I live in Norway and I have a child who is 5 years old.

One day this Autumn I picked up my five-year-old son from kindergarten, he came running toward me shouting:

“Mum, today I learned how to use an axe!”

I laughed and replied automatically, “That’s great, sweetheart,” without believing it for a second. Of course he hadn’t used an axe. Maybe he had seen one from a safe distance, while an adult explained what it was used for, and other adults made sure the children stood safely behind a fence.

Axes in Norway are common, at cabins and in homes with fireplaces. They are sharp, heavy, and dangerous. Surely no one would let a little child handle such a tool?

The next day, I was shocked. Hanging on the wall in the cloakroom were 20 photos. One of each child, aged three to five, all smiling and focused, their little kindergarten hands holding a real axe and striking it against a log. And there was my son too, in his rain suit, mid-swing.

I’ve always been a defender of Norwegian childhood: nature, outdoor life, and early independence. I love that children are outside in all kinds of weather, that they get to climb, fall, get muddy, feel a bit cold, and learn how to manage on their own.

I grew up attending a strict French school with high pressure from an early age. We had to sit still for hours at a time from the age of three. We weren’t allowed to play outside if it was raining.

“You’ll get dirty!” my grandmother would say. “Don’t go outside—you’ll get cold.”

Every time my French family asks, “But what’s the point of your son walking three kilometers in the forest when he can’t even read? He’s only five!” I always defend the Norwegian system (almost always, not when it comes to the food they give them but that is another topic).

“He has so much to explore,” I reply. “I trust that he’ll learn to read when the time is right. In Norway, children spend a lot of time outdoors—and he loves it.”

I’ve smiled when I pick up my son soaking wet and covered in mud. I’ve nodded proudly when I’m told he fell from a tree—but climbed back up again.

But an axe? That crossed a line, I thought. What about the risks? What if he hurt himself, or someone else? My heart skipped a beat.

Then I paused. Because my son was proud. He talked about the axe for days.

“Mum, I managed to cut the wood!” He had experienced what Norwegians call mestringsfølelse, a sense of mastery, a word I didn’t even have in my vocabulary before moving to Norway. He had done something real, something important, something physical ,and he had mastered it.

Maybe that’s exactly how children become confident: by being allowed to try, not just by being protected.

When I grew up, childhood was mostly about protection and control. Parents were always afraid something might go wrong. In France, children rarely go out without adults. They eat nicely, sit still, and often hear, “Ne touche pas!”(“Don’t touch!”) We protect them from cold, rain, dirt, and sharp objects, and maybe also a little from life itself.

In Norway, it’s the opposite. Here, children learn early that they can handle things. That their bodies can tolerate getting wet. That they can balance, fall, and get back up. That they can use tools that can cause harm, and that is precisely why they must use them with respect. That sometimes, they need to grit their teeth when things get tough.

As a French mother in Norway, I experience this every day as a small cultural shock.

And yet, when I look at my son, I start to understand why this works.

He is more secure, more curious, and freer than many French children. He has learned that the world is not something to be afraid of, but something to explore.

The Norwegian ideal of childhood is not about achievement, but about experience. Not about being good—but about being capable. It’s not always easy for us foreigners to grasp. We who come from cultures where children must be tidy, polite, and protected, must learn to let go. To trust that learning also happens when things hurt a little, and when clothes get ruined.

So which is better? When I see that photo of my son holding an axe, I see the joy in his eyes.

The picture now hangs on our wall at home. Every time we pass it, I say:

“Look at you, so good at using an axe!”

And deep down, I think:
Maybe it’s not just my son learning something in that kindergarten.
Maybe I’m learning too, about how to be a little more Norwegian.

Published in Norwegian in the newspaper VG on this link.