Each time a hibiscus flower opens up, it is a marvel to observe how over just a matter of a few hours it unfolds its spectacular petals. This video was created from 240 photos that I shot with the help of a device that connects to my Sony camera and controls the number of shots and the interval between the shots. The pictures were taken one minute apart. The session lasted several hours. Enjoy.
At the end of it, there was a door leading to a small room with a large recessed window in the bare rock wall. It looked like a prison cell, except there were no bars on the window. There were two sets of bunk beds, a table with four chairs, a small table with a two-burner hotplate and a small dresser. “This is your temporary place until your apartment is completed,” the manager told us. And in response to my parent’s questioning glance, he added, “This may take up to two years. We just don’t know where to house all you people,” he grumbled, leaving us to attend to the other families.
We all stood dumbfounded until my mother’s loud sobs broke the silence for a moment. She collapsed on one of the beds and cried and cried. I had never seen my mother cry like that before, which shocked me deeply. My father looked helpless. Eventually, he started stroking my mother’s back. My brother and I climbed onto our top beds, completely bewildered.
Eventually, my mother’s crying stopped. She rallied and took us to the outhouse. She found a clean wash basin to scrub the grime off our face and hands’ long dusty truck ride. She magically produced some bread, butter, cheese and jam. She also made some weak tea on the hot plate. We were so starved; it tasted heavenly. Then she hugged us warmly and said, “With God’s help, we’ll make it through.”
The driver jumped out of the cab, opened the truck ramp, and started unloading the luggage and helping us jump out. Dazed and bewildered, numb from the cold and very hungry, we all stood speechless for a moment. “Take your belongings and follow me,” the driver told us.
He led us around the extremely long building to a courtyard with a row of several outhouses. “You can go there in a minute,” he told us, “but let me show you your quarters first. This old building used to be a pub and a bowling alley,” he continued, “now it has been converted into an emergency shelter for people like you. I’ll introduce you to the manager of this establishment.” He laughed and pointed to a man who had just stepped out of the entrance to receive us.
We were the first ones to be led to our room. We had to go through a long hall with several big sinks, laundry tubs and a wash line with a few rags drying. There were brooms, mops, pails, garbage cans and other equipment stored along the walls. The evening light coming in through oversized windows could hardly soften the drabness of this dingy hall.
On a walk along the shore of the Arrow Lake in June I came across a most curious sight. On the ground I spotted a gathering of butterflies which displayed a rather odd behaviour. They were attracted to a grey mass of an object. Tightly bunched together they appeared to be in a drinking frenzy with their proboscises sucking up some undefinable liquid. First I shot a few pictures from several metres away fearing that they might fly away before I had a chance to capture their bizarre behaviour. As I came closer and closer I noticed that they completely ignored my presence. Rather they behaved like people in a bar being in various stages of intoxication. One butterfly was lying on its side sticking its proboscis deep into a crack of the unknown substance. Others sitting on top of one another. I was deeply puzzled. Now I was so close that my camera lens was able to take close-ups at times even touching their wings. Then I finally realized that the source of their attraction was a fish head, which had been left at the beach by a fisherman. I hope you can still enjoy the photos. Apparently butterflies do not always go after the colourful flowers. At times they rather prefer the valuable nutrients of a rotten fish head.
One day in early spring, our mother told us that we would soon be leaving the camp in Aurich, East Frisia; we would move to Velbert, situated in the Rhineland region of West Germany. My mother sounded very excited and joyful because she was born and raised in the Rhineland, a beautiful part of Germany. It meant saying goodbye to my best friend Ingeborg and all our other playmates with whom we had shared so many exciting adventures and experiences.
However, before moving to Velbert, we first had to spend several weeks in a transitory camp in Massen, a small town near Unna, close to Dortmund, our second station in the “Golden West.” I remember from that short stay that my mom was quite upset because we had to sleep in a big dormitory again with lots of strangers. And to make things worse, we had to lie on straw mattresses. But my parents consoled themselves with the prospect that we would soon move to Velbert. That’s where apartment buildings for refugees were being constructed rapidly.
On a bright, sunny day in early Spring, we were loaded with all our luggage and several other families onto the open back of a big, old transport truck with makeshift benches. My brother and I had rarely ridden in a car. This was my first time in a vehicle. For us, it was exciting! My mom thought it was odd that we were transported like baggage. She didn’t like that we were all crammed together in this small, draughty and not too clean space. But my brother and I were laughing with the other kids and some boisterous men enjoying the cool breeze and the changing scenery. After a few hours, we were all shaken up by the bumpy ride. The increasing cool drafts, the loud noise of the motor, and the vehicle’s rattling started to make us feel sick. Suddenly the truck came to an abrupt halt beside an old, dilapidated stone building that looked almost like a dungeon, dark and foreboding.
Cold and rainy weather has plagued our region for the past four weeks. Last week, still recovering from major surgery, I ventured out to look at the low water level of Arrow Lake. BC Hydro expects massive water pouring in from the spring run-offs. So it drained the reservoir down to the lowest allowable level. Many of the tree roots of the flooded orchards are visible. They serve as skeletal monuments against the devastating flooding of the valley more than half a century ago. Using the dark clouds, I attempted with some post-editing to create a sombre atmosphere that underscores the dark mood that the roots spread over the eerie landscape. Enjoy.
The Peter and Gertrud Klopp Family 