194 - Reflections on a Dutch 2024

 All in English, this time, as I do not need to tell my fellow countrymen about the past year: they have lived it.

Brielle market place

    For all of you elsewhere in the world, some thoughts. My thoughts. I don't know how much you are told about my tiny country in the West of Europe, probably not a lot to nothing at all. Or you get told the tourist basics: the Netherlands, country of windmills, tulips, water management and the Amsterdam canals. Then again if you are into plants and gardening, like me, you'll perhaps know about our flower exports or Piet Oudolf, or Mien Ruys.

   If you have read some of my blogposts, you'll know I tend to stay away from politics, not because they don't interest me, but because I have this weird and irrational urge to want to write a blog that makes people happy in a small way, that entertains. There is already far too much grief in this world.

This is my daughter's juvenile cat.

He is a very naughty, cuddly sweetheart.

So, no rants about those morons that are using heavy fireworks to blow up ordinary houses (more than 1.000 in 2024, with several deaths, last week 6 at one incident), but instead a photo of a cuddly cat and the heartfelt wish that I will be able to walk my terrified dog around Dec.31st.

Sometimes I am struggling to stay positive. But hey, here is my gorgeous Erigeron, first time ever I managed to grow one. It must be due to climate change that it wanted to grow for me this year.

Did you know our previous prime minister, Mark Rutte, is head of NATO now? This week he told the nation we should stop being such dimwitted optimists (I translate a bit here) who are totally out of touch with reality, and prepare for war. I mean...golly! How many flowers and cats can I throw against that?

Bam! In your face, Mark! My answer to your scary words is my own personal flower patch.

Seriously though. If you want to cause a panic you must tell people to go get cash. Cash??? Wasn't that the stuff most people's grandparents used to buy groceries with? (I immediately wonder what will happen to Bitcoin when internet banking collapses)

Oh dear. I'm afraid I've run out of flowers and cats.

So I'll finish with some lyrics by one of the best Dutch singer-songwriters from Groningen, the late Ede Staal: 

              " 't Het nog nooit, nog nooit zo donker west,

              Of 't wer altied wel weer licht."

(It has never, never been that dark, that it would not get light again)

Have a lovely festive season. And try to keep looking on the bright side of life. 

Love from the Dutch Delta,

Renée 

51 - Being a crazy/genius allotmenteer

 Or plot, vegpatch, garden, fantasy, mistake...you take your pick!

I have written my last 40 or so blogs in my native language, Dutch, and kindly asked all you English speakers to use the provided translator button, but an English blogpost is called for, I think.

The reason for this is simple: this blog is an extra for my followers on Instagram, and 99% of those read English.

So....What's with the allotment and what's all this about my green yearnings?

I teach vocational college English for a living, usually with satisfaction, but I don't have to tell you it is a demanding and thus extremely tiring job. I also don't have to tell you repeated lockdowns have only made my job more exhausting, and my need for real lasting relaxation very urgent indeed! So I was ecstatic when I was number one on the waiting list for an allotment in June 2021, or a volkstuin as we call it over here. No water, no electricity, surrounded by grizzled old (but very sweet) geezers, but my piece of heaven all the same. And quite large: 33x10 m. It has a large shed and a large greenhouse, and when I took it over it was chockablock with beans, onions, potatoes, tomatoes and strawberries. Heaven!

Five days later I was launched by my darling doggie and broke my humerus (upper arm to you), and that was that. Straight from heaven to hell, bam! For it could not be set, and I was in terrible pain and could not sleep in my bed for months.

The veg rotted away before my eyes, awful to behold, but thankfully a colleague took pity on me and forked the potatoes and onions out of the soil.

By mid-August I was weeding with my left hand though and by September I planted my first perennials one-handedly.

My right arm is an only partially functioning pain in the butt to this day, but hey-ho, who cares, I have dug a frog pond with it (twice...) and am in the process of building a gazebo out of pallets. And what was a bare plot in October is now filled for 3 quarters with perennial flowers and shrubs, loads of them gifted by those old geezers.

My greenhouse is filled with seedlings, and I am cleaning the windows in stages, so my future tomatoes, paprikas, chillies and cucumbers will have plenty of light. I have renamed the garden Hunky Dory,  that has a so much nicer ring to it than plot 54A. And it is, or will be this Summer, Hunky Dory. A proper garden with flowers and veg. My piece of peaceful green, where my overheated mind can have a rest.

Okay, from my gale-blown Sunday to yours, have a good day.

You can read more about my garden on Instagram @songsmith2962