aftermath

short story

godwit flying across a barren land
Summer in Friesland
by
Janna van der Meer
     "Yvonne, can you send Jelle to me? He's supposed to do the milking and I don’t see him anywhere."
     "I don’t know where he is either."
     That's strange, she thinks, Jelle is always so reliable. A vague sense of guilt comes over her. Why did she have to bring up that thorny subject this morning? As if the poor lad hasn’t enough worries.
     "Would you like me to fetch the cows?" she suggests.
     "That would be nice."
     Since the flower shop cannot afford her anymore, Yvonne often lends a hand on the farm. She knows little about farming but any help is welcome. The milker was fired a month ago and casual hands are no longer an option, because there is no fieldwork anymore.
     "Jelle and I can manage together," Sybren Hiemstra, Jelle's father, had thought. The outcome is that they now work themselves to the bone. Fortunately there are fewer cows now. Which is not really fortunate, of course. It still makes her feel faint, thinking back to the dejection of both men, yesterday, when the cattle truck came to collect dozens of cows again, the second time that year.
     It's just impossible to grasp, how everything is changing. The previous summer had also been dry, and extremely hot. There were endless discussions about whether this was the result of global warming. It seemed to have become the only topic on all media. Farmers in particular were blamed. It was their fault that carbon would also disappear from the soil, causing the water-retaining capacity of that soil to drop dramatically. The whole of Northern Europe suffered from a shortage of roughage for cattle and the general mood was angry and worried.
     But then winter arrived. And what a winter it was. Fantastic! All canals and lakes were frozen solid and the most incredible thing happened: the beloved Eleven-City Skating Tour, which had been impossible for decades of mild winters, could be held again. It was a dream come true and the whole country erupted into an exuberant party. Drunk with overconfidence and relief they cheered on the skaters, their heroes. The doom-saying experts were jeered and mocked. What greenhouse effect? Just look at us all, whirling across the ice like in olden days!
     But, come spring, something strange happened again: the bitter eastern wind would not shift. Temperatures started climbing rapidly and the rains failed. The once eternally green Frisian meadows were dull brown and remained so. Now the cows of the Hiemstra family are trudging to the milking barn in a huge cloud of dust. They are hungry and listless. A few have are even lying down in the middle of the procession.
     "Get up!" Yvonne shouts and prods the tip of her boot in a red and white flank. The beast looks up at her drowsily but raises itself, out of benevolence, it seems. The others are also beginning to move. Yvonne wipes the sweat from her forehead:
     "Yup ladies, walk on!"
     When they have finally all heaved themselves to their feet, they first need to do a lot of shitting and peeing. The tails are swept aside and shit splashes against Yvonne's bare calves.
     "Go, go!"
     If only she still had her job. How she misses the scent of flowers! But nobody spends money on frivolities anymore, let alone insanely expensive frivolities. Yvonne looks around. Nothing in bloom anywhere. And this is a biological farm too: no fertilizer is spread, no poison is sprayed. This place, of all places, should be rich in flowers. She looks at the flies swarming among the cow tails. Flies galore. They love cows. But there aren’t enough insects for young field birds, according to Jelle. Those insects live on flowers. No flowers, no insects and starvation for the chicks.
     Jelle. Where could he be? With aching heart she recalls the morning.
     "How are we going to handle the wedding?" she had asked cautiously.
     "The wedding?"
     "If we really want to have it on the first of September we should be organizing something, shouldn't we?" Jelle had only gazed at her, with a look she had never seen from him before. "I know that everything is hard now, but I just want to know where I stand."
     "You want to know where you stand?"
     "Yes."
     And that was when he walked out the door. Briefly she had thought of following him, but something in his eyes held her back. Besides, she had been angry too: was she not entitled to certainty? And yes, some pleasure, too? She always had to comfort him, cheer him up, because things are so bad with the farm. But she has lost her job. Not a great job, perhaps, and not enough to keep a family on, but still. And besides: everybody is down.
