Of Old Times - Heidenheim an der Brenz

---

A few days ago, we hit the Autobahn from Frankfurt down south to Huerben, the sleepy little town where I was born all those many years ago. "Baujahr" 1981, as the germans would say. Built in 1981. A rather old car, I am.

We left Huerben in 1986 when I was only four and a half years old; I have been back only once in all these years, about 18 years ago. Its a very funny feeling to be back in the place where you know you took your first breath, where you came to the world.

We drive through the main street, then up the hill towards our old house. And there it is. Not that I remember much other than from photos and the last visit but nevertheless, that's where I sucked on my first "schnuller", took my first steps and ate pureed fruit.

Mum explains who lived in all the houses around ours, and she wonders out loud whether they are all still there. Its been a while afterall, over 20 years since we moved to Australia. We are soon to find out.

Further up the hill, we find Friedl and Helga, old friends from back in the day with who we are now staying for the next five days. There are tears and hugs, then 'Kaffee und Kuchen', coffee and cake.

Delicious fresh rhubarb cake. Friedl takes us on a tour of the house; I cannot believe it when he points out which of the pot plants are still from mum. I mean, its over 20 years ago! Who has 20 year old indoor plants? I can't imagine something like this in Australia.

We go for a walk around Huerben later in the afternoon, and Friedl and Helga stop to talk to everyone we pass. His sister, the neighbour from up the street, someone in their front garden. Everyone knows everyone. A few of the people we bump into still know mum, and they are so genuinely happy to see her again. How is Australia? How long are we back for? How is the rest of the family?

A little further on, Friedl remembers that we have all been invited for a traditional dinner at our former neighbours house tomorrow night. And everyone is coming. Waltraut, whom I was apparently always very fond of, is preparing 'Wurstsalat' and we will drink 'Most', her husband Uwe's homemade apple cider. Mum is in raps; we are not entirely sure what either of these things are but she assures us that they are the best.

The next day, we see more friends in Heidenheim, the next biggest town. One set for lunch, the next for Kaffee und Kuchen, then we are back in Huerben for the neighbours dinner. I'm excited. And a little nervous. I cannot remember these people but everyone remembers us very well.

We arrive with a beautifully presented potplant that Helga bought at the local florist, and some Aussie souvenirs. Everyone is there; Maria and Tony, who bought our house (and are distant relatives from my father's side, unbeknownst to me); Waltraut and Uwe, plus their kids, Sebastian and Phillip, who live opposite our old house; Gerlinde, from next door; and Friedl (Helga is under the weather). They are all so happy to see us. Waltraut keeps looking at me with such fondness that I nearly tear up. They are all mum's age, with kids around my age. Gerlinde's son, Flori, was in Kindergarten with me. He has excused himself because he has parent-teacher night for his 3 kids. Christ, what have I been doing all these years?

As we sit around a big table on bench seats, it starts drizzling outside and the atmosphere becomes so comfortable and homely, as though we did this every week and still lived here with our neighbours.

I watch mum and everyone else, and listen to the stories that go around; its very sobering. This is life. In this funny time capsule get together, I realise that we all, inevitably, just get older. We are born, we play with the neighbours kids, we grow up, we meet a guy or a girl, we get married, have kids, buy a house, work, retire. Then we watch the cycle go around again. That is what everyone has in common; they have gotten older. Life has moved on. But the place is unchanged. The trees still stand tall, the meadows are in flower for another spring. Every household will pick apples in summer and dig in their tulip bulbs after winter.

I find enormous comfort in this. Although everyone is clearly older and greyer and all the couples around the table have had trials and tribulations, things are how they are. The lamp above the table ties us all together in a circle, no matter where we've been and what we've done. We are all still fundamentally the same people; we are people.

And there it is again; Tony talks of our old garden and house, and explains that one of the peach trees on the terrace is still from my great grandmother's house in Romania, as are the vines. He has grafted the old peach onto new ones; they carry better than any other peach tree he has ever had, he says.

These things all outlast generations. I'm not used to this from Australia. We move about so much, barely staying until our 18th year in our parents' house. Then we rent here, there, buy, sell. There's no sense of time in my life over there. I don't know how old the trees are in my mother's garden, nor does she.

Its nice to know that most things outlive us, is it not? It reminds me to take life a little less seriously, to live a little more, to just enjoy and forget all worry more often than not. in another twenty years time, we'll sit around that table again and no one will care for the money I've made or the problems of my life. They will enjoy my character when I make jokes, bring a big bowl of something delicious out of my kitchen, and pinch my kids on the cheeks.

X

---

Comments

[Nadine]

Beautiful
Hey Maria! What a beautiful post, so true. I learnt a new word this week: palimpsest. Something that shows its history. We are all that, so are the places around us. Some more than others, of course!