Elburg and Pipe organs

Another visit to a former Hanseatic town or rather city, Elburg, a real jewel, small but perfect, walled, moated and gated. It still has a rope maker, a smithy which unfortunately since my last visit has been turned into a museum, a herb garden, a splendid local and regional Museum in a former nunnery, and in its former synagogue a Museum of the Jewish past of this city, a past when Jews were completely integrated in the life of this small town. Without being sentimental it gives us films and pictures about the twelve families who lived here and who were all forcibly taken away to perish in a concentration camp. The website of the museum also has photos of these victims of WWII. Unfortunately, I had no time to visit the museum this time, as I arrived late in the afternoon.  But I have been there before.

The Jewish Museum is on the left

Elburg is always a delight. The main street leading from the harbour through the gate to the other side of Elburg, was crowded with day trippers on this warm summer day. But the parallel streets were very quiet. No parking inside the city walls except for inhabitants, but there are free car parks, a rarity nowadays, just outside the city ramparts.

 The harbour with the Fish Gate, the entrance to the city, in the background across the bridge

 

A better view of the bridge across the city moat with the Fish Gate at the end

The harbour is home to historic wooden barges and fishing boats, which are very picturesque against the backdrop of the city gate and the bridge spanning the moat. 

 The tree lined city walls, looking down into the "city" of Elburg. A walk around the town would be my favourite evening excercise.

 

 Looking at and through the Fish Gate from the town towards the harbour

I intended to take some pictures, visit the rehoused Pipe Organ Museum and ultimately go to an organ recital in the big church there. My blogpost about Elburg dating from 2011 stated that the Organ Museum was housed in a “tiny, rather dusty place, more like a shed”. Since then it has been relocated in a monumental building, once the townhall. There is plenty of space to display all types of pipe organs, from very small portative organs, even smaller than the ones we see St. Caecilia playing in many a cartoon and painting, to very large ones. 

 Two portative historic organs. 

The one on the left above is very tiny but still needs two people to play it

Below a different type of bellows at the back of this small portative organ

 

 There are miniature models of famous Dutch pipe organs, there are cabinet organs which look like a chest of drawers or cabinet when closed, portable house organs, etc. It tells the history of pipe organs, how they came into existence, from bagpipes to pan flutes, and how they developed into the big organs we know nowadays with multiple manuals and many stops. On request the organs can be played. 

 A beautifully decorated house organ

A cabinet organ. When the doors are closed it looks like an common cabinet.

The various rooms in of the museum still have their original fireplaces, of stone and marble, beautifully decorated. A special room has been built in the inner courtyard of the museum to house a big organ which was a gift of a private owner. Being an architect, he did not like the original classic organ case which he thought rather dull and sombre. Instead he designed a very colourful organ case for it, an almost cubistic and most unusual case. It can be admired and heard, as it is regularly played.

Another example of a cabinet organ

I only had an hour to look around the museum before closing time, alas. When I left the museum, there was time left to meander a while and explore this fascinating town with its narrow streets and interesting houses, including a secluded herb garden, before sitting down in one of the numerous cafes for some much-needed food.

 A very small chest organ, portable. 

 Several images of St. Caecilia

The organ with the modern case in the specially built room in the courtyard

 The church tower by day and night

The organ recital - the reason why I had come to Elburg in the first place – started at 8 pm in the big and interesting church which dates back to 1395. Originally of course a Catholic church, after the Reformation and Iconoclasm it was turned into a protestant church. Most of the interior was whitewashed obliterating frescoes and paintings. A few paintings have resurfaced. Its pipe organ, from a later date, is very well known but I had never heard it being played. Since an organist friend of mine was giving this recital, I was eager to attend the recital and hear the organ.

  Church and organ

 Details of the organ case

The size of the church is amazing for such a small town. The organ as well is big and the front beautifully decorated. The sound it produces is very varied, from powerful with trumpets blasting, to a sweet and melodious singing tone. Because of the choice of programme, all the different possibilities were skilfully used and presented to us listeners.