     Just switch on the tv: the end of time is nigh, if you are to believe the stories. Crop farming is the issue again today. The winter wheat has been killed by frost and the summer wheat won't germinate. The potatoes are in a bad way too. Irrigation is forbidden, so all is hopeless. A wedding on the other hand is a positive thing. A statement that life goes on.
     Yvonne feels a lump rising in her throat. She can still vividly recall the evening that Jelle proposed. That day she had worked on garlands for the winners of the Eleven-City Tour, a great honor. The whole province was euphoric.
     He had removed her mittens and taken her hands in his, looking deeply into her eyes. So different from this morning.
     Then the phone rings. It's not Jelle but his father.
     "Heard anything yet?"
     "No."
     "Are you almost there?"
     "Halfway. They won't walk."
     Sybren sighs and starts to rant about "that good-for-nothing cattle".
     Yvonne gets along well with her father-in-law-to-be, but lately he has become quite tiresome. While problems make Jelle go quiet, Sybren starts grumbling out loud. He also complains about his back more and more. The idea had been that Jelle would take over the farm from his parents next year, but that plan has also become iffy now. The fact is that the value of the whole enterprise has halved. Silage, maize and hay have become impossible to get, so everybody is selling cows. On top of that the banks are not prepared to lend money.
     How is Jelle to buy out his parents? What is a realistic amount?
     It troubles him a lot. His parents have always worked so hard. Jelle would like to give them a comfortable old age. But what about his own future? For a farmer's son it had seemed a no-brainer. As long as he did his best, all would be well. Of course there were worries about the environment, the bees, things like that. But this was the Netherlands: a prosperous nation, well-organized, rich in water. Moreover they had taken their responsibility by becoming biological. That was already three years ago. Just before the climate went crazy.
     If only she had kept quiet, Yvonne thought. Heaven knows what he might think. "When did you see Jelle last?" she asks, interrupting the old man, who had just kept on complaining.
     "Half past two. There were two bank men here. I had completely forgotten they would come, but suddenly we saw their big silver cars in front of the house. Do you know what they want to do? Revise our repayment plan. Raise it, of course. While interest is going up. How are they going to fill their fridges once they have strangled all the farmers? Who is going to feed the people? I did not even offer them coffee. Get lost, I said."
     "How was Jelle with that?"
     "What do you think?!"
     Yvonne does not answer, but she's relieved that Jelle had not disappeared immediately after their talk.
     "He'll turn up eventually. I'll just start milking by myself. I'm curious whether they'll still give anything. It was wretched, yesterday," Sybren says, "My poor back. Try to get a move on, won't you? I have more things to do."
     "I'll do my best."
     At an agonizingly slow pace the herd moved forward.
     Another phone call. It's Jelle! "Where are you? What are you doing?"
     "Yvonne! You're not going to believe this, but I've seen a godwit."
     "A godwit?"
     Her joy at hearing her friend again is mixed with irritation.
     "We thought they would not return again but that's not true, obviously. And if there's one there are probably more."
     "But don’t godwits always return in March?"
     "This one must have been here a while. It's a miracle. Isn't it great?!" These last few years the godwit has become the symbol of decline of the traditional meadow landscape. Among all meadow birds it suffers the most from the intensification of agriculture.
     Once the air trembled with the sound of godwits, calling sharply, skylarks warbling, lapwings putting on their magnificent aerial displays, oystercatchers chattering …. but now the countryside is growing silent, more and more. Egg-collecting, a pastime that used to be a source of glory for many a young boy, has been outlawed for that reason. But it makes little difference. Every year fewer meadow birds return from their annual migration to Africa.
     This spring not a single godwit was seen. Consternation among the bird watchers. Yvonne did not understand this all too well, but what did she know? She could not tell a starling from a thrush.
     "I happen to be more of a cat person," she said to Jelle, when he tried to share his concerns with her. Every day he scanned the fields with his binoculars.
     For once farmers and environmentalists agreed: it could not be a coincidence that the absence of these migrant birds occurred at the same time as the absence of rain. Perhaps it could not be explained exactly by science, but it had to be a sign. An ominous sign.
