in the series Memories
He lies next to me, breathing peacefully. Sleep has finally caught up with him, and how could it not. The dear little man has given his all today. Keeling over is the only possible outcome. Up at the crack of dawn this morning, dew and all, quite literally. I want to step onto my paddleboard and head out into the wide world, as I often do in the mornings, but my little son has already asked whether he might come along on the board some time. In this cold that doesn’t seem like a good idea, so I suggest a walk instead. ‘But Daddy’s coming too, isn’t he?’ I hear a groan from under the duvet and have to chuckle inwardly. And does he ever cave: he’s no match for the pleading of his only child. Sure enough, despite his obvious reluctance, he hauls himself out of bed. If only the little boy knew what he could get his father to do. I head off ahead with my son: ‘Come on, get dressed!’ — and I usually repeat that a few more times before he surrenders and lets me dress him. It doesn’t matter, Daddy needs a bit more time anyway. A deep sigh drifts out of the bedroom. I know he’s not much of a walker, and certainly not in the mood for it right now… I whisper in the little fellow’s ear: ‘Maybe we could take the boat?’ He beams, and I know there’s no going back. ‘But you’ll have to ask Daddy first,’ I say, still softly. When he bounds into the bedroom with the burning question on his lips, I then see a relieved father, yawning, looking for his clothes in his study. Everyone happy.
‘Reed-popper’ – drawing, 14 × 11 cm, 2023 | since claimed by my mother
This morning is perhaps even more overwhelming than the one a few days ago. There’s dew on the water and it’s freezing cold. The birds greet us with loud twittering, as if to say: ‘Hello-o, yoo-hoo! Morning has begun. The day has started! Where is everyone?’ They often close the day in the same loudly singing way, by the way. We drink in the world slowly emerging from the mist, and while behind us the full moon still hangs in the sky, ahead of us the sun very cautiously begins to show its red face. Magnificent, overwhelmingly beautiful, astonishing, inspiring. None of the three of us can fully take it in, but we do realise we’re surrounded by something extraordinarily special. And it’s there for the taking. It’s free. This special world, the untouched purity of the moment when night turns into day and the moon and sun briefly greet each other. This experience is open to each of us in one way or another. Unless your freedom isn’t guaranteed, but otherwise you can choose to have this experience, again and again and again. Each time in a slightly different guise, but every time it moves me anew, shakes me awake, breathes new life into me, gives me mental goosebumps. I take a deep breath, pull my dear little friend onto my lap, kiss his soft cheek and whisper: ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ So this, too, is the world we live in. A different moment of the day, a different perspective.
As if sailing into a fairy tale, veiled by mist, we meet the creatures that inhabit the landscape. The grebe with its funny little cap dives under and resurfaces a little further on. The coot ducks into the reeds. The lambs look at us curiously while grinding their breakfast between their molars. Tiny little birds in the reeds making a strange plucking sound, alternating with high, clear little tunes. ‘Those are Frisian reed-poppers,’ says Daddy, and I burst out laughing. He’s never seen them before either and is just as delighted by the reed-hopping rascals as my son and I are. Speaking of popping, I think, and point out to my son two pairs of soft long ears sticking up just above the little dyke. ‘Hares!’ he shouts excitedly, and off they go. Popped off in a flash. ‘Why do they run away so fast?’ he asks, clearly put out. As if the hares have personally offended him by not being pleased with our company. ‘They’re just scaredy-cats,’ I say teasingly. And at the very last moment, just before we turn back because the cold is tightening its grip, we spot two small roe deer. Thanks to the backlight we see only their silhouettes, but that only heightens the wonder of it. They too vanish as soon as they notice us. We’ve disturbed their peace for a moment, but found our own. The encounter with the wildlife of the Stavoren hinterland is a true delight. My son is grinning from ear to ear, despite his shivers. I hold him even tighter, partly to warm myself up too.
It turns out to be merely a foretaste. Later in the day we see horses, a big bull, calves up close, the largest flock of swans I’ve ever seen in my life, floating on the IJsselmeer off the coast at Mirns, a Labrador puppy we’re allowed to stroke, chickens, and my son probably doesn’t think it worth mentioning, but I won’t leave out the little spider on the trampoline. Who needs a zoo when you’re given all this? We’re rich, rich in creatures. The animal kingdom lies at our feet today. And as I delight in my little darling, curled up in his bed, his little hand protectively over his face, I feel blessed once again. With the day, with the encounters along the way and above all with the fact that we as a family can and may enjoy it. Sleep, baby, sleep, my darling boy. Out there wanders a sheep, two hares, roe deer, calves, horses, a little spider, a puppy… chickens, swans… sleep, baby, sleep.