Garten Lust
Our German language learning experience continues at its slow pace, sometimes elating, but more often frustrating. Though my Solvay-funded, private tutoring sessions ran out a couple of weeks ago, Fernando is still going strong, somehow squeezing in a weekly lesson despite his busy traveling schedule these past few months. The other day, on our way home from the airport, I was impressed with his graceful command of Conversation & Instructions to Taxi Drivers. His indications to go straight for two blocks and then turn a quick left appeared effortless, as did the cab driver’s ability to understand. But Fernando would probably agree that our progress in German is only as good as our exposure to it, and that’s not all so good. We don’t speak it at home, watch very little TV, and have acquired friends who just happen to be more motivated to practice their English (or Spanish) on us. And now we’re considering taking on a project—a gardening project—that might expose us to more compost piles and snails than quality German conversation practice.
And even though English shares many words with German, like “Haus” and “Wasser” and “Garten”, there are lots of “false friends” between English and German, words that look alike but have different meanings in each language. The German word “Lust”, for example, isn’t exactly “lust” in the English sense. While “Lust haben” might indicate a very strong desire for something, it usually translates just as “to feel like doing something”. And that brings us to our newfound “Lust” for a garden this summer. Before now, I had never thought much about the benefits of having a garden or a back yard for Leo. The playground was close by, ditto a huge city park. Last October, when our landlord Mr. Zgoll told us we wouldn’t have access to our building’s backyard, this didn’t even register as a negative. The glassed-in “Wintergarten” that caught the morning sunlight and allowed for spying on the former German chancellor and his 4th wife seemed a better-than-OK substitute for a yard. Until we spent a few hours in a Schrebergarten.
The Schrebergarten, a German institution, is a small area of cultivated land within a colony of small plots, usually located in the outskirts of cities. If you’ve ever traveled by train in Germany, Switzerland, Austria or the Netherlands, you may have caught a glimpse, out the window, of a hodge-podge of little huts close together, patches of lawn, and rows of vegetables. Maybe the sight of one of these Kolonies made you instinctively avert your eyes, thinking it a shantytown. Upon closer inspection, however (and admit it, you looked again), you might have seen that the plastic gnome and windmill infested gardens were quite well cared for, that there were no parked cars or spare car parts littering the lawn, no visible electric lines, and no smoke in the chimneys. Indeed, these garden spaces are mainly recreational, for city residents who like to spend their weekend and leisure time working in the garden but don’t have one at home. There’s a lot of history to the Schrebergarten, named for the German plant scientist Dr. Schreber, who in the late 1800’s thought it would be a good idea to give the increasing number of humble city folks the opportunity to till their own soil again. And in the aftermath of WWII, the gardens became particularly important for Germany as they were crucial sites for growing vegetables in the midst of food shortages. Nowadays, the Schrebergarten is seen more as something typically German, reflective of the national mentality of hard work and relaxation, order and planning, and grilling sausages. And though wealthier Germans probably don’t have much “Lust” for a little patch of land and an outhouse, the Schrebergarten does attract a wide range of gardeners: from plump and overly-suntanned bottle-blondes and their shirtless, male, cigarette smoking counterparts, to families with young children, elderly folks, and clans of Turks, with the men playing cards while the head-scarf wearing women straighten out the bean plants and manage the kids.
On a grey but unseasonably warm day in late February we spent our first afternoon in a Schrebergarten, which our friend Arne and his girlfriend Bettina had just bought half of. Nothing was abloom and major weeding was imperative, but the two of them were excited about their new spot, which they shared with a good friend who would, as they admitted happily, probably do most of the work. A guided tour of the Kolonie after our coffee and cake gave us our first lesson in this German phenomenon. The plots, in this case NOT near train tracks, were divided by fences and privacy-providing shrubbery, navigable by narrow gravel paths with “street” names. Each included a little house and compost pile. The houses showed tremendous variety, from wooden shack to multi-room brick house with terrace, and so did the gardens themselves—from manicured and cutesy to more overgrown and wild. We peppered Arne with questions.