 

Some of the paintings in the ceiling

Afterwards we - the organist, his assistant and I - were invited for drinks in the adjoining building, a former orphanage at one stage, now owned by the church and rented out to the residing organist. What a joy to live in such an historic building with this wonderful view of the church. I hope he realises how fortunate he is!

light of the setting sun

When I left, the tower of the church which before the concert was bathing in the golden light of the setting sun, was now illuminated. Once through the gate the silhouettes of the fishing boats were sharply outlined against the orange sky, a striking image.

In spite of having to drive down home through the dark and uninteresting “polder” around midnight, I had had a very enjoyable and interesting day which was really worth the effort.

Some impressions of Elburg: doors and windows.

 

 The former orphanage

  

 Reflection

 Right: A typical pump and pavement

 

Towns and Nature

A drive through my favourite part of the country

A bright, warm and sunny July day, and a long and interesting drive home from Drenthe through Friesland, and Overijssel, provinces with a splendid variety of nature, attractive historic towns, woodland and moorland, reed lands and farmland, bogs and meadows, lakes and canals. 

 

 

In the past many parts of Drenthe were cultivated for farmland, mainly agriculture, the poor sandy soil perfect for growing potatoes. The farms were small, the farmers poor, and it was hard work. Woods were planted to supply the many unemployed labourers with work. I love those woods. Trees provide shade when it is hot in summer and offer protection against storms and heavy rains. It is so different from the beaches on the coast where there is no shelter from the glaring sun, no protection against storms and thunderstorms. A moderate clime, but harsh and unrelenting. How I hated the beach as a child, suffering from sunburn and headaches, from blistering skin when they did not know much yet about sun protection let alone sunscreens. No tan for me but sunburn. So, I cherish the trees and the woods.

 

 

To my dismay nature gurus have now decided that we should go back to former times, to “original” nature whatever that is. Woods are chopped down, trees uprooted so that sand dunes can be created. The big trees offering a shady resting place have gone. Instead there is this blistering white sand, with no protection against the glaring sun, no coolness after a hot bike ride. Farms are bought by the authorities, turned into information centres about the new-old nature, or into cafes and ecological farm shops, bio being the mantra nowadays.  But I am sad when I see “my” woods disappear, woods where I cycled, enjoyed the freshness, the rustling leaves, the smells of all the various trees, the resins of the pine trees molten by the heat, the perfume of a blossoming linden tree, rare in those woods though.

It is not all misery though. Dull, flat potato fields are turned into wild heaths, moorland with a rich variety of reeds and flowering plants. The land attracts insects, butterflies, and so birds. Small rivers and brooks which were straightened out in the past are now meandering again and can follow a more natural course. Cycle tracks and footpaths make it a joy to spend a day out here in this recreated nature. Sheep graze here, and rare breeds of cows.

 

 

After this trip through interesting and new national parklands, broken by many photo stops and stops to smell the sun scorched land, I drive along the border of the old and the new land, the new land being the land reclaimed from what once was the Zuiderzee, the old land seamed with quaint towns which used to border the former sea and used to do a roaring trade with Hanseatic cities or as fishing ports. They are walled, moated and often gated. I stop in Blokzijl, its harbour now used by pleasure boats. The walls still bare canons, no longer needed for its defence. The sea was usually the best protection against enemy attacks, if any. The town is small but very attractive, with busy restaurants and street cafes around the harbour. People sit out with their drinks, or stand on the quay of the canal watching the boats going through several locks, from one canal and lake to the other, straight through this town. Near this lock is a famous restaurant, too expensive for most mortals. 

Blown by the wind. Could also be somebody with a big ego...

 One of the many picturesque houses. Street are not straight but bent around the church or the market place as the case may be.

