Lock-down 25, Gardens and Sunsets

Saturday 09-05

An interesting week. At least, I made it interesting, as it was such a glorious week. Nature begged me to go outside, to enjoy and admire its beauty: the blossoming cherry trees, the different shades of green of the young leaves, the fascinating sunsets followed by a bright orange sky, gradually turning into salmon and then mauve.  The supermoon, bright, big and full, and every night Venus as bright as I have hardly ever seen her, almost unreal. Of course, I can enjoy a lot of that by just staying put in my garden, reading a book or working in it, tidying it. However, I think this period of lock-down gives us so little stimulus, that I really had to go out.

Not to feel guilty – the garden needed it! - I went to a nursery in Boskoop, a wonderful place, consisting of lots of islands, crossed by canals. The soil is very good for shrubs like azaleas and rhododendrons. Since my neighbours have uprooted and got rid of all the shrubs which formed the partition between their front garden and mine, and replaced their plants and trees with a trampoline surrounded by artificial grass, I looked out on this playground and wanted some colourful evergreens to block that view.

This nursery is vast, and divided into different zones. There are no pots, pans, garden furniture, trinkets one could do without, just very healthy and often unusual plants. The main attraction for me are the acers. They have the largest and most varied collection of acers in Europe, the first acer which started it all a small seed from Von Siebold who had taken interesting plants from the Far East to Leyden, to the Hortus, the University garden. By some complicated connection, an acer also landed in Boskoop and was the beginning of this stunning acer garden. I have three acers in my garden. The one I most cherish is an acer purpureum dissectum which I bought as a small plant in 1983 when we designed, built and planted the garden. 

 1983. Standing high on a slim stem in the top corner is the acer, which I just planted

The same acer in 2020. The other plants I had to plant somewhere else. except for one lilac azalea on the left. Now overshadowed by the acer. But it blooms before the acer has leaves.

All the plants I bought in Boskoop at this nursery, Esveld, have done very well indeed. The acer has grown far too big for this garden, but I can’t prune it or get rid of it, it is far too beautiful. In Boskoop they have many mature acers. An acer half the size of mine cost €450! Which means mine might be worth €1000 by now. But the value is not what I am interested in. It is the colour, bright red in autumn, and in spring with equally red tiny flowers hanging under the leaves. It is its bare shape in winter, which reminds me of fairy tales, with its crooked branches. Nothing grows beneath it, and the other shrubs I planted at the same time had to be moved to some other spot. Next to it, in another section, is a magnolia stellata, also too big now, and embracing the acer with its branches. 

I came home with two modest azaleas or rhododendrons, and planted them the next day. The colours are very vibrant, but I think I have to go back to buy something with more height.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The whole visit was inspired by an afternoon visit the day before to Clingendael, a park or estate in The Hague which stretches all the way to Wassenaar. A Japanese garden is hidden in a corner, normally open to the public at this time of the year, but this year closed because of our lock-down. I tried to get a glimpse of the lipstick red bridge, a focal point, but it came out too vague. When entering Clingendael, immediately to the right begins a path through a wall of azaleas in the most brazen colours, luminescent yellow, bright orange, pinks and mauves, whites, reds, all mixed in a riot of what fashionistas would think of as clashing colours. The spicy smells are intoxicating and pungent. It is a wonderful entrance to the rest of the park which is planted with rhododendrons, many very old and towering over me. The paths going through it are straight, but nevertheless it is easy to lose one’s way. A bit further on are fields and lawns, some hilly parts which are part of what is left of the dunes, beech trees sprouting dark red and yellow green leaves, ponds and small lakes, connected by a canal which is what is left of a canal the Germans built in WWII as an anti-tank device. It is now rather decorative, and spanned with attractive white bridges. There is also a formal Dutch garden, designed by one of the last owners of the manor house, Huize Clingendael, which now houses the Netherlands Institute of International Relations.  In one field sheep are grazing, and normally honey from the bees here is for sale. You can buy a pot and hand in a glass jar in return. Just a pity everything is closed at present, as well as the nice little teashop.

