Summers Spent in a Dutch Windmill

I grew up in France.  My father was an American soldier in the U. S. army; my mother, born in Holland and a former professor of art and music at the Sorbonne in Paris.  We lived in Metz, France, a part of the (western) Strasbourg region.  For my yearly summer vacations my parents would drive the 4 hours to my aunt’s (mom's sister) house, in Bemelen, Holland. They would spend several hours reuniting with family and would drive back home to Metz in the evening.

My aunt and uncle owned a dairy farm.  They also had chickens and pigs.  The best part of the farm was a (real Dutch) windmill that stored the food for the animals.  It was always fun during the day to go inside and play.  I would spend the day with my uncle and older cousins driving the tractor, feeding the animals, and waiting for my cousins to come back from school (the French and Dutch kids only have one month vacation, we Americans have 3).   At the end of the summer, my parents would pick me up and I would be back in Metz just in time for school to start.  The American and French kids always thought I was so lucky and I did too.

One summer I arrived and the windmill had been remodeled from a storage place for animal food to a 2-story apartment!  I was too young to sleep there by myself at night but during the day I would go in the living room to nap, read books or write letters to my parents back in Metz. (This was the 1960’s – we had no cell phones or internet.  Telephones were only used for local calls. Long distance calls were very expensive.)  My father was transferred to the US in 1964.  I missed those vacations in Holland with my family.
  

In 1970 my husband, also a soldier in the US Army, was transferred to Germany.  My mother came to visit and we drove up to Bemelen for the day to reunite with the family.  My son was born in Frankfurt.  When we returned to the US in 1975 he was 2 years old so it was not a place he remembered. On his 16^th birthday, I took him back to Europe. We visited family and friends in France and then headed to Bemelen.

 The Dutch government had nationalized (taken over) all windmills. When my cousins took us to the home I remembered, we saw the windmill was now a museum.  The curator knew my cousins and he was happy to let us tour the two story windmill.  Fond memories for me and a real treat for my son.  How many children can say their mom slept and played in a real Dutch windmill!

My hope is that one day he will take my granddaughter to Bemelen and show her where her grandmother spent her summers.
                              

Hartelijk Dank (thank you so much) Ana Van Lousberg for the color pictures you provided me.  We must be kindred spirits – my (aunt's) family’s last name is Lousberg.