Heinenboer

Being asked to be a “noaber” is an honor, but it’s also not something to be taken lightly. By entering into a “noaberschop,” you commit yourself to the other person. “Noabers” are neighbors who have been specifically chosen. It’s the social network you can fall back on if, God forbid, things go wrong. They are the people who will be present at the birth of your children, at baptisms, engagements, and weddings, and also at your funeral. They are the ones who will stay in church until the very end and carry your coffin. So it’s a good idea to have at least eight noabers. When a young couple marries into an existing farm, they usually take on the existing noabers or, by mutual agreement, seek out others. If it’s a new farm, the new noabers are chosen and invited to join. A “noaber” is for life, and the responsibilities are anything but optional; it is therefore very important to establish and maintain a good relationship with your “noabers.” Among the neighbors, one is designated as the first or “emergency neighbor.” In all cases where neighborly assistance is needed, this person provides the initial help. A fun neighborly obligation is the registration of a child’s birth. This is done by the father and two neighbors who act as witnesses. On the way to city hall, a “credit” is established at a café for the registrar so that he can pick up a drink there at a later time. Of course, the father and the neighbors then raise a toast to the birth. If the farm is farther from city hall, they stop at several cafés along the way. So a farmer set out with his neighbors to register the birth of his beautiful daughter Lilliane with the municipality. It was a cheerful journey, but by the time they arrived at city hall, all three were so “drunk” that they had forgotten the name. The only thing they could remember was that it was spelled with many “ellen.” To this day, this daughter—now 84—is named Ellen.

Work was underway on the threshing floor. The rye was spread out on the floor, and the young men used flails and threshing clubs to beat the grains out of the ears. The flails struck at a steady pace, “every other beat.” The young men—even after work—still had enough energy left to court the ladies, which is why this period is also referred to as the “flail years.” It was a carefree time of camaraderie and adventure. After removing the straw—which was used, among other things, to make mats—chaff, grain, and dust remained on the threshing floor. These were tossed with a winnowing basket, allowing the wind to blow away the lighter parts: the chaff and the dust. The wheat was then kept in the winnowing basket. “Separating the wheat from the chaff” is still a proverb that recalls this practice. To stimulate the marriage market, a “spinvisiet” (spinning party) was occasionally organized in the barn. The young farmer’s daughter would then invite her friends to spin yarn together in the barn. These friends would have an unmarried brother carry the spinning wheel. This brought everyone of marriageable age together, and they would get up to some mischief. The farmer’s wife would look the other way when two of them disappeared into the hay.

Slaughter Corner

You know exactly what you’re dealing with when you slaughter your own pigs. Every farm held a slaughter in the fall. The local butcher often helped with this. Every part of the pig was used. The pig was cut in half and each half was hung from a ladder. During deboning, hams and bacon were separated, and other parts were ground into smaller pieces using a meat grinder to be preserved in jars or made into sausage. Blood sausage and liver sausage are Twente specialties. So is Twente “balkenbrij,” made from buckwheat flour, liver, bacon, and plenty of herbs. “A farmer doesn’t start on a shin until he’s finished the ‘balkenbrij.’” The tastiest parts of the pig were always saved for last.