Sprickeln, nix at Sprickeln

vun Johnny Meyer

Wat weer dat een gräsig Weer, Iesregen, Wind un Snee. Hunnen un Katten kunn's nich na Buten jogen so kolt weer dat, all vor n' ganze Tiet. De Iesblomen an us Kökenfinster weern all ewig dor, so kem us dat vör.

De Tacken ut de Eeckbööm vörn Huus, de knallden rein weg, wenn se affbrecken deen, vun all dat Gewicht. De ganze Straat leeg vull mit Twiege un Tacken, groote un lüttje, all een dörn annern. Dor kunns nich dör kamen, ahn de grööteren Tacken eers anne Siet to smieten. Autos geev dat jo kum to de Tiet, glieks na'n Krieg. Peerd un Wagen mossen eers anholen um free Bahn to maaken. Nich maal de Mölkwagen kunn dor dör un he harr twee groote stämmige Belgieer Peer dorvör. De ole Mölkman Dier's, wat seeg he doch verfroren ut, denn eenen Morgen, at dat so gräsig kolt weer. He weer een vun de Eersten de dor dör mossen un de meiste Arbeit bleev up em sitten, he moss dor jo dör, pottegol wat dor uk woll twüschen kem.

Us Vadder weer all halfwegs na de Möhl hen, wo he arbeit. At he woller trüch kem, um us to seggen, dat wi us man gau warm wat antrecken schulln un denn de Tacken de dor leegen, na Huus hen sloorn schulln, dat weer goot Fürholt. To brennen harrn wi uk nich veel, um de Tiet.

Dat Holt wat up'n Hoff leeg dat hörde us to, over wat inne Straat leeg, dat gehörde jeden een. So veel weer dorvun, dat wi bold kien Platz mehr harrn, dat up to stapeln. Weer man goot dat wi warm Tüch to'n antrecken harrn. Mudder harr all de ganzen Daag fleedig ann'e Neihmaschin seten. Hanschen un Socken harr se uk strickt un sogar een langen Schol weer dor bi af fulln, at wi denn olen Pullover upröffelt harrn. Nee't Stroh kem inne Holschen un denn man los. Rut na Buten, anne frische Luft.

Soon Schietweer, kunns kum up de Been stahn, so glitschig weer't. De Fööt seilden unner di weg. "Wenn diene Hannen kolt sünd, denn hau se di man gau um'e Rippen. Denn stigg di dat Bloot inne Fingerspitzen un warm't di woller up." Segg us Mudder noch, um us antofürn. "Biet Strietschohlopen is dat uk so kolt, dor quark't ji uk nich soveel rum. Vun Daagen ward maal nich speelt, ji könnt uk maal mit hölpen. Wi möt seen dat wi wat unnert Dack kriegt."

Rund um't Huus umto leegen all de Tacken, towielen mossen wi mit twee'n dor an trecken so swoar weern se. Dat ole Biel weer uk just nich rech scharp. Over dat hulp us vundaagen man nich, ne Saag harrn wi nich. So at dat Holt vun de Bööm aff broken weer, so togen wi dor mit los. Anner Lüüd deen dat uk. De Winter weer ja all tämlich lang un de Fürrung gung so sinnig to End. Jeden Een seeg to, dat he wat to böten harr. Jo wi wussen uk, dat wenn wi wat to fürn harrn, denn weer dat moi warm in use Kök. De eenzigste Stä inn't ganze Huus, wo dat utholen kunn's. Denn steis dor, vor denn Kökenherd, kunns di eers de eene Siet upwarmen un denn dreis di um un denn kummt de annere Siet. Wenn dat all nich hölpen de, denn kunns uk noch de Fööt in Aven steeken un di ganz un gor upwarmen. De Smoorappeln de dor achtern up'n Herd an brutzeln weern de kunns dör't ganze Huus röcken. Uk de Popierschlang de wi utschneen harrn un achtern up'n Herd henstellden, de dreide sik, je warmer de Herd wurd. Um up'n Torfkassen to sitten in'n Winterdag, dor moss all bold een Los um trecken, dat weer de beste Platz.

