One-Week Retreat on a Brabant Farm
It took us a mere half-hour drive from the bustling town of Eindhoven to reach the village of Uden. Along the highway, the scenery gradually transformed from urban sprawl to pastoral beauty, with vast pastures stretching out in the flatlands.
As our car approached Uden, we were greeted by a symphony of scents before the village came into full view. It was the smell of rural Brabant in spring, mingling with wet air, earthy aromas of grass, blossoms, and freshly turned soil. This was the smell of life, consequently extinct in cities like Beijing, where cement, steel and glass have combined to turn nature into tedious skyscrapers and apartment blocks. The unmistakable scent of animal manure added depth to the olfactory medley, a reminder of the agricultural heritage that defines this corner of the Netherlands.
Uden is nestled in the heart of North Brabant, the renowned animal kingdom in the Netherlands. In 2023 alone, the 1500 livestock farms in North Brabant Province were home to 5 million pigs (40% of the national total), 25 million chickens (a quarter of the national total) and 600 thousand cows. And roughly 80% of the animal-based food produced in North Brabant is for export. The Brabant touch reaches all the way to China, where the baby formula brand Nutrilon, produced and packaged at the Nutricia factory in Cuijk, is a top pick among young Chinese moms.
One Dutch friend shared her insights into the historical roots underpinning North Brabant's livestock dominance -- religion and nature. The region's strong Catholic heritage, she explained, had fostered a culture of large families, where farms were passed down through generations. With a household near the size of a football team and all the offspring expected to take over the farm, it made sense to opt for livestock over crop farming — after all, pigs and chickens don't need acres of land to stretch their legs. North Brabant's sandy soil might not be ideal for growing carrots or cabbages, but perfect for fodder. To truly understand then and now of farming life on the other side of the Eurasia Continent, there's no better way than to roll up your sleeves and dive right in. And that’s exactly what I did – to live on a farm, even if only for one week.
Hans and his wife Anja, the warm-hearted owners of the farm, welcomed me with open arms. The farm had undergone a remarkable transformation over the years. Originally dedicated to pig keeping, it had transitioned to care farming in recent years, offering daycare for children and the elderly alike. I first met Hans in 2017, when he visited Yunnan province in Southwest China for an Agriterra assignment to share his (Dutch) expertise on pig farming with smallholder farmers in mountainous areas. His genuine warmth and generosity had endeared him to the local villagers, who honoured him with a unique farmer's tribute. They named a sandy riverside bank near the pig farm after his wife, dubbing it "Anja Beach," as a testament to the positive impact he had made on their livelihoods.
Anja was a brown and gentle woman, highly skilled in making all sorts of handicraft items, from dried flower displays to wood carving, there seemed to be no limit to her creativity. Hans was an engineer, zoologist, environmentalist, and DIY expert rolled into one. Need a new fence? He’d build one. An ill sheep? He’d nurse her back to health. In his 60s, Hans is agile in his movements and patient with his words. He was born on the farm, had spent his life on the farm and will spend the rest of his life on the farm.
His son Ward followed a different path, excelling as an engineer and businessman in EV battery installation and kiddie ride facilities. Just last month, Ward had worked on installing a carousel aboard the Icon of the Seas, the world's largest cruise ship, earning him a complimentary voyage from Miami to the Caribbean. His parents, Opa Henk (90) and Oma Sjaan (88), who lived next to him, had helped with the farm work until a few years ago. Every now and then, Opa Henk would pedal to the village to do groceries or visit the Church. They appeared to be a contented family, embodying more or less the same traits I have seen from other Dutch farmers: craftsmanship, resilience, industriousness and a no-nonsense attitude to life.
Each day on the farm was a joyful immersion into the rhythms of farm life, filled with tasks both mundane and magical. One morning, I found myself assuming the role of chief animal caretaker, feeding and tending to the zoo of turkeys, hens, roosters, sheep, goats, ponies, pigs, rabbits, and birds that called the farm home. One afternoon, I embraced my inner engineer, assisting Hans in building new fences for the grassland. The drone of tractors and the songs of Dude Turkey wooing filled the air as we labored side by side.
Amidst the bustle of farm life, there were moments of quiet contemplation and wonder. In the afternoon, we strolled around the windmill and the nearby forest paths, marveling at the beauty of nature and the gentle majesty of grazing goats. One evening, I took on the self-appointed role of rainstorm inspector, trying to predict the arrival of rain by analysing the sound of thunder and the flashes of lightning, also as butterfly surveyor, experimenting with which species are more alert to blue lights. There was never a dull moment. One of the best parts of farm living is a hearty appetite for food, not only from the laborious work but also from the deep satisfaction it brings.
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It is not uncommon across Europe to ridicule Dutch cooking in its various forms. Even Dutchies themselves sometimes mock their own cuisine. One friend once told me “It is well known that we Dutch kill their lamb twice, once when we slaughter it, once when we cook it.” I, however, could not agree. True that there are some culinary oddities in the Netherlands. Top on my list is the deep-fried cylinders filled with anonymous meat, aka krokets, conveniently dispensed from coin-operated vending machines at train stations. They are often served with a side of salted French fries, fat and tired, swimming in mayonnaise.
But I've come to appreciate Dutch cuisine for its simplicity and pragmatism. Lunch is typically a THREE-course affair, beginning with a glass of karnemelk, the local version of buttermilk, followed by the main course—a tantalizing choice between open- or closed- sandwiches. The bread, somewhat dry and bland, is delicately spread with unsalted butter or margarine and topped with thin slices of processed ham or cheese. The final course is a choice between a banana, a pear, or an apple.
Dinner is the most important meal of the day, often consisting of thick pea soup infested with lumps of ham and/or vegetables. Stamppot (mashed potato with cooked vegetables and ham), most popular in winter times, is replaced by fried chicken breast cutlets with coatings of seasoned breadcrumbs (paneermeel kruiden). The meals are not pretty, in a way that the tiny and artistically garnished portions served in fashionable French restaurants are pretty. But it is made to keep you warm, give you strength and remind you of the season and nature. Before commencing the meal, do not forget the etiquette of wishing your companion bon appetit by uttering ‘eet smakelijk’. This was one of the few Dutch words I kept practising every day.
During farm work intervals, I struck up conversations with the elderly residents in the care center. I had to borrow my body and hands joining me to overcome my limited grasp of the Dutch language. I would love to have a better command of Dutch, but I found it quite a difficult language to master. The Dutch language, in its written form, looks like someone is dancing on the keyboard. With its frequent use of vowels, including double vowels, and the construction of lengthy words, the written language gives off an impression of complexity. Look at these:
If the writing in the Latin alphabet is still recognisable, the pronunciation of Dutch words is a nightmare for foreigners. As a Chinese, I've found that mastering Dutch pronunciation often feels like contracting a special throat disease. An anecdote from World War II illustrates this: the military's secret test for determining Dutch nationality was to have individuals pronounce the name of the town Scheveningen. Foreigners often failed this test by mispronouncing it as 'Shave-a-Nigger.'
Nearly every evening, friends would drop by the farm, and we'd have some gezellig time, relishing the Brabant cosiness while indulging in a few bottles of Hertog Jan and exchanging jokes. As night fell, I strolled back to my sleeping quarter with a full belly and wobbly steps, eagerly anticipating the adventures that awaited me the following day.
Houdoe, Brabant!
Management Consultant voor de directie van familiebedrijven | Food & Agri en Maakindustrie | Werving en Selectie | doelmatiger werken en met de juiste mensen om jouw volgende strategische stap te realiseren
10 个月Dear Lei, thank you for sharing your insights! ??. Are you still in ????? If so: time to catch up.