We decided to do both.
Which meant an on-time departure, something we had not been good at
achieving on our other days. (With
showers, hair-drying, and magnificent breakfasts, we usually left home about
noon each day!) But by 10:00 a.m. we
were in the car, ready to go.
On the drive through the province of Groningen, we were on
the lookout for more windmills, as our count was approaching 20. (One of Mom’s friends had told her that she
visited Holland and never saw a single windmill, so we were determined to
document their existence.) We added none
on this day until we reached our first destination: the medieval village of Bourtange,
on the border of Holland and Germany.
Bourtange is located on some of the only solid ground in the
marshy wetlands that stretch from the north coast down a substantial portion of
the German-Dutch border. In the 16th
century, William of Orange ordered that the village be fortified against a
possible German invasion, fearing that invaders would choose this point as the
best place to invade with horses, wagons, and cannons.
The town was fortified with a series of walls and moats
arranged in a star-shaped pattern, which from the sky looks amazing (picture is
courtesy of Google images):
The purpose of this design was to make it nearly impossible
for an army to get through into Holland.
The fortifications gradually fell into disrepair, so that by the 20th
century there was almost no trace of them left.
In the 1960s and 70s, the townspeople decided to rebuild the village and
moat system the way it used to be, with authentic reproductions of the
buildings that had been lost. Today’s
village of Bourtange is the result.
We parked our car in the information center (no motor
traffic is allowed in the small village except for residents) and got on a
shuttle bus that would take us to the village center. In the parking lot was a small yellow cat
calling for someone to pet him, so we all obliged. The shuttle driver informed us that he was
one of two village cats who were fed by everyone and who often traveled the
shuttle bus with visitors.
At the village center, rough with primitive cobblestones, we
were surrounded by a circle of shops, cafes, museums, and resident homes, all
situated as they had been in the 1500s.
We had coffee and pastries in one of the cafes, fortifying ourselves for
the exploration to come.
After coffee, we found the old Reformed church, a quiet and peaceful
place, still used for worship.
On one wall was hung a triptych dating back to the early
1500s, the time of the Reformation. On this
wooden plaque was hand-painted the essential articles of faith: the Ten Commandments, the Apostle’s Creed,
and the Great Commission. A wonderful
visual of our common heritage of faith through the centuries.
After that, we wandered out to the village windmill, a
replica of a rare type of transportable windmill (set on wooden posts) used for
grinding corn.
We explored the dikes and gardens, peering into what we
thought were museum windows until we realized that they were private
homes! We especially appreciated the
fine shops that held wonderful treasures, some of which we purchased for gifts
for family back home.
But the best part of the day was a unique answer to one of
my prayers. Along with prayers for Mom’s
health and strength, for protection for our rental car, and for finding the
places we wanted to go, I had a specific but unspoken prayer: to find some proof that the Van Dyken
descendants had not completely vanished from the land. I had wanted to find a tombstone with the
name “van Dijken” carved into its stone.
So far we had not found one, even in the cemetery that
adjoined the old Van Dyken homestead.
Nor a single business or sign that contained the Van Dyken name. Where had they all gone? After all, this was one of the dutchiest of
Dutch names. It means “from the dikes.” How much more of a true Hollander could you get?
On the shuttle bus into Bourtange, an older couple joined us: Mrs. and Mrs. PJ Eigeman. We exchanged friendly greetings. Her walker was packed alongside of Mom’s. We made small talk and discovered, as is
usual when playing Dutch bingo, that we had a lot of connections. Mr. Eigeman happens to be, among other
things, the uncle of Andy Ryskamp of CRWRC in Grand Rapids. (At which point, as is common in this bingo
game, the young lady driving our shuttle turned around and said, “I’ve visited
relatives in Grand Rapids also. Do you
know the Kok family?” Ralph and Edi Kok
were long-time members of my church and dear friends.)
Later that afternoon Jenni came running to get me out of one
of the shops. “Come quick! We want a picture! We found a Van Dyken!” While conversing with Mom, Mr. and Mrs.
Eigeman discovered that we were researching our Van Dyken heritage. Mrs. Eigeman exclaimed, “My mother was a Van
Dyken! She is still living in Bedum!” So we embraced each other as long-lost
cousins, and marveled again at the connections we discover with people when we
begin to talk.
Later, on the way back to the parking lot, Mr. Eigeman told
us some of his life story. Born south of
Amsterdam, he was orphaned at a young age and was taken in by an older, married
sister near the city of Groningen. (“A
happy move,” he said, “because otherwise I would not have met my dear wife!”) One clear memory of wartime Holland is that a
young Jewish mother came to the house, asking the family to take in her newborn
son. The woman’s husband had already
been taken to Auschwitz, and she was afraid that she too would be transported
into Germany. Her fears were realized,
and she suffered terribly in the camps but emerged alive. When she returned for her son, it was
heart-wrenching for PJ’s family to give up the young boy they had come to love
as a son and brother. To this day, PJ
maintains contact with his adoptive brother, who lives in England and has no
other living blood relatives. “We talk
every other week,” he says. “He is still
my brother. We are all the family he
has.”
PJ’s parting advice: “Talk
to people. Get to know their
stories. Everyone has a story. When we ask questions and listen, we can hear
these stories and find out how we are connected.” What a blessing to have met PJ and his
wife! And cousins yet too!
After a cool, windy picnic lunch—eaten just before a
drenching rainshower—we drove off to find the German border a few miles away,
and then hopefully to the German town of Bentheim about an hour south of us, which
Sjoerd had told us contained a lovely castle.
Unfortunately, our map of the Netherlands did not extend far
enough to show the town, and despite Jenni’s excellent navigational skills, we
never really found the town. (Which
disappoints me later, as I write this, because I have just learned that there is
a large contingent of “Bentheimer” Dutch/Germans living in Grand Rapids, who
gather every year to celebrate their heritage.) Just for fun, here is what we missed (courtesy again of Google images):
We did, however discover our 20th windmill! With a rainbow behind it, which we took as a kind of benediction that we could abandon our journey and head for home.
So, feeling a bit weary, we turned our faces toward home and were glad to enjoy yet
another night of chili and toasted cheese sandwiches.
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