The Little House

Before I went to Europe, Kees wrote that he and Marie had received an inheritance and bought a “little house” at the Hoek of Holland.   The first time I visited, at their fourth floor apartment in Rotterdam, Marie – on Riet, as Kees called her – told me how tired she was of climbing stairs and how much she loved summers when they went to stay in the Little House. 

While Mother, David, and I were visiting, the Bouws urged me to come back later that summer.  After Mother and David returned to the States, I spent three weeks in London taking a course in script writing.  Then, once again, I took the overnight ferry from Harwich.

Travelers traditionally cross the Channel from England to the Continent on the ferry at the Channel’s narrowest point from Dover to Calais, France.  But to go to Northern Europe, ferries leave from Harwich and cross the North Sea.  I’ve shipped out from Harwich to Belgium and Hamburg, Germany, as well as to Rotterdam.  Only once did I come back through Calais.  As we approached the English coast, I finally saw that there really are white cliffs at Dover.  .  

Kees was on the pier when I stepped off the ship at the harbor in Rotterdam.  He gave me a big Dutch smile and picked up my suitcase.  “Now we walk to the Little House.”

The Hoek of Holland is a long strip of land, shaped like a pirate’s hook, which stretches out into the North Sea to protect the port of Rotterdam.  It is The Netherlands’ busiest port, but I don’t remember going through much industrial area before we were walking along a sandy road beside the dunes.  

With his long legs, Kees could have quickly outpaced me, but as I remember it was a leisurely stroll.  I did not tire as we walked – not far, perhaps half a mile – to a village on edge of a resort community of tiny cabins lined up close together, each with a tiny scrap of a front yard enclosed in low, improvised fences.  It was like being in Madurodam again, only there were big Dutchmen saying “Da” (“Good Day”) to greet us as we walked along the street. . 

Riet met us at the door of what was indeed a Little House.  The entire structure was no more than 16 feet square.  Kees had me pause to admire his “garden”, a tiny plot in which he lovingly cared for each little marigold and petunia. 

Inside, the “big” room, 12 x 16, had in one corner a sink and a hot plate to serve as the kitchen. Along the opposite wall were two 4 x 6 “sleeping rooms” and a closet for the toilet.  Because of the tiny space, doors opened outward into the big room.  My “room” had a twin-sized mattress with just room beside it for a small stool holding a bedside lamp.  My suitcase sat outside the door, as there was no space for it inside the bedroom.  I wondered how Kees and Riet, both big people, managed to squeeze into their equally small room to sleep. 

On Sunday, Riet’s relatives came for a picnic – aunts. uncles, cousins, and a niece named Annaliese – all big, robust Dutchmen.  All crowded into the Little House.  Somehow there was room for everyone, laughing, talking, and drinking beer.

When I think of today’s young people who believe they can’t be happy unless they have a 3,0000 foot house with five bedrooms, six bathrooms, a media room, and a three-car garage, when I think of them, then I remember the Little House.  How much space does a family really need to have a happy life?