This one time, at Welsh camp...

-- Kristin Johnson

I hate summer. It’s hot. It’s humid. The mosquitoes love me. And I never seem to have anything fun planned. But this summer was different. This summer, I went to a language camp.

The course had been something I stumbled on while surfing the Net. I was doing research for a suspense novel I’m writing that’s set in Wales and Ireland. It was a carry-over from a capstone project for my master’s in technical communication. I wanted to see if I could get people to love a language that is out of the mainstream, something other than the French, Italian and Spanish we so often see glorified as it’s sprinkled throughout books like “The English Patient” and “The Da Vinci Code.”

I selected Welsh because I had been on a semester abroad in Wales 15 years ago and wondered why people still spoke such an ancient and consonant-laden language. But how could I do this if I didn’t know anything about the language myself? So I set out to find a way to study Welsh and ran across the Cwrs Cymraeg (the Welsh Course), an annual weeklong immersion into the Welsh culture and study of the language. The location moves every year, but this year it was to be in Rio Grande, Ohio in July—a hot and humid time for the state. I groaned. Why couldn’t they have it someplace fun? Someplace COOLER? I signed up anyway.

When I arrived, I noticed we were surrounded by a band camp and would be sharing the campus with them all week. This added a new dimension of humor to the week for those of us who were familiar with the movie “American Pie.”

Each day, I walked between campus buildings in the ninety-plus degree temps with the humidity pushing the heat index near 100. At least I wasn’t at band camp, I thought, marching and carrying an instrument outside with the sun beating down and burning my Casper-colored skin. Then, I noticed at times that the band campers wandered around, shopped in the bookstore, and sat leisurely under umbrellas at picnic tables as we Welsh campers marched to and from class and our busy schedules.

But there was no free time like that for us. We had three class sessions a day, an afternoon lecture on culture (music, poetry, or history), and a daily workshop (linguistics, contemporary music, reading Welsh, or writing poetry). We also had a mid-week excursion to visit local Welsh heritage sites, and then dined on the Ohio River.

Evenings were reserved for social cultural activities. During the week, we did folk dancing, a quiz bowl, a Welsh movie with subtitles, a writing competition (in Welsh of course) mimicking that of the national Esteddfod competition held in Wales each year. NO! I did not win. And we also had an end-of-the-week banquet and talent show where each of the seven class levels performed a skit. So, there was no time for meandering like band campers.

I’ll never forget the challenges of learning a new translation of language—like trying to change the way I pronounce letters like “u” (which is more of a long “e” sound in Welsh) and “c” (which in Welsh is never the soft “s” sound? we often use in English).

I’ll never forget our mini-Esteddfod where they held up a sword, starting to remove it from its sheath, and asked us in Welsh “Are we at peace?” The crowd responded: “Peace!” They asked again, louder: “Are we at peace?” Response: “PEACE!” And a final time to be sure: “ARE WE AT PEACE?” Response: “PEACE!” The words choked in my throat thinking of my own country still not at peace. The Welsh sword was never fully removed from its sheath.

Then there was the singing. The Welsh love to sing. And being at Welsh Camp, we were singing at the beginning and end of every day—folk songs, hymns, and of course, the Welsh national anthem: Hen “Wlad Fy Nhadau” or “Land of My Fathers.” I don’t sing much at home because I don’t think I have a very good voice. But when I was at Welsh camp, singing folk songs and anthems, I didn’t sound as out of tune as I normally do. Maybe the national slogan is true: “Wales is magic!”

On my week, I discovered why people still study this language. It’s because language is so engrained in their culture, such a part of the patriotism and sense of community. I am not Welsh by blood, but it is something that has grown to be part of my spirit. It is the love of culture and adoption of identity that holds this group of native Welsh, as well as nonnative Welsh, people together and keeps many returning year after year to the Cwrs Cymraeg, wherever it is held.

I read in one of those gift books that sprinkle advice on how to live that everyone should learn a second language. At the time, I wondered why. But now I think it was good advice. When I look back on my week of language learning, I think of fond memories and friendships made. I know I’ll pull these memories out on occasion and I can’t help but smile because I can already hear myself say, “This one time, at Welsh camp...”

The Metropolitan Home || Calendar || Commentary || Masthead || Contact
Metropolitan State University Homepage

All material © Metropolitan 2005, except as noted. All rights reserved.