The Black Forest

Six years ago in mid-winter, Lydia, her husband and their two sons took me to a special restaurant high in the Black Forest. You pick out the trout you want from a large outdoor tank, then go inside and wait for it to be cooked to perfection. Some of my favorite memories are of the long drive through the Forest filled with deep-winter snow, the patterns made on the snow by cross-country skiers, and the warmth of the thick-walled German lodge.

It was a delight to return to the Forest in early springtime with Lydia and Mary. We left early in the morning in order to have as much time as possible before catching the train to Nancy in France.

The beauty of the grass- and flower-covered rolling mountains is almost painful to remember – because I long to return and spend days hiking the trails and painting the scenes, eating bread and cheese on sweet-smelling grassy hillsides, and dozing in the sunshine. These pleasures are in Lydia’s backyard, only moments from Emmendingen. Frequently, she borrows a horse and rides on these mountain trails, wandering far from the tension that plagues even good daily lives.

On our morning in the Forest, we were heading for the ruins of the Emmendingen castle. A few years ago, my brother Charles and his wife were here with Lydia. She told me how much fun he had exploring all the levels, exulting in flying here and there just like a kid! There are six children in my family, us three older ones (Mike, me, Sally), and three younger ones (Charles, Jon, Lydia). I was 10 when Charles came along, and he was a trial! An explorer as soon as he could walk, it was not unusual for the whole family to be searching for the tiny toddler blocks from home. I loved picturing him as a grownup bounding all over the castle with as much glee as when he was a youngster.

Parking at the bottom of the castle’s hill, we hiked up a grassy path through meadows thick with dandelions, yellow cups, purple lupin, and white Queen Anne’s lace. Apple trees shaded the soft brown most contented cows in the world. Thick stands of other trees sang with birds (invisible, you remember from my walk in Dijon), and in the background rang distant sheep bells. I felt closer to being Heidi than ever in my life.

A recent Final Jeopardy answer was Heidi, and none of the young contestants got it! Has it really been relegated to the classics bookshelf that no-one reads anymore? What a loss that would be.

I loved the castle. It seemed so German, evoking Wagner’s Siegfried and Isolde. In the far distance was Witch’s Mountain where witches dance during lightning storms. The castle is on the peak of a mountain with one half clinging onto the steep cliff-like mountainside. How did they do that!! Look! The stones are heavy, weighing down the foundation. I can’t begin to imagine the forethought and labor it took. But what fun to be there, imagining how life might have been for the women whose task was to make a welcoming home out of such a formidable place.

Local people, proud of their castle, keep it in repair and are rebuilding the sections as much as they can, depending on donations of money and labor.

This dedication is an example of the indomitable spirit that rebuilt Germany after World War II when bombing raids had leveled most of it. Freiburg, that beautiful city, was rebuilt mostly by the women since a large part of the men were killed in the war. The city took its time to rebuild and look the way it used to, going slowly, using old techniques that the original builders had used, and salvaging as much of the original materials as possible. The result is a lovely city, modern in amenities, but old and comfortable in look and feel.