-Do people sleep here? (No).
-Are people friendly? (That depends, remember this is northern Germany)
-Do these gardens attract hippies, or liberal types? (Not usually, too many rules).
-Is it expensive to buy one? (Doesn’t have to be).
-Are they for people of our generation? (Not typically, though this is changing a bit).
-Are they difficult to sell? (We’ll see, but it appears to be a buyers’ market)
-Do you have to belong to the Kolonie association? (Yes, and pay dues and do a small amount of community service each year).
-Must you and your garden follow rules and regulations? (Yes! Oh, yes!)
-You mean, there’s an obligatory quiet time from 1 to 3 each afternoon? (Yes)
-Did you also say the trees can’t exceed a certain height? (Correct, and they can’t poke outside the fence, either).
We left the garden a couple of hours later, both of us enchanted, almost wishing we were living longer in Germany for more incentive to buy a garden. And the best part was Leo, who had a blast with Arne and Bettina’s son Dario, just walking around looking at plants and sticking his fingers in the dirt (see photos).
Two months later, during a bout of oddly beautiful spring weather, we were invited to another Schrebergarten, again on a Sunday afternoon and again for coffee and cake. For a couple of weeks previous, my Spaniard-German friend Sonia, who not only gardens in the backyard of their apartment but also makes her own cakes, clothes and even chandeliers out of twigs, was looking for a Schrebergarten to buy with her boyfriend (yes, marriage appears optional in Germany) Olli and their two-year-old Anna. After only a week of looking, they held the keys to an extremely pleasant Schrebergarten, a corner-lot with ample lawn, a few apple trees, afternoon light, and a small hut with an open terrace. Apparently, a nice old widow on the way to a nursing home had priced the garden to sell (1,500 euro) and included all of the garden supplies and everything else, including the fancy china. By the time we arrived a couple of days later, Sonia had already done massive weeding outside, painted over the interior walls of the little house, put in new-flooring, and installed a sand box and plastic pool for Anna on the lawn. The sun was shining as we sat with our cake and listened to Sonia and Olli talk about their newfound treasure. Leo and Anna ran around naked, alternating between the sand box and the pool, screeching pretty much continuously (this was legal as it was after “quiet time”). It was so much fun we stayed even after Leo pooped on their lawn and it got to be dinner time. Finally, as Olli announced that the grill was ready for whatever pork product they were going to grill, we dressed Leo (who by that time was wearing Anna’s pink cover-up) and biked back slowly side by side, oohing and aahing and making a plan to get a garden for ourselves. It would be so fun for Leo! A change of pace from daily trips to the playground! We could go after work in the summer! A place to call our own! The kid(s) could nap in the little house!! We could finally learn how to garden! Not that expensive, and worth the money! We could just turn it around and sell it before leaving! Or heck, just give it to someone! We could grow basil and cilantro!