 

 

Yesterday I went to the beach towards the evening, to see the sunset, as the sunsets have been glorious of late, and see the super moon. And I wanted to test the tele lens of my new camera, which has a sun visor, ideal for sunsets. The sun doesn’t set till 9.15 pm. It is obvious that the longest day is not far away. I went for a walk along the beach, and wasn’t the only one. Still, it was very peaceful, and I aimed at being back near the boulevard at sunset. Usually gulls are very busy in the evenings just before they settle down for the night, huddled together in groups facing in the same direction. This time there was a group of common terns, which I had never seen here ‘at work’. It was great to see them flying very fast and expertly low over the breaking waves, plunge-diving at great speed to catch fish, like a stone dropping straight down. Against the setting sun and the orange sky it was a fascinating spectacle.

 

 

This morning I went to a glass house nearby where they sell garden plants in May and June, pot plants for the garden, and bags of compost and potting soil. The plants are healthy, and there is no need to go through all the stuff which is on display nowadays in a garden centre. I think there are too many people milling around in the garden centres as it is one of the few things one can do. I bought pot plants and potting soil, and worked in the front garden all afternoon. It faces north, so I only potter around there if the weather is warm, and if there is no wind. That seldom happens, but today was the day! A Saturday, but if I do not look in my diary, I wouldn’t have known. These days all days are alike, even the Sundays now that churches are closed and choirs forbidden. The front garden is covered in the white lace of flowering wild garlic, reminding me of the white dots of foam along the beach. This plant just showed up one spring and enjoys itself so much here that it multiplies while I am looking and has decided never to leave this spot again.

Wild garlic. Not a very representative picture.

As far as our lock-down is concerned, this week showed us also some light at the end of the tunnel. From Monday on the hairdressers are allowed to open, as well as the dentists, so Monday is the big day: away with my coupe Corona!

I was a bit taken aback when the dentist’s office called me asking if I was healthy, didn‘t cough, had no high temperature etc, etc. They added that they had to be careful because I belonged to the high-risk group. Just because of my age! I was amazed, I use no medication whatsoever, have no underlying condition I know of, and no problems so many people my age suffer from. I am fortunate that way. I suppose it is what they have to ask under the circumstances and that it is standard procedure.

It will be a week full of excitement! After so many weeks of lock-down and nothing much happening, even a visit to the hairdresser and the dentist is an adventure to look forward to.  Isn’t that sad!

Lockdown 24, 75th anniversary of Liberation Day

May 5th 2020

Liberation Day. It means a lot to me. I was born during the war, but have not experienced it consciously. I just remember all the stories, and the miracle that I survived those first 1,5 years of my life. The odds were against me. Being born at the beginning of 1944 wasn’t the best starting position.

It began with my actual birth, midwinter with temperatures of -11 centigrade. There was no hot water, hardly any heating, no soap, - not to mention hardly any food, - so deliveries had to take place in hospital, although the hospital was sometimes a target for bombings. I decided to come in the middle of the night. The only option was going by taxi, as nobody had cars and a home delivery was out of the question. I think calling for a taxi had to be done via a doctor. Taxi’s then ran on gas – not the American gas which is liquid fuel, - but gas which was stored on top of the taxi’s in big balloons or bags. 

example of a car with a gas bag on top, taken from a war archive

Unfortunately the bag was struck by shrapnel and the taxi could not drive on. My mother, amongst pains of labour and in the freezing cold had to wait for another taxi, which were scarce anyway. She arrived much later at the hospital than expected, and the doctor decided her labour had stopped and went on to do his rounds. He left my father with her, unusual at that time. As soon as the doctor had left I decided it was time to enter this world. Although I was their third child, I was the first whose birth he witnessed.

