Memories of my Father

Holwerd is a village in Noardeast-Fryslan municipality in the northern Netherlands, in the province of Friesland. Before 2019, the village was part of the Doneradeel municipality.

Whenever I see pictures like the one above, it reminds me that there was a different time in history I have never lived and never will. This was before there were cars and trucks to pollute the air, which we as a society are facing is global warming resulting from all this pollution.

I find my mind racing back to when he was sitting there steering that old wagon attached to a couple of animals pulling it down the street. This young man had some advantages over the modern car which you and I would be driving. The fuel to run this vehicle would be very cheap compared to the gas I had to pay for our car. The work attached to this type of wagon may indicate that the kind of manual work would have been tough and very time-consuming. Years later, while visiting my Father's brother, Egbert, the wagon was pulled by a small tractor. There were milk containers in the back where we, as kids, rode in while travelling from the field back to the barn.

My Father's parents raised their family on a farm located just outside of the village of Holwerd. My Father's load was hauling was hay for the animals, which they fed on the farm. The main focus back in those days was on survival. There was no such thing as television to watch for an hour after hour. Many diseases shortened the lives of children and the lives of those adults who managed to get to be of age. My father was the third child of five children, born to his parents, Pieter and Aaltje van der Woude. His other sisters and brother were Egbert, Djoke, little Lammert(who died as a baby) and Lammert.

Uncle Lammert was a fisherman for part of the year, and during the off-season, he picked up part-time jobs doing whatever he could to pay his bills. Then there was this one day when Father and mother let us know that Uncle Lammert was killed in a bad rock barge accident. According to the witness who saw the accident, he watched this barge, looked to the side, then looked back to find the barge upsidedown in the water. The sad part of the story was that one of the worker's sons had begged his father to please let him come on the barge. It was the last run of the day when the father agreed to let his son ride on that barge. To make a long story short, five men and a little boy were buried under those rocks that day. The bodies were never found even to this very day.

Years later, in one of my parents' holiday trailers, there was a plaque remembering Uncle Lammert. My Father also told us that the "L" in Lorne was for Lammert. I do remember this man as a gentle spoken person who was so kind. In 1975, while visiting my father's family, Uncle Lammert bought us some smoked fish from a fish truck. Years later, when Father used to bring out his holiday slides, the same picture of Uncle Lammert eating a piece of fish.

Then there was the time when my father's sister, Djoke, and her son's girlfriend came to visit our family this one summer. Mother did not desire the church to find out that my father's nephew lived with this wonderful Dutch girl. Mother was always so worried about the "Vanderwoude" name being dirtied. The trip of those two women really did bring a lot of excitement to our family's lives. I remember the different events as if they happened yesterday. So many times, this girl was introduced as his nephew's wife-to-be. The people of our church were so happy to meet our new visitors. Then a few weeks later, we took the two on our campout, which my parents were invited to be chaperones at.

This campout was always held at a camp that was located on the shores of Moose Lake. Moose Lake is a relatively small lake in North-eastern Alberta which drains into the Beaver River. It is located a few kilometres west of the town of Bonnyville. I remember my father setting up the trailer in a very nicely shaded spot just not too far from where the camp kitchen was. I remember my aunt, Djoke, washing in the morning, showing more than what mother was comfortable with. My father always reminded her that his sister came from another culture. So, my mother had to learn how to understand another culture.

There were special times which our family spent together which happened every summer season. The first tent trailer was a homemade one that my father had built by hand. I do remember how primitive this trailer was, which was really something. My father could not afford to buy a holiday trailer, so he built one himself. I do believe this was while there were only four in our family. I do not remember camping in that trailer, or I do not have any memories of being in there. I do remember the bought tent trailer which my parents did buy. The only reason why I have any memories of the homemade trailer was that our father donated his old trailer to the natives at the mission which was located up north of the province of Alberta. I am so amazed that every year, father took six weeks off from his job so he could spend time with his family on a camping trip. I have so many memories of these trips which I will remember for the rest of my life.

My mind races back over years of what we did as a family on these family vacations. We always left every June right after we were finished school for the summer.

The world where my father came from was different than the world in which I was brought up. So, every time I see this picture of my father driving that wagon attached to what I assume to be some horses, it always reminds of that he came from another culture and another period of time. This is maybe why I do have an interest in reading and history. His death was tough for me to get over. I went from the little boy who could never have him out of my sight to now I have to live without his life here on this earth. Last year around the end of December of 2020, he was cremated, which means that his body no longer does exist here on this earth. This seemed to be so final, unlike when my mother was buried which gave me the sense that her body was still with us. Until my wife and I leave this earth, we have left only the memories of his life while he was here on the earth. These memories do keep us moving forward as we live each day making more memories of each other. The lesson never to take each person you have in your life for granted is a very important lesson to learn. You never know when they will be gone from your life.