Westlander Roots

Paul, Stefanie, Hans...                                     ...Hans, Marloes, me!

Yay Naaldwijk!  The more I visit my dad's cousin's home, the more at home I feel.

We ate delicious Dutch Chinese food for dinner* and then the photos came out and we started comparing and naming and trading...  Dad and I brought scans of a bunch of photos from Mamacita's old albums, some images Hans had never seen, and he is a sort of unofficial family historian on this side of the Atlantic.  We showed him a picture of his mother in her baby baptismal gown and he showed us a picture of his daughter in the same dress:

 1915                                          1986

I love it!

The next day we were sorting through pictures when the men started telling stories.  I pulled up the recorder on my computer and recorded for an hour without them knowing.  Stories about Dad as a boy on Talisman Farm, stories about Opa Voskamp's short fuse...  Apparently he once beat a horse who bit Hans--just backed the beast into a corner and let loose.  Another time, when his son-in-law finally bought a truck, Opa Voskamp parked his horse-drawn carriage in the front yard and burned it to the ground because he was so insulted.  I think he might have sent his horse to the butcher, too.  No wonder Mamacita was...the way she was.

We also went to visit a museum about the history of this area, called Westland.  This place has been hard-won from the sea, ever since pre-historic times.  Over and over the water would rise or the economy would fall.  Towns would flood or manor houses would crumble from neglect.  It hurt my historian's heart to think of so many ages passing away with barely a trace, but the wheel turns as the wheel wills, I suppose.

My favorite part of the museum was the replica greenhouses and working gardens outside, tracing the development of greenhouse cultivation in Westland.  Dad got all enthusiastic about building himself a greenhouse at home, and there is even a warehouse, here in the neighborhood, that sells second-hand greenhouse parts.  I want one, too, actually.  I also want a brick wall around my garden, to make it a bit secret.  I'm already daydreaming about collecting old bricks and learning basic masonry...  

Then we took some after pics, to match the before's we already had:

before

after

From a museum person's perspective, this place is a conservator's nightmare.  All kinds of objects and equipment sitting out in the open air.  Piles of wooden shovels and wooden shoes...  Metal machines rusting in the humidity and rain... Terrible!  I bet they have no money.  And I bet they have a million of each item anyway.  But still.  Not good practice.

Look!  My dad's initials carved on a wall!