That first year I escaped death at least twice. The town we lived in during those years was Deventer, on the river IJssel, an important connection between the west of Holland and the east, so a strategic point for the connection with Germany. The southern provinces had already been liberated in the autumn of 1944, but Deventer was still occupied and there were many bombardments on the bridge, the water tower and the railway line. We lived next to that railway line, as well as near the water tower, and so we had to sleep in cellars those last months of the war. When we emerged from the cellar one morning, a piece of shrapnel was lying on the table in our living room. Another story is that it had landed in the spot where my cot normally was. The peculiar thing is that as an adult I once met a friend of a friend of mine who had only one arm. She told me that as a baby lying in her cot she was hit by shrapnel and lost an arm. She lived east of Deventer.

On another occasion my mother walked with me in a pram to a baby care clinic, when there was an air-raid alarm. A woman called her into her shop to shelter from the bombs. The next day my mother walked that same route and the house of that kind woman was reduced to a heap of rubble and the woman dead.

Against all the odds, the lack of proper food, my mother having no milk and my allergy for cow’s milk, I survived and am thankful I did! Although I remained very tiny for years.

Deventer was freed by the Canadians. I still have a weakness for Canadians, even if they are only Dutch Canadians(!).

Celebrating Liberation Day. Unfortunately the wind kept messing up the flag

Of course I have heard many stories. My father kept a diary throughout the war. I have two older siblings who consciously lived through it all. They were not traumatized, although they went through very scary periods. In a way I was left with a trauma, which seems very unlikely. But for years I would dream that I heard soldiers marching through the streets chasing me and wanting to shoot me. I would try to run as fast as I could but did not make any progress as somehow I couldn’t lift my legs which seemed glued to the same spot however hard I tried. It was extremely scary. Also fireworks reduced me to a nervous crying wreck. Apparently this was connected with the shootings and the bombings I must have heard as a baby. Which is amazing, for as a baby I couldn’t talk yet, nor know that the noise I registered were the hobnailed boots of marching soldiers. Still, I must have made this connection and must have felt my parents’ fear and anxiety, must have picked up their words. For years I was scared when I heard propeller planes revving up in Soesterberg, an American army base. The Americans left for good in 1994. Those planes and the specific dark rumbling and threatening noise they made brought back the deep rumbling of the many bomber planes flying over Deventer during those war years, sometimes dropping bombs, sometimes just passing over on their way to bomb German towns. Those bad dreams and fears ended when I realized what their source was.

Freedom and peace is something we take for granted. Perhaps this year we realize more than ever before what it really means, now that we are very restricted in our freedom, by an invisible enemy, in a time of peace. We are jolted out of our comfort zone, and realize freedom and peace are a privilege and not a birthright.

75 years of peace is a long time, a lifetime, a sure cause for celebration. Preparations had been going on for lots of festivals and festivities. However, it was not to be. All the celebrations take place without public gatherings, if they take place at all, and are mainly online and virtual.

I wanted to celebrate too in a more down to earth manner, but a virtual piece of cake isn’t at all what I craved for, so I bought the only true liberation and King’s Day cake, an orange “moorkop” or éclair, filled with whipped cream. Orange because of the House of Orange. It goes well  with black coffee and was delicious. Although a bit lopsided after transport, the taste had not been affected. I toasted to freedom and to a quick return to “normality”, whatever that will look like.

The "moorkop" in true patriotic colours

Lockdown 23, Services, windows and flowers

Sunday May 3rd

Not the usual Calvinist protestant Sunday. Oh yes, I watched three services on the tv in the morning. The first one by the American preacher Bobby Schuler, the grandson of the Crystal Palace pioneer, in the Hour of Power. But the glass cathedral is now lost to them. Once the father had retired, Robert Schuler, a father with charisma, the children could not keep things together. They lost the cathedral, and their personal assets as well. I do not know where Bobby Schuler was preaching, but by the looks of it in a far more modest church than the Chrystal Cathedral. Nevertheless, there was a choir with a beauty queen conducting in front, swinging her hips and very elegantly dressed as if for a party. And there was an orchestra.  Somehow or other I felt a strange repulsion for this smooth, well groomed, smiling American preacher, an actor and entertainer of the gospel. To me, it all seemed insincere. Perhaps it is me, perhaps he is sincere and I do him a great injustice, but he reminded me so much of all those film star preachers, who entertain whole flocks, grow rich and feel smug.  The type of American I do not trust, with a perfect set of teeth, well cut hair, tailor made suits and this smile on their face. Unfortunately, I am prejudiced. They are so different from the Americans I know and respect. None of my dear American friends look like that. I must admit none of them are rich. Each one of them has worked in a job which gave them satisfaction, which gave something to the community, although they had the opportunity and the qualifications to work in well paid jobs. But they preferred not to.

