When we returned to the Netherlands in 1948, after living in Sweden for two years, it was already the end of the summer. We lived for six weeks in a pensione, very close to our Montessori school; we had been enrolled at this same school before we moved to Sweden.
When we moved into the Blauwe Vogel (Blue Bird), our more permanent home, we were all so happy. It was a big, beautiful house—with room for all of us: my parents, my three siblings, and me. It also had a very large yard. There were many trees and areas that looked like they could be flower beds or a garden. Because it was fall, we really could not see or figure out what would be growing the following year.
The trees had blossoms in the spring and Mom said they were fruit trees—apple, pear, and plum. We had never seen that before and could not wait to pick our own fruit, but we were told to be patient.
There were also fruits growing in the garden. Strawberries came up first, two kinds: the regular size and tiny wild strawberries that we called bosaardbeitjes. Those were my mom’s favorite. In my mom’s last year, when she ate almost nothing, we still fed her those little bosaardbeitjes, one at a time. We also saw shrubs with red berries, blackberries, and raspberries. My brother, sister, and I were allowed to plant seeds for radishes, and Mom planted an herb garden. My little brother was too small to participate.
There were also many flower beds, and Mom made sure that we always had fresh flowers in our house. She did such a beautiful job arranging the flowers in the vases. My dad always remarked on those flowers.
When the fruit was ripe, Mom handed us a bowl, and we were asked to pick strawberries for dessert—just enough to fill the bowl—so that there would be some left for another day. And so it went all summer for as long as we had fruit growing in our yard.
It was also a time when groceries were delivered to our house, so Mom did not have to go shopping. We had a “fruit man” and a greengrocer who came to everybody’s house. The greengrocer had a horse and cart, and the fruit man came by bakfiets (cargo bike). They sold only fruits and vegetables that were in season. In those days, the fruit was not flown in from all over the world like today.
We loved all the summer fruits, especially the plums. We waited for the apples and pears, which were ripe at the end of August. Many apples fell off the trees, and most of them had little worm holes. If they were very bruised, Mom made applesauce. She even canned it so that we would have some during the winter.
After a few years, we had so much fruit that we could not eat it all, and as soon as sugar was no longer rationed, Mom started to make fruit jam. We could smell her cooking the fruit throughout the house. She made it without preservatives—just the fruit and sugar. The jars were boiled in hot water on the stove to sterilize them. And when the jars were filled with the just-cooked jam, they were covered with wax so that the jam would not spoil. It was a lengthy process, but you could save the jam like this for some years. I can still taste Mom’s jams; they were so delicious.
Mom always had a bottle of pure blueberry juice in the refrigerator for medicinal reasons. If we had stomachaches or other stool problems, she gave us a spoonful of this juice. Most of the time, it took care of the problem.
When there were no more fresh summer and fall fruits, we had oranges, but those were imported from Spain.
Years later, when we lived in Belgium with our own daughters, I used to take them to fruit farms. FuIf the fruit was reasonably priced, we bought it and made our own jams—even green tomato chutney. We used to give jams and chutney as gifts to friends.
I miss those days, but we still enjoy eating fruit.
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