To the Dikes from Whence We Came (Day 7)

This morning we rose with a sense of freedom:  We had found the ancestral homes, and now we were free to explore more of the area that our grandparents and great-grandparents, perhaps back to hundreds of generations, had walked.  Since our family name means “from the dikes,” it seemed logical to drive north and walk along the man-made walls that kept out the sea and carved out more farmland for Holland.

At Jenni’s suggestion, our first stop was in Dokkum, a small city with canals and windmills, museums and shopping.  

We happened to park near a museum featuring the history of Boniface, an English missionary murdered by Friesian pagans in the 6^th century.  The museum was open only in the afternoon, so we decided to come back to Dokkum later, after lunching on the dikes.

So on to Wierum, a small fishing village due north of Dokkum, as close to the dikes as we could get, according to our map.  Driving to Wierum, we passed a solitary church and stopped to look at the names in the cemetery—hoping, as always, to discover some trace of family.  The sad thing about this church was that it was locked, and there were cobwebs on the doors.  It had fallen into disuse—typical of many churches in Holland.  But still, with its aged golden stone work and classic rounded Dutch back, it retained a solid sense of faith and history.  Some of the names of those buried round the church:  Douma, Van der Veen, Spoelstra, Blijstra, Kamstra….no wonder we feel so at home in this place.

We passed by the harbor to the Fries islands, where ferries take vacationers to the grassy sands and long stretches of beach during the summer months.  We were treated to the sight of a group of Frisian miniature horses grazing in front of the dikes.

Then, following narrow and winding roads, we drove slowly through fields of grain, small homesteads with orchards, and everywhere the brick houses and Friesian barns along the road.  Wierum is a town sheltering behind a massive dike that stretches the length of the Wadden See.  We parked at the church, which was recently rebuilt, but the old remaining tower dates from about 1000 AD.

Standing next to the church is an odd statue.  A woman, weary and yet standing straight, looks out to sea, a shovel slung over her back and a bucket dangling from the shovel’s handle.  A sort of bonnet shades her face from the sun.  She wears what appear to be bloomers, and sturdy boots rise to mid-thigh. 

Curious, I checked the information plaque near the church.  I discovered that most of the wives (known in Dutch as “Pierensteekster”) in this fishing village not only tended to housecleaning, meals, gardening, and raising the children, but also were responsible for digging as many as one thousand worms from the mud flats that lay on the sea side of the dike.  Each day these would need to be dug, and then carefully placed on a fishing hook (the children often helped with this task).  Then, as though this were not enough work, the women also had the responsibility of taking any unsold fish to hawk at the market place in Dokkum, an 8-mile walk (one way).  Wow.  And I thought I worked hard.

We climbed the steps up the dike and stood gazing out at what appeared to be a flat sea, but on closer inspection was a vast, shining mud flat, with the sea lying further out.  In the distance we could make out the Frisian islands of Ameland and Schiermonnikoog.  A telescope enabled us to see the vacation homes that lined the dunes and sandy beaches.

We ate lunch in a sheltered bus stop, out of the fresh, raw wind.  Then, after searching in vain for an open tea room or café (everything closes down here in the fall), we headed back to Dokkum, where we had tea and cappuccinos in the museum café.

The exhibit on Boniface was interesting, as far as we could tell, but sadly was written completely in Dutch, so we had to guess at much of it.  But it was a good exercise in trying to figure out the Dutch words.  Gayle and Jenni were quite taken with the figures of Boniface and the pagans.

It gave us pause to think that this English bishop who left his comfortable cloister to preach to some hard-headed Frisians was in great part responsible for the families of faith—both Pasma and Van Dyken—that we have grown up in.  I felt a depth of gratitude for his apparent passion and dedication and must remember to thank him personally when I meet him in person.

Leaving the museum, we drove to the center of town to look at some shops and a large open-air market. Mom stayed in the car, dozed, and read her book while Gayle, Jenni and I browsed the stores and stalls for mementos and gifts.  Then we headed home, glad to be early enough to do some bicycling after dinner. 

Sjoerd had prepared three bikes for us to ride and pointed out one of the great biking trails in the area (there are many!).  With some trepidation Gayle mounted her bike, then pronounced it a “Cadillac” and did amazingly well, dodging pedestrians on the bike path, maneuvering through narrow gates, and battling a bike seat that wanted to point upward like a rocket every time she sat on it.  We cycled along a deep, dark canal lined with old and neatly kept homes, then turned around and rode into the sunset—a find end to a fine day. 

The only fly in the ointment was a small mishap as Gayle swerved to avoid a couple walking on the bike path, only to cause a small dent and scratch on someone’s hood.  We alerted the owner, who shook his head sadly and tried to find a kind way to tell us that the cost of repair would be considerable.  That was particularly bad news for Gayle, and it was difficult to understand how God could have allowed such a stressful incident in an otherwise beautiful day, but we decided it was best to allow God to work through whatever purposes he might have in the situation.

And so to bed, with prayer and hope and faith.  Not a bad way to fall asleep, in the hands of God.