The second service I watched was a Dutch protestant service, a digital compilation of several services, all in beautiful churches with the most glorious pipe organs the Dutch are so famous for. People sang with enthusiasm, from the heart, but why just praise songs, why with bands, drums, guitars, piano? Why not with an organ. Only in the main church in Apeldoorn the singing of the congregation was accompanied by the big pipe organ. I hope this change of musical taste, the neglect of our fantastic organs, our hymnal traditions, is not indicative of the future. I would hate that. Bands, drums, saxophones are fine for youth rallies, different services. But in the traditional, regular church services the pipe organ is the instrument to accompany the singing and to play introits and interludes.

The third service I watched and took part in – I joined the singing! - came from the Anglican Cathedral in Bangor, Wales. I enjoyed that one, the singing of traditional hymns accompanied by the organ, the beautiful texts of the hymns, as so many Anglican hymn texts were written by well-known poets and authors. Unlike the modern praise songs, they really mean something, they are not just a repetition of a few words like “Praise the Lord”, or “Jesus, I love you”, again and again, rather meaningless and not very comforting texts, which do not touch my heart nor help me in any way.

In the evening I listened to the service which my own church had put together for this Sunday. It was comforting and personal. Although it was not a video service but just audio, and the several voices not always well-balanced due to technical imperfections, I enjoyed that.

It was the end of a strange week. Or rather the beginning of a new week. Sunday being the first day of the new week. Most weekdays are the same now. No highlights, nothing to look forward to, no choir, no church. But this week there were a few changes, for I met with two friends in the flesh, on two different occasions. Of course at the required distance of 1,5 meters. But it is so much better than just using WhatsApp, or Skype. One friend who had her birthday came out to my house for a celebratory meal of fresh asparagus. She dressed for the occasion and we took a photo of her in her stunning outfit out in the garden. It was lovely to share a meal with a friend after so many weeks of isolation and very lonely meals. We have almost forgotten what normality means, interaction with friends, sharing meals, singing together. We have been pushed willy-nilly into a virtual reality. A right decision? I very much doubt it and think it is detrimental for many.

And this past week I had my very first Zoom drinks party, organized by and for the Haarlem choir. It took some time to get the hang of it, but it was great fun to see each other again, after such a long time. Not as good as in the flesh, or in a pub after a long choir practice, but fun. I felt honoured to be included in it, Haarlem not being my regular choir. No pub drinks but our own, and we exchanged news as far as there was any – and gossip, sometimes interrupted by cats walking across the keyboard. No kisses, except for the cats, but virtual hugs. Normally we would have met for practices with ECS members, and perhaps for the Easter and/or Good Friday services. In June we would have our Choral Festival, this time in Haarlem, but it is doubtful if such gatherings will be allowed by then. Let alone our singing week in Portsmouth in July.

 Wooded areas and meadows on our walk

 Below: Even the Royal Palace, Huis ten Bosch, is situated here. This is the back entrance. The royal flag is in top since the royal family is also respecting the lock down

Yesterday I went to see another friend for a nice walk in the parks near her apartment. From the centre of The Hague to almost Wassenaar and beyond there is a long stretch of parks and former estates. Once I was dotted with many country houses owned by the rich who spent their summer months here. It is a long strip of land just behind the dunes and on the border of meadows and farmland.  Large stretches of the dunes were levelled, the sand used for building purposes, the country mansions often destroyed. This ribbon of parkland also stretched South of the Hague, along the Vliet, and through Voorburg and Monster. Some of the old parks and estates have been preserved, fortunately, in Wassenaar and also in the area where I live, Leyden and places North of Leyden towards Haarlem.  Since most of the big country houses which remain are no longer owned privately, the parklands surrounding them are often open to the public now and quite attractive. So, we enjoyed our walk and afterwards listened to a virtual concert performed by two of our choir members who are also professional violinists.

