Now and then, I return to native Netherlands to meet family and friends in their summer holiday gardens. This time, I started at best friends Summer Garden Utrecht, where I went to University, we used to study geology and were neighbors while mapping our Spanish lands. She used to keep an eye on both of us and one off the street; in turbulent times a beacon of stability at a table of plenty shared with daughter and sons.
Then it goes farther to best friends in Summer Garden Zaltbommel, on the way home. We travelled the world on bicycles; carrying fossil remains from a tropical sea that once covered our homeland. While he still returns, she keeps feet on the ground, wagons on the road, and maintains contact with the living.
At last I arrive at mother’s Summer Garden Brunssum; where pap, mam, sisters and brother lived with a dog, a cat, and an occasional pet scorpion, lizzard or toad or two. Nothing ever really changed and rarely anything stayed exactly the same. The family, minus pap, me and the exchanged pets still living quite near home. My dad is remembered in constructs that are irreplaceable and I do not need to resist becoming a temporary repairman scratching his head standing besides.