Dat weer jo all moi un goot, over de Sprickeln de Mudder bruuken de um't Für an to maaken, de gungen to End. Holland weer in Not, at se seggen deen. Dat Holt wat wi up'n Hoff sloort harrn, weer vull mit Ies un Snee, moss eers twei haut weern, un'ne Tiet drögen. Man goot dat us Naver us siene Kaffsaag leende, so kunnen wi, at dat Fröhjahr kem, dat all fein dörsaagen. De Sprickeln up stapeln un all'ns vor denn tokamen Winter kloormaken. "Wi sünd doch de besten Sülfsversorger" at us Vadder to seggen plegde.

Mien To Huus Siet/Homepage

Kindling, nothing but Kindling

Translated

by Johnny Meyer

It was awfully cold, ice rain, snow and wind, for days on end. Even dogs and cats would avoid going outside if they could, and would roll up as close to the stove as permissible. Ice flowers on our kitchen window had been there forever, as it seemed. It was impossible to look out, maybe, just maybe by late afternoon it would warm up enough to melt a small hole in the ice to allow a look outside into the frozen wonderland.

The ice laden branches on the oak trees in front of our house made these loud banging sounds when they broke off from all that weight of the ice, falling into the street and into the ditch. Streets were completely covered with branches, small ones as well as large ones, all criss cross and on top of each other. In places it was almost impossible to get through. Not too many cars were on the road so shortly after the war; mainly horse and wagons. The latter ones had to stop and clear some of the larger branches to allow for passage. Not even the milk wagon could get through. Our milkman, Mr. Diers, looked so awfully cold that one morning. He normally was the first one to come along and so the burden fell on him to clear branches out of the way.

Our Father had been about halfway to work when he came back home to tell us that we should get dressed real warm and then start dragging some of the branches home. That would make good, free firewood and we needed it badly. All the wood on our property was then ours, and that in the street belonged to everyone. At the end of the day we almost ran out of room to stack it up, but that was ok with us.

It sure was a good thing that our mother had been busy knitting sock's gloves and shawls out of that old sweater. We even got some new straw in our wooden shoes to help keep our feet warm.

It was so slippery that one could hardly walk; our feet would slip right out from under us. "If your hands get cold," mom said, " just hit your hands around your rib's, that will force the blood into your finger tips and warm your hand up." "When you go out to ice skate, its just as cold and you don't complain then either. So for now just pitch in and soon we will have enough."

That old hatchet of ours was so dull and a saw we did not have, but that did us no good today, when we really needed both. Therefore some times it took two of us to drag one of the larger branches home. That's how heavy and large they were. Soon everybody was out there looking for free firewood. All of us knew how nice and cozy it would be if there were enough wood to burn.

Our kitchen was the only place in the whole house that was heated. That stove would be fired up and kept going all day long until bedtime, which was rather early.

During the day it was hard to find a place in front of the stove since all the cooking had to be done there also. But in between meals, we stood there in front, to warm first one side, then turn around and warm the other side. If that entire procedure still did not do the trick, then we would put our cold feet into the open oven.

The smell of apples baking on top of the stove would follow us all the way through out the house. Even the paper snake that we cut out and fastened on a wire on top of the stove would turn faster and faster, as the heat increased. All of this was fine and good but our Mom ran out of kindling to start the fires with in the morning. Since everything was covered with ice and snow, all the kindling had to be dried first under the stove before we could use it. That our neighbor lent us his crosscut saw, sure was a nice gesture.

Came spring, we could cut and chop all that wood up and stack it, ready for the next season. As we knew for sure that it would come. Our Dad kept saying that we were totally self-sufficient and the best "organizers," the best he had ever seen.