Wild flowers in the parks

This Sunday afternoon, after watching all the services, I decided to clean the window frames and the screens on the first floor - second for Americans! - , as I had noticed dirt had gathered in the frames and blocked the tiny drainage holes. The water collected between the window frame and the screens could not flow away through the blocked holes and I found puddles on my window sills inside. It was a rather time-consuming job, cleaning the windows, the frames, the screens, and the tiny holes which I attacked with flexible dental brushes and cotton buds. With four rooms on that floor and just as many windows to clean, it did take a lot of time. Not a Sunday job, I admit, and my nagging conscience was proof of my Calvinist upbringing. There is a saying in Dutch, “Een zondagssteek, houdt geen week”, meaning: any work you do on a Sunday won’t last. Since cleaning is a regular job anyway, it didn’t bother me.

 The beauty of a garden in spring

            Whatever, I can now enjoy looking at the garden again without nagging feelings about cleaning jobs which are waiting to be done. And beautiful it is, my garden, with most plants and shrubs in bloom at the same time: the porcelain blue wysteria, the dark purple and deep pink climbing roses, the weigelia with its variegated leaves and pink flowers, the bluebells and the lily of the valley, intermixed and lovely. All those festive and fragrant flowers are a compensation for the still rather bare left side of the garden where a huge holly tree was taken down and the big magnolia drastically pruned. Added to  that, the new wooden fence at the back is still rather bare looking. I have to plant some climbers soon. But which ones? That is one of the next week projects.

So we enter this new week, with hopes of some relief of the strict measures, and a gradual return to normal life, which for me is not the new 1,5-meter normal, but the touch-and-hug normal.

Lock down 22, Pandemics and art

Today (26^th)I listened to the Choral Evensong which we recorded last Thursday in church. It was a surprise to hear what we had done, although I think my voice did not pay a very important part in it all. Fortunately, we have a wonderful soprano, who “carried” the music. But whatever I thought of my own contribution, I thoroughly enjoyed singing the service and it made me very happy.

Because of our lock down I thought of a church only one road length away from our own church, The St Antonius Abt on the Scheveningse Weg, the road that connects Scheveningen with The Hague. Not many people may know this Roman Catholic church, but inside it is most amazing. Inspired by Venice the apsis is decorated with the most wonderful mosaics. 

 

 

The mosaic in the absis is 12 by 17.40 meters. Its creator is Antoon Molkenboer (1872-1960). It depicts women in the traditional costume of Scheveningen, who pray and give thanks for the delivery from another epidemic, the cholera, which still made many victims even in the beginning of the 20^th century. But in the 19^th century there were two outbreaks of the epidemic throughout Europe. Scheveningen was the first place in the Netherlands to be hit by the virus. It was thought that the disease had reached the fishing village via the fishing boats which of course docked in foreign ports and harbours. The priest at that time organized extra prayer meetings displaying the sacrament, and the epidemic stopped, at least in Scheveningen. In the mosaic the women give thanks for this miraculous healing.

The church we find now was built in 1927. The parish priest who was in charge at that time, decided to commission this monumental mosaic in remembrance of the supernatural healing of the cholera. The colours of the mosaic are splendid and very vivid. It is the only impressive work of art I know of, which depicts the women of Scheveningen in their local costume. Apart of course from painters like Breitner and others of the Hague School who painted beach scenes and the local fishing population. Since my grandmothers both only wore that costume, and so many women in Scheveningen did when I grew up, I cherish this mosaic, and also admire its beauty. One tends to forget that Scheveningen used to be a village quite cut off from The Hague and separated by dunes. There was only one connecting road with toll gates. (By the way, the toll gates were moved and are now very near our Anglican church opposite the Catholic cemetery, and are purely ornamental.)

