The Day the Camera Died

Wow, I got a lot of response from the last email. That was wonderful. Love to hear from you. Only two more days left. I have to squeeze as much I can into this time. I’m good at that…as Freeman well knows. I have a floh market this morning, to find a bigger suitcase, packing to do, doctor this afternoon, an on-line book to finish, going away party tonight, train ride to Frieburg on Friday afternoon/evening, and leave Saturday morning. How did I do, Freeman? Ps. Bring a big luggage cart.

THE DAY THE CAMERA DIED….(battery, that is)
My friend Elke invited me to her parents family vineyard on Tuesday afternoon. That’s how I found myself in an a 1700 era stone farmhouse, sitting around a small kitchen table with Elke, her mom and dad, her mother-in-law and her sister. While the meal was being prepared, I was taken down into the wine cellar by way of a “stairway”. I would have called it a ladder with hand rails. The wine cellar was built in 1867. Below are pictures of the age OLD casks next to NEW modern stainless winemaking equipment. (camera died here. That is why there are no pictures of the wonderful family in the kitchen, sitting around the kitchen table, sharing their life with me. Word pictures will have to suffice.) They harvest their grapes for a local winery, and but keep the legal limit of grapes for their own private stock . I even tried some of their white Neu Susser or “New Wine”. It is the grape juice, freshly squeezed, before fermenting has begun. It is so sweet, but with a little twang.

They are a typical hospitable German farm family, who had prepared a light evening meal snack. One snack was a type of soft flat bread with onions, cheese, spices. The other was the same bread, but with almonds and honey. A fragrant red tea with orange spices was the perfect accompaniment. German stories and laughter filled the little kitchen…..and they drew me in to their family jokes and history. I had my own private translator that allowed me to interact verbally and share my own stories.

But I need to save some stories to share when I get home. If you’re interested in World War II stories, ask me about Elke’s grandfather who ran a POW camp in Germany, or her uncle who was a POW in California, or how her grandfather could both support Hitler and employ and train Jews in his factory.

Frau Judith Stone