Immediately we started on a plan to get ourselves one of these gardens, and pronto. We were about to do a bunch of traveling, and Fernando’s June work schedule was looking particularly nasty, so we wanted anything, just immediately. But as this is Germany, and these Gartenkolonies are ruled by associations and lots of regulations, we had to wait until the following Wednesday to get only limited information about only a handful of the available gardens in the colonies near Sonia and Olli (about a 15-20 minute bike ride from where we live, in a neighborhood called Kleefeld, also not near tracks). There’s no “master-list” of contact information, nor can you find Schrebergarten information in the newspaper classifieds. And everything is in German legalese. By the end of the week, we had showed up to the Kolonies several times, exhausted a lot of Sonia and Olli’s goodwill and seen only a few gardens on the inside. Two we sort-of liked, each totally different. Though Leo enjoyed biking over in the sun each evening, Fernando did not enjoy getting us lost in the Kolonies as we tried to locate the available plots in the mazes of gravel paths. Our hot pursuit came to a halt for a trip to Italy last week, from which we returned on Saturday. This afternoon we have an appointment for a second viewing of a garden that is totally overgrown but charming and peaceful. The only problem is that the house has a leaky roof. It’s been raining all day today, so we should be able to see the leak in action, and also see just how charming the garden looks under grey clouds and with lots of those mouse-sized snails slinking around. There also won’t be any cake. But if it still excites us, then I think we might be on to something…
And even though English shares many words with German, like “Haus” and “Wasser” and “Garten”, there are lots of “false friends” between English and German, words that look alike but have different meanings in each language. The German word “Lust”, for example, isn’t exactly “lust” in the English sense. While “Lust haben” might indicate a very strong desire for something, it usually translates just as “to feel like doing something”. And that brings us to our newfound “Lust” for a garden this summer. Before now, I had never thought much about the benefits of having a garden or a back yard for Leo. The playground was close by, ditto a huge city park. Last October, when our landlord Mr. Zgoll told us we wouldn’t have access to our building’s backyard, this didn’t even register as a negative. The glassed-in “Wintergarten” that caught the morning sunlight and allowed for spying on the former German chancellor and his 4th wife seemed a better-than-OK substitute for a yard. Until we spent a few hours in a Schrebergarten.
The Schrebergarten, a German institution, is a small area of cultivated land within a colony of small plots, usually located in the outskirts of cities. If you’ve ever traveled by train in Germany, Switzerland, Austria or the Netherlands, you may have caught a glimpse, out the window, of a hodge-podge of little huts close together, patches of lawn, and rows of vegetables. Maybe the sight of one of these Kolonies made you instinctively avert your eyes, thinking it a shantytown. Upon closer inspection, however (and admit it, you looked again), you might have seen that the plastic gnome and windmill infested gardens were quite well cared for, that there were no parked cars or spare car parts littering the lawn, no visible electric lines, and no smoke in the chimneys. Indeed, these garden spaces are mainly recreational, for city residents who like to spend their weekend and leisure time working in the garden but don’t have one at home. There’s a lot of history to the Schrebergarten, named for the German plant scientist Dr. Schreber, who in the late 1800’s thought it would be a good idea to give the increasing number of humble city folks the opportunity to till their own soil again. And in the aftermath of WWII, the gardens became particularly important for Germany as they were crucial sites for growing vegetables in the midst of food shortages. Nowadays, the Schrebergarten is seen more as something typically German, reflective of the national mentality of hard work and relaxation, order and planning, and grilling sausages. And though wealthier Germans probably don’t have much “Lust” for a little patch of land and an outhouse, the Schrebergarten does attract a wide range of gardeners: from plump and overly-suntanned bottle-blondes and their shirtless, male, cigarette smoking counterparts, to families with young children, elderly folks, and clans of Turks, with the men playing cards while the head-scarf wearing women straighten out the bean plants and manage the kids.
On a grey but unseasonably warm day in late February we spent our first afternoon in a Schrebergarten, which our friend Arne and his girlfriend Bettina had just bought half of. Nothing was abloom and major weeding was imperative, but the two of them were excited about their new spot, which they shared with a good friend who would, as they admitted happily, probably do most of the work. A guided tour of the Kolonie after our coffee and cake gave us our first lesson in this German phenomenon. The plots, in this case NOT near train tracks, were divided by fences and privacy-providing shrubbery, navigable by narrow gravel paths with “street” names. Each included a little house and compost pile. The houses showed tremendous variety, from wooden shack to multi-room brick house with terrace, and so did the gardens themselves—from manicured and cutesy to more overgrown and wild. We peppered Arne with questions.
-Do people sleep here? (No).
-Are people friendly? (That depends, remember this is northern Germany)
-Do these gardens attract hippies, or liberal types? (Not usually, too many rules).
-Is it expensive to buy one? (Doesn’t have to be).
-Are they for people of our generation? (Not typically, though this is changing a bit).