 left and right side of the mosaic

To sell the fish women, fishermen’s wives, would walk along this road to The Hague with baskets of fish. Now Scheveningen is considered just part of The Hague and the rich and well-to-do have taken over the harbours and the best apartments along the quays. The harbour is now mostly filled with expensive yachts, toys for the well-to-do. No longer does one smell the tar used for the nets and the barrels of fish, no longer are there any barrels to play on. The village of Scheveningen was always looked upon as inferior to The Hague. Amazing, for the men and women worked very hard indeed. Women were independent before the word feminist was invented. The men would be at sea for several weeks on end, and the women would take over everything at home and make their own decisions. They were tough and brave, although poor, which was not their fault. Even when I was a child, being from Scheveningen instead of The Hague was considered rather inferior.

To return to epidemics, pandemics and epidemics have always been there and will always be with us. The cause of cholera was found and clean drinking water and much better hygiene put a stop to that, at least in the western world. In third world countries it is a different story.

We will surely find a cause of and cure for or vaccine against this pandemic, but if we do not change our life style, this pandemic surely won’t be the last one. Wouldn’t it be great if after this is over artists would be commissioned to make another splendid work of art to commemorate this remarkable episode in history? But would we still dedicate it to God?

 Side chapel

Quarantine 21, Evensong, 04-23

What a wonderful thing to sing Evensong again, even without a congregation. And not with a full choir, but just with a quartet, an organist and cellist. For once the church service was not recorded separately, partly from home and partly in church, and put together, but we had a full service, with sermon and prayers. It was a bit daunting to realize that I was on my own in the anthem, as in fact we all were. On the other hand, we were all together in it. It was a real joy to do this and made for another happy day. I had not realized how much the choir and church services meant to me and what a large part of my life especially the church choir has been for the past 20 years or so, after being widowed. Living on my own, the church is where I feel happy and have friends. A surrogate family? Perhaps, but a very important one. In fact the intimacy of the service was very moving. And it is good thus to keep in contact with each other, even in this limited way. Thanks to Christina, our organist and choirmaster, who invites each of us in turn to sing a service, so that we don’t lose contact with the choir and the church.

Quarantine 20, A day with a golden lining

A day with a golden lining.

After over a month of intelligent lockdown, I have been thirsting for normal contact with people, friends, fellow human beings. Today was a good day! The weather was again beautiful, sunny with a blue sky, as blue as one can imagine. My cupboards were empty, so I needed to restock. First of all I went to the farmers’ market for fruit, vegetables, nuts, dried fruits, and cheese. Then on to the butcher’s for meat to make Boeuf Bourguignon. Beef is half price on Tuesdays, so a good opportunity to buy a larger piece of beef and make a nice stew tomorrow which I can then freeze in batches. But I could not avoid a visit to the supermarket either. I stocked up so that I had enough for at least a week. The open air market doesn’t seem threatening at all, but the supermarket does. The aisles are too narrow, and it is difficult to avoid one’s fellow shoppers.

All those things took almost all morning.

After a mug of freshly ground coffee and a sandwich I went to see friends which I hadn’t seen for two months because of the lockdown. They have a sunny garden and plenty of space to be able to sit well apart from each other. It was great at last to have a drink with somebody! I spent some time there, enjoying catching up with things. Since a nephew has bought a house just round the corner which he has completely stripped and built up again, I paid him a visit as well to see how he is getting on. It is a project which has kept him busy for 3 years now, but he hopes to move in with his family in summer. It is going to be a beautiful house! The project has taken far more time than expected, but with both he and his wife having demanding jobs and two children, plus the unexpected surprises, it has almost become his life’s work. I bet it is worth it.

Those two visits filled the afternoon completely. I came home very happy. Two visits with real people! Who could believe it after so many weeks of being deprived of “normal” contact. This was almost normal, because no kissing, no hugging, no touching, and keeping one’s distance. But it was at least a beginning. Amazing how we always take “normal” contact for granted and do not realize how wonderful that is till we are cut off from it.

