To my grandfathers farm. A day of visiting mills can take you back, back into time. The timewarp was complete when we arrived at a very nice watermill situated on a little stream that ran through the backyard of an old farm. A farm with a number of haystacks at the back, a pighouse on the side, and a chicken shack behind the mill. In the middle of the garden, stood a very old engine, used to drive an old saw. Of course this was all still in working order, and we were shown, how the saw was operated. For most of the people it was cooler to watch the experiment from underneath the trees. The scenery reminded me of the days when I was a child and we went to Ottergem of all places, where my grandfather lived. A farm, with an attached barn, where he produced wheels and ladders all cut from wood of the trees in back of the garden. The farm was situated near a small track, some hundred meters away from the main road. When you enterered the frontgarden, the garden was lined with big chestnut trees and regular nut trees, providing shelter on warm sunny days in June. I still have the image in my head of my uncles handling a big treesaw. One of them standing on a platform, the other on the ground whilst they were dividing the tree into big chuncks. On the right side of the house you could get into the cowstables, where a little cuttingmachine was installed to cut beetroot into little pieces for the animals. My mother was afraid I would stick my hands between the turning knives, but when grandfather was around I was allowed to wind the handle. You could see the picture as a cutting mill. We went overv there nearly every week, especially during summertime. The street leading up to the farm had cobblestones in the middle, and lots of loose sand on the sides. It was almost impossible to ride a bike through the sand, and it was sure more fun to walk through it, and create some sandstorm with my little feet. We walked towards the millstream behind the farm, where my grandfather knifed out a flute for me from a branch of a tree. A wooden flute that actually worked. Did my hang for music come from those days along the millstream? In september I helped in the field putting potatoes in wooden baskets. I sometimes was lucky finding one that had an unusual form, even looking like a little fat man, which was great. In june the grass was mowed with the oldfashioned way by hand. The grass was first laid out, spread in the field, waiting for it to dry. Twice or threetimes a day all the grass had to turned upside down. Later on it was put on haystacks, as they still do over here in Romania. Haystacks attracted childeren. They looked like little castles, that invited you to climb on all the way to the top. From the top it was easy to dig a hole and slide down inside the haystack to appear again at the bottom. On and on, until a farmer would turn up, crying out loud: “Get away from my land, you devils.” Afraid as we were, we did ran, as if our lives depended on it. My mother said childeren were afraid of my grandfather as he could yell very firmly. Although she also said he wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone strike a kid. I knew the man when he was already in his seventies, so much older than I am now. Instead of an old man a lady of eighty five, dressed in black, came down from the orchard. She was the grandmother of the farmer’s wife, and started to talk to us, while crossing a small empty bed of a little stream. She pointed her walking stick in the direction from where, at one time the water must have come down to the mill. That is at least how far my Romanian understanding goes. It could also have been that she was telling something completely different. We enjoyed it all very much. Everybody did have enough time to take the necessary pictures. Did I imagine it, or did I see more people who would have liked to stay over there. What is the cost of a house or a piece of land over here?….