-Are they difficult to sell? (We’ll see, but it appears to be a buyers’ market)
-Do you have to belong to the Kolonie association? (Yes, and pay dues and do a small amount of community service each year).
-Must you and your garden follow rules and regulations? (Yes! Oh, yes!)
-You mean, there’s an obligatory quiet time from 1 to 3 each afternoon? (Yes)
-Did you also say the trees can’t exceed a certain height? (Correct, and they can’t poke outside the fence, either).
We left the garden a couple of hours later, both of us enchanted, almost wishing we were living longer in Germany for more incentive to buy a garden. And the best part was Leo, who had a blast with Arne and Bettina’s son Dario, just walking around looking at plants and sticking his fingers in the dirt (see photos).
Two months later, during a bout of oddly beautiful spring weather, we were invited to another Schrebergarten, again on a Sunday afternoon and again for coffee and cake. For a couple of weeks previous, my Spaniard-German friend Sonia, who not only gardens in the backyard of their apartment but also makes her own cakes, clothes and even chandeliers out of twigs, was looking for a Schrebergarten to buy with her boyfriend (yes, marriage appears optional in Germany) Olli and their two-year-old Anna. After only a week of looking, they held the keys to an extremely pleasant Schrebergarten, a corner-lot with ample lawn, a few apple trees, afternoon light, and a small hut with an open terrace. Apparently, a nice old widow on the way to a nursing home had priced the garden to sell (1,500 euro) and included all of the garden supplies and everything else, including the fancy china. By the time we arrived a couple of days later, Sonia had already done massive weeding outside, painted over the interior walls of the little house, put in new-flooring, and installed a sand box and plastic pool for Anna on the lawn. The sun was shining as we sat with our cake and listened to Sonia and Olli talk about their newfound treasure. Leo and Anna ran around naked, alternating between the sand box and the pool, screeching pretty much continuously (this was legal as it was after “quiet time”). It was so much fun we stayed even after Leo pooped on their lawn and it got to be dinner time. Finally, as Olli announced that the grill was ready for whatever pork product they were going to grill, we dressed Leo (who by that time was wearing Anna’s pink cover-up) and biked back slowly side by side, oohing and aahing and making a plan to get a garden for ourselves. It would be so fun for Leo! A change of pace from daily trips to the playground! We could go after work in the summer! A place to call our own! The kid(s) could nap in the little house!! We could finally learn how to garden! Not that expensive, and worth the money! We could just turn it around and sell it before leaving! Or heck, just give it to someone! We could grow basil and cilantro!
Immediately we started on a plan to get ourselves one of these gardens, and pronto. We were about to do a bunch of traveling, and Fernando’s June work schedule was looking particularly nasty, so we wanted anything, just immediately. But as this is Germany, and these Gartenkolonies are ruled by associations and lots of regulations, we had to wait until the following Wednesday to get only limited information about only a handful of the available gardens in the colonies near Sonia and Olli (about a 15-20 minute bike ride from where we live, in a neighborhood called Kleefeld, also not near tracks). There’s no “master-list” of contact information, nor can you find Schrebergarten information in the newspaper classifieds. And everything is in German legalese. By the end of the week, we had showed up to the Kolonies several times, exhausted a lot of Sonia and Olli’s goodwill and seen only a few gardens on the inside. Two we sort-of liked, each totally different. Though Leo enjoyed biking over in the sun each evening, Fernando did not enjoy getting us lost in the Kolonies as we tried to locate the available plots in the mazes of gravel paths. Our hot pursuit came to a halt for a trip to Italy last week, from which we returned on Saturday. This afternoon we have an appointment for a second viewing of a garden that is totally overgrown but charming and peaceful. The only problem is that the house has a leaky roof. It’s been raining all day today, so we should be able to see the leak in action, and also see just how charming the garden looks under grey clouds and with lots of those mouse-sized snails slinking around. There also won’t be any cake. But if it still excites us, then I think we might be on to something…
posted by J&F at 12:30 PM
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