Have you ever had the experience of sitting down and
reading an article about a particular topic, only to find as you’re reading it
that the subject at hand parallels almost identically the issues of a
completely different topic? Recently I read a very interesting article in the
magazine Living Bird entitled,
“Flying in Thin Air: How do birds meet their oxygen demands at high
elevation?”. The title drew my attention
because, A) as I said before in this blog, I like birds and B) my husband and I
are amateur climbers with a fascination for how people handle oxygen demand at
various elevations of the climb. Anyway, the article goes on to focus on the
birds that survive and thrive living among the highest mountain peaks in the
world. We’re talking living at
elevations of 8,800 meters (29,000 feet) or more, where the air contains less
than one third the oxygen available at sea level.
Cornell PhD student Sahas Barve chose to study the
survival abilities of birds among the peaks of the Himalayan Mountains.
Interestingly, he discovered that the adaptations for living in such
oxygen-deplete areas differed among the birds native to that area (birds that
live there year-round and do not migrate) versus migratory birds (those that
live there only certain times of the year).
By collecting blood samples from resident and
migratory birds, he found the following information. Migratory birds produce
more red blood cells, the oxygen-carrying cell in the blood, to make up for the
low oxygen levels of the air. More red cells means more oxygen transport in the
body. This is evidenced by a higher hematocrit on blood testing. It is indeed an efficient way to tolerate the
tenuousness of oxygen at these heights. Red blood cells can be produced
relatively quickly and easily, readily adapting the birds to this environment.
However, higher hematocrit has its draw-backs. More red blood cells means thicker blood, which
has a propensity to clot. Thicker blood also moves slowly through the blood
vessels, reducing speed of oxygen delivery to the body’s organs. But this
short-term adaptation works well enough to get these birds through the nesting
season, just long enough until they move on from these elevations.
Resident birds have developed a very different
technique which allows them to survive year-round in this oxygen-deplete
environment. Instead of increasing red
blood cell number, they increase the amount of hemoglobin (the actual oxygen-carrying
protein) of each red blood cell. This
means each red blood cell of a resident bird carries much more oxygen than
individual red cells of the migratory birds. There is no thickening of the
blood, and therefore, no risk of clotting.
These highly interesting findings got me to thinking
about the different language adaptations of native (aka resident) versus
secondary (aka migrant) language learners/speakers. I’m thinking specifically about
a trip to Croatia I took with my husband some years back. The Croatian language is different than any
language I had previously studied, so I knew I would have to give myself a
crash-course in the language if I had any hope of communicating with my
husband’s friends and family there. Much like the migratory birds of the
Himalayas, I chose the quickest method possible to adapt myself: a traveler’s
book of common Croatian phrases/vocabulary. I memorized as much as I could. I
repeated phrases over and over. I taught myself the most common verb
conjugations, and then I went on the trip. When I got there, these well-known
phrases served me well. In Croatian I could introduce myself, order in a
restaurant, thank people politely, tell them I was glad to make their
acquaintance. And my husband’s family noticed: “She speaks Croatian well!”,
“She understands the language!”, and I felt good about myself. A true
cosmopolitan. A traveler. A multi-lingual.
However, this adaptation had its draw-backs. Rapidly,
I ran out of common phrases to use. When it came to communicating anything
beyond basic needs, I was lost. And native speakers don’t stick to a script.
Their conversations deepened, their words became complex. Pretty soon I stopped
opening my mouth because I ran out of things to say. And I stopped listening
because I didn’t understand what was being said. My short-term adaptations
carried me through most of my trip there—about two weeks—at which point I
headed back home to my native speaking grounds. I was relieved, and could finally breathe
again.
The native Croatian speakers had a more efficient, long-term
adaptation to their language. They didn’t memorize phrases for survival - they
were raised in these phrases. They lived their lives in these words. They were
familiar with the nuances. From infancy on up, vocabulary took up residence in a
permanent part of their brain.
As a native English speaker who has spent well over
half my life learning Spanish, I personally understand the struggle of transitioning
from short-term to long-term adaptations in a language. Rote memorization of
common phrases or vocabulary certainly help us when we start out learning a
language. But memorization without practical and everyday usage will never make
those words a permanent part of who we are. My daily clinical work in Spanish
and my writing about those experiences help do that for me. What are you doing
to help ensure permanent second (or third, or fourth, etc) language acquisition
in your everyday life?
“I’m an
ophthalmologist making the most of my high school Spanish. Mr. Jondee would be
proud.” –BH
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| Bar-headed Geese, 9,000m |