     And now Jelle has seen a godwit. That's great for him. That much Yvonne does understand, but need she have been so tormented for that?
     "And now what?" she asks, "Are you staying there to watch or are you coming back. Your father is about to start milking, as soon as I arrive with the cows. His back is troubling him."
     "Ah, you are fetching the cows? That's nice."
     "I can be useful now and then."
     This talk is not going well, Yvonne realizes. How can that be? She is so happy with his call!
     "I'm so happy with your call," she says, desperate to say something.
     "Were you worried? Well, you need not be. I had just had enough, for a moment. Did you know that people from the bank had come calling?"
     "Your father said so. Very annoying."
     "You can say that again. Well, after that I went to look at the water inlet, to see whether we might raise the level a bit. The water can hardly get into the polder, that's how low it is. But that's not the point right now. I also went there to clear my mind. Everything is so hopeless, so uncertain. And I also hate having to milk every day because dad saw fit to sack the milker.
     So there I was, wandering through big thirteen, when I suddenly heard a godwit calling! At first I could not believe my ears, but then I saw it, just sitting on the fence at the fourth dam. I'm phoning you first, but you can understand that many people need to know this. All right dear, a big fat kiss. Supper at seven? Can you make something tasty? See you then!"
     Baffled, Yvonne gazes at the phone. Jelle is gone again. After a few seconds she decides that she is still happy: all is well with her beloved. Better yet, she has not heard him so elated in weeks. Why he is so glad about that bird is unclear to her. An adult godwit eats worms. Jelle told her this himself. Well, worms aren't here anymore. When Yvonne looks around she cannot begin to imagine that earthworms will still be wriggling somewhere under that dried-out patch of grass. Oh well, her first priority is to make sure she gets those lazy cows home.
     "Yup ladies! Walk on!"
     Fifteen minutes later she has made it. She herds the animals into the waiting pen and Sybren can attach the first cups to their udders. An average of 3 litres a cow is the result. Less than yesterday, again.
     "They're like goats, damn it," Sybren grumbles, "A shame, with this high milk price we could make a bloody killing if we could just get feed now. But no feed, no milk. What to do? You can't even slaughter the beasts anymore: endless waiting lists. I've never known anything like it!" That evening Yvonne puts a little extra effort into making supper. Fresh vegetables are scarce and costly, but she has managed to get a few decent beets. She serves them with rice and sauce from a package. The climax of the meal is a steak from one of their own cows. The last one from the freezer. Jelle loves a good piece of meat. At least, he used to. Nowadays he just gets sad, when one of their own animals is on the menu. No matter, today is a good day and besides: who can resist such a tender steak?
     As soon as Jelle walks in, she pours him a beer and looks at him expectantly. He gives her a kiss.
     "What did they say about the godwit?"
     "Great, but they don’t think it's a sign that things are improving again."
     "Oh."
     "No, it's probably a bird that lost its way and will surely have to move on, because there's no food to be found."
     "Where will it go?"
     "That's the question. North of the Alps it's the same story everywhere. It will have to fly south again."
     "Fortunately it can do so."
     "Yea. But it won't have any chicks," Jelle looks sad, "I must be realistic: one godwit doesn’t mean a thing."
     Jelle drinks his beer in silence and Yvonne strokes the cat. For a while they don’t know what to say.
     "But do you know what would really give me hope?" Jelle suddenly says.
     "Well?"
     "Our wedding."
     "Really?!" Yvonne flings her arms around his neck, "But what about all the problems?"
     "They are what they are and we'll have to make the best of them. I don’t know how. What I do know is that I love you and that I want to be with you."
     The rest of the evening turns out just as romantically as Yvonne had hoped. They don’t notice that the wind is rising. From Scandinavia it rumbles across the land. Skinny hares are lying flat in their lairs, while the last living plants start to shrivel. The trees brace themselves, releasing their leaves, as if it is autumn.
     And summer has only just begun.




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