The Soup. Jorma Rotko
as you know, the first ten years of occupancy would be rent-free,” von Loytzen said. “But, the Klassen’s began working and living on the property four years ago when the village was founded; you should expect to begin paying rent after six years”.
“Something more,” von Loytzen said. “The Klassen’s came here from Flanders, and they may still have family living there. You should sign an ‘affirmation of compensation’ if the relatives of the Klassen’s come expecting to claim their plot”.
The thought of moving into the home of the dead couple was a bit unsettling. But, we had waited so long and were so tired of making due that we decided to agree with those terms.
The banker assured us the paperwork would be ready for our signatures the next day. After that, a clerk from the bank, would give us a tour of the house and show us the boundaries of the homestead.
We returned to the boat to begin preparing to take possession of our new home. The first step, stock the pantry: Salt, smoked meat, cheese, dry bread, flour, and some preserved foods topped the list. Hopefully, vegetables, fruits, butter, and meat would be available from the villagers.
Luckily, our farm was bounded by the Scharpau, a channel between the Vistula and Nogat Rivers. That meant we could sail the Geest into Fürstenwerder without a problem.
The Scharpau, however, was a very shallow waterway with a muddy, but rock free bottom. The going was slow, but we were finally able to drop anchor and wade ashore. This was no problem for Dietrich and me, but the bank clerk felt different and was not happy.
We were met at our homestead by a miserable site: Waterlogged fields, an overabundance of bushes, and even more weeds.
Fürstenwerder, ‘The Prince’s Holm’ – there was nothing princely in that bog. The Klassen’s had started to drain, but there was a lot more to do. The house stood on a three feet high mound. It would be the only dry spot when the Vistula River flooded.
The tool shed, horse stable and cattle shed all stood under the same roof. The Klassen’s had been poor people. It was evident by the tools and equipment they had left behind.
The bank clerk furnished us with a map of our property and another that covered the extent of the Grosse-Werder. To our southeast lay the village of Loytzenhof and 20-miles beyond that the town of Elbing. We would more than likely return to Danzig for most of our purchases as it was only 12-miles away.
We needed to unload our provisions, so in the bank of the Scharpau, we drove a stake we could use to tie up and pulled the boat as near to shore as possible. In the shed, we found a couple of boards we could use as a gangplank and began carrying everything up to the house.
That night we were exhausted. We dined on warmed up bean soup from the kettle and went to bed. I slept well into the morning, but Dietrich was up early. He found a piece of canvas in the shed and nailed it to the wall. On it, using a hunk of coal, he had written a suitable passage from the Bible:
Thou visitest the earth and waterest it: thou greatly enrichest it with the river of God, which is full of water. Psalms 65:9.
The verse was written in German from Martin Luther’s translation. Neither a Dutch nor Frisian translation of the Bible exists as yet. “It will do,” Dietrich said, “but on the next trip to a town, I plan to look for an artist who can print it out better and frame it, too”.
We sat down to make a list of the essentials we would need to make our new home livable. Cows were a necessity. They would furnish us with milk, cream, and butter. And, their manure could be used to fertilize the fields. Cows were a must. Pigs would be available in springtime. We also needed a horse and wagon as soon as possible.
But, animals needed to be feed. Unfortunately, signs of autumn were already evident, and we had no oats or dry hay for animals. And, what about the upcoming winter? Perhaps it would be possible to purchase feed at the same time as the animals. There was so much to consider.
A rowboat would be good as well, for short trips on the Scharpau to the market or out for some fishing. That could be easily built – we had learned that skill while still in Friesland.
A woman is always useful in the house. I would leave that problem for Dietrich to solve. I was not yet ready to take on a wife.
Our nearest neighbor was a big, horse-faced man named Peter Goerz. His interest was more in getting news from home in the Low Countries than of us.
“Is the Governor still that bloody, murdering Duke of Alba? And, do you know what’s happening with my relatives in Flanders”? he asked. We had no idea. Truth be told, we didn’t even know his relatives.
Goerz’s first homestead, he told us, was only 50 acres and too small to feed the large family. “Luckily,” he said, “I was successful in swapping my smaller parcel for this 125-acre plot here in Fürstenwerder”.
When he said his family was large, he wasn’t exaggerating. He currently had thirty-five people living in his house. Goerz told us he had three wives, two who had died, and all who had been prolific breeders.
“My oldest son,” he said, “is married and has a sizable family of his own. All are living with me here while they wait to acquire land their own”.
Goerz advised us to contact the village parish elder, Heinrich Hamm, without delay.
Hamm was a sturdy Mennonite farmer. He immediately recognized we were Frisians. He, unfortunately, was a Fleming.
“Although most living in Fürstenwerder come from Flanders, we are all members of the ‘Flemish Mennonites of Grosse-Werder,’” he said. “We try to avoid the quarrel. The family of Johann Dirksen, a former Frisian Mennonite, is a part of our community too”.
“I’m the elder of the congregation,” Hamm continued. “Divine service is held every Sunday at my house. We hold our service in my barn during the warmer months, from spring until the hay is cut in early fall,” he said. “Fürstenwerder is without a chapel and will be until the land is drained. If you feel uncomfortable here,” Hamm said, “There is a Frisian parish about six miles away in Orlofferfelde. They, too, worship in the barn”.
With our religious discussions complete, it was time to move on to talk about the land. Hamm promised us time to get our farm in order before we would need to contribute to parish community service of building windmills and draining the land.
“As you know, draining is hard work,” he said. “We work quickly and hard. I can guarantee, after a day working with us, you won’t have enough energy to do anything on your own land”.
Hamm’s wife Anna asked us to join their family for lunch. Though they had a large table, they too were a large family and ate their meals in three shifts. The children eating last.
When we got home, I started an inspection of the house while Dietrich went to check on the fields. When he returned, I could tell he was not happy with what he had seen.
“We cannot grow anything in those fields for many years,” he said. “The only thing they will be useful for is pasture land. We need to start thinking about getting some cows”.
Frisians are good milk cows, and we can buy calves locally. The best beef cattle are Limousins, a breed not opposed to poor pasture conditions. Where, I wondered, could we find Limousins? “Dietrich, we need a woman in this house,” I said. “You need to start looking for a wife. I refuse to churn butter”.
In my mind, it would be a lot easier to find a wife than a cow. Almost every family in the area had more than ten children, many of them grownup, unmarried daughters.
Adjusting to the Flemish orientation of the local parish was proving to be a headache. It was true we could join the Frisian parish in Orlofferfelde, but how could we possibly live in Fürstenwerder after that. We would be, I’m sure, treated like marked men by the Flemings, rebuffed and discriminated against.
Johann Dirksen had changed sides. Did we dare discuss such a delicate question with him? We decided to try.
Dirksen seemed to be a forthright man and told us the transition had not been all that difficult. He