Very contentedly I proceeded to prepare the lovely fresh asparagus, and even forgot to listen to the speech of our prime minister in which he announced some relaxation of the lockdown rules. No haircuts or visits to dentists yet, or other medical services. We all have to grow pigtails I am afraid. But schools will gradually open after May 11^th. All restaurants and cafes stay closed. This is a tragedy, particularly for beach restaurants which would have done a roaring business because of the fantastic weather. And they have to make their money during the short summer season. We will all have to make do for some time to come yet.

But today was a day with a golden lining!

A day as golden as these flowers which I found in a wooded area within walking distance of my house and almost part of my daily routine

Quarantine ? 19 A trip

We are not in a complete lock down, but in a so-called intelligent one. What it means is a bit vague and can be interpreted in various ways. We are supposed to stay at home. But we are also encouraged to go outside once a day, as fresh air and some walking is beneficial. Being locked up at home isn’t. We may not catch corona that way, but be prone to a scale of other complaints and ailments, one being a mental breakdown. So we can have visitors, but no more than three at a time and at a distance of 1.5 meters. In a small room this is not possible. After so many weeks of being shut in one’s own home, and still being healthy, the risk of contaminating others in a similar position is nihil. So I decided to go and see my brother in law, who celebrated his 83^rd birthday this past week. There were several reasons why I wanted to go. To begin with the second part of the 200 km drive is very pleasant and goes through interesting countryside. Another reason is that as I live alone, I was dying for some company, albeit at the prescribed distance. The advantage is that the roads are very quiet, so a long road trip isn’t half as tiring as it usually is, and gas/petrol is very cheap at the moment. Even more reason to go! On top of that the weather has been glorious, which makes for easy driving.  And my sister and brother in law live in a part of the country where the roads won’t be blocked off for tourists, as there aren’t many day trippers, except perhaps cyclists. But with a strong wind, that was less likely. I had to take some water and fruit or biscuits with me, as all restaurants and cafes are closed.

A bright sky and new leaves

On my way up North, I was struck by the sharp contours of everything, the striking colours, as if a computer programme like paint shop had given nature a make-over. The sky was very blue indeed, the type of sky I remember from childhood. Is it possible that the skies were as intensely blue when I was a child, and that it isn’t just my imagination, childhood memories made better and more idyllic? Or is it the absence of air traffic, of pollution, caused by cars as well as planes? Fact is that everything sees more intensely coloured.

Along a rather uninteresting motorway I was struck by a triangular piece of land. It was planted with poplars which showed their young bronze coloured leaves. Underneath was a bright yellow carpet of Cole seed or rape, so bright that it seemed unreal. The sun was shining through the leaves and on the yellow undergrowth. Unfortunately, there was no place to stop and take a picture, for the sight took my breath away.

This made me think of a Van Gogh painting, or the patterned fabric of a Japanese kimono

At this time of year there is cherry blossom everywhere, and in this part of the country there are also bulb fields, where originally you could only find agriculture. This is not known by tourists, so no need to block off roads.

I enjoyed my family’s company. It was nice to see them again and talk not by phone but in person. We are so lucky to have houses with gardens, as have all my siblings. Two of them even have a campervan with shower and toilet, which give them the freedom to travel a bit in our own country and go cycling in different places, even during these strange times. And we all have an income. So there is nothing to complain about and everything to be thankful for. Having a garden is bliss in the circumstances. For me the worst thing about this lock down is the absence of human contact, and not so much being restricted to my house and garden.

 Even more orange than in this picture

I had a lovely day. When I drove back the sun was very low in the sky. Driving past Oldeholtpade (amazing, those place names in Friesland) the sun was just shining behind the beautiful Stephanus church dating back from 1545, and surrounding it with a huge orange halo. Unfortunately, I noticed it too late and couldn’t turn back to take a picture. The sun was also making driving very difficult the first 45 minutes, occasionally blinding me, till it disappeared behind some farmhouse on the horizon, a big orange ball.

It was a happy day.

 I stopped on a service road to capture the last of the sun.

All the way home the sky kept an intense salmon colour against a darkening indigo blue countryside