A popular attraction is the activity in the locks, a never boring spectacle. Ships passing through have to pay a fee, which in many places is still collected by lowering a wooden shoe attached to a piece of rope down to the decks of the yachts and other boats. I did not notice if that is still the practice here. Instead I wound my way through the picturesque and narrow streets, admiring gables and gable stones, and the red bricks in the afternoon sun, the hollyhocks in front of the brightly painted windows, the footpath in the shade of the tree lined walls surrounding the harbour.

One of the locks

Water everywhere

But it was time to go and to step out of this fairy-tale of warm, sunny, unspoilt towns, of happy people leisurely enjoying a day off, however much I would have liked to wind my way through a few more of those towns. But I had to wait till some other time, as duty called.

 

 

 

But I had had a glimpse again of many things I love and hold dear.

The joys of a garden

A beautiful summer’s day, warm, but no too hot, the sun for most of the day veiled by vague clouds, more like a gauze which may partly blur one’s features. No wind after many days of very strong winds, first from the East and later from the North and thus cold. The easterly wind brings jellyfish to our beaches and we have seen thousands of them during the past week. Not the poisonous kind, but who likes to slip on gelatine patches when walking the beach, let alone swim embraced by their tentacles. 

 

 The garden is lovely and lush, although showing signs of the drought. Leaves, at this time of year brightly green, now turn yellow and drop like autumn leaves. I wonder if the trees will die or recover next year. Perhaps dropping leaves might mean saving roots.

 

 

 It is a joy to see all the young song birds around. Normally blackbirds, pigeons and small song birds drink from the bird bath which I keep well filled. After a refreshing drink they start washing, drops flying up from their wings with which they scoop up the water, downing their heads. Quite a few young tits are around. Their colours are still somewhat vague and not as distinct as those of the mature birds. They twitter, fly around, sit in the bird bath not quite knowing what to do, observing what might be their parents. The tits must have a nest or several nests here in my back garden or the neighbouring one, because there are flocks of them, rather clumsily flying and landing, their feathers still slightly downy. They are rather endearing. 

 

 

I love this garden, a small patch of paradise for me. The roses with their different shades from fuchsia to dusty pink, the beautiful container plants, the water of my pond where dark young fish shoot from one side to the other, the tiny white blossoms floating on the surface looking like delicate snowflakes. In Dutch they are called “frog-bite”, in America common frogbit. The vividly pink mini waterlilies, insects skating across the surface of the water on spindly legs, the blue jay, an occasional visitor, which tries to drink from the pond but almost topples over as the water level is too low. It is quite comical. The butterflies enjoying the flowers, the bumblebees feeding on the nectar of the lavender and some other plants. The jay quickly and dexterously picks up something out of the water, thinking it has caught a frog or a small fish, being quite proud of himself, but instead it is a dead leaf and he seems very disappointed. No succulent meal this time!

In spite of the noise of landing planes – Schiphol is all too near - , the continual drone of the motorway, wheels on tarmac, a music all of its own, the shouts from the sports fields opposite, I do not want to leave this small garden full of life. There is the ongoing fight with the wysteria, which grows quicker and blooms with a vengeance the more I cut it back. It is entwined with a dusty pink rose, which thinks that flowering just for one month a year is quite enough. 

Hydrangeas are almost in bloom, but are quite surprised by the warm weather which they had not expected in this clime and which they do not appreciate. They are in a state of limbo: to bloom or not to bloom, taking some liberty with the words of the famous bard. Blooming or not, this tiny part of heaven represents nature in its many guises and forms. I pity the talkative toddler next door. His parents have just redesigned their “garden”, which now looks like the airing court of a high security prison with its high wooden fence all around, its sleek pavement slabs and its artificial grass. No plants to be seen, not a container, no border, just wood, plastic and pavement stones. It has nothing to offer to birds, bees, butterflies, frogs or anything remotely alive. How will this little boy ever learn about nature, be amazed by a ladybird, a butterfly landing on a flower, a bumble bee?

Later in the evening I find a little tit, dead, on its back, apparently attacked by a cat and left on the paving stones, a sad sight. I pick up the little fledgling and dispose of it. Nature can be cruel.