Issue 66 - The roach-masters of Uithuizen
This week, the second week of October, the leaves on the garden trees have begun to fall. Every morning the blackbirds are busy in a lawn ever more strewn with tired yellow apple leaves. Spiders’ webs in the corner of the lean-to next to the back garden are hung with dew and damp. The air smells of ploughing and silage, or is sharp with the after-taste of lime where the farmers have been trying, as they try every year, to enrich the sour heaviness of the Groningen clays. The roads running from the village into the polder are gobbed with mud thrown from the tread of tractor tyres.
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