food. I understand that this state of affairs is considered normal for households with (almost) three teenagers, but still . . . . I am at the grocery store daily. Good thing it's a short walk.

     Observation #3: Every time we meet someone's grandmother, she comments on how handsome Drew is. He is beginning to develop a complex about this; while it's always nice to be complemented, he'd prefer to hear about his good looks from the teenage girls. I told him that the phenomenon is due to the fact that he is handsome, but in a very non-threatening, "I will have your daughter home by 10 p.m." kind of way, rather than in that smoldering, dangerous way that may attract the younger set. Someday, he will appreciate this. Perhaps.

      Observation #4: As with everything else about the Swiss, the Swiss chapters of Boy Scouts of America are not kidding. Lucas just returned from a 9-hour hike up a mountain in Kandersteg. Even allowing for 12-year-old exaggeration, that's a long hike. Amazingly, he said he'd do it again given the opportunity. Clearly, there is some brainwashing going on. Actually, it was probably the outdoor cooking that made it all worthwhile for him.

     And now, on to the cows. Last weekend was the Desalpes festival in St. Cergue, which is a town in the Jura mountains about 45 minutes from here. The Desalpes celebrates the cows coming down from their summer pastures in the mountains to their winter pastures at lower elevations. I had heard that the cows have flowers on their head and come down in troops, led by the herdsmen. Last year, when I suggested that we go see this spectacle, I was met with moaning about getting up early on a Saturday and who wants to go see a bunch of cows, anyway. So this year, I announced that I was going, and people could come or not, as they wished. This, as it turns out, is a brilliant strategy. Everyone except Drew bit (he has a Saturday morning job teaching English, so he had a legitimate excuse).

We had pictured the cows ambling slowly down a grassy path. Instead, they thundered -- or at least jogged -- through the streets of the village. Apparently, they were eager to reach their winter pastures.

The herdsmen all had matching outfits, which I assume were traditional Swiss cowherd garb.

These two were leading the troop, carrying a sign with the name of their family or farm.

You can see one of the flower-bedecked cows here. They didn't all have flowers; just the ones in the front of each herd.

The bells were huge and loud, in a nice, pastoral kind of way. They had them for sale for 300 chf a piece.

Here's my best cow picture. Lots of them had evergreen branches with tissue flowers on their heads, rather than actual flowers.

Some of the herdsmen seemed kind of nervous that their cows would run out of control and trample someone. Also, there were signs everywhere disclaiming responsibility for adults, children, or animals injured by the cows. We didn't see any injuries, though. When the loudspeaker announced the next "troupeau,"  people pretty much moved to the side to give the cows their space. And to avoid being splattered with . . . well, I'm sure you can guess.

More cows.

And still more cows. This was my favorite herding family, too.

Between the parading cows, dancers performed traditional Alpine dances.

It looked very much like Dutch dancing, except that they didn't wear wooden shoes, and they shouted a lot in the middle of the dance.

A band accompanied the dancers.

Leading a herd.

Cows with headdresses.

      This is about half of the pictures I took, but I think it is adequate to get the general idea of the concentration of cattle. We did not invest in a 300 chf cowbell, but we did buy some local honey and some cheese . . . emmentaler, of course. We returned home cold and wet from the rain, but I don't think I was the only one who was happy to have experienced the Desalpes.