Summer by Elisabeth Levy

        As  far back as I can remember I always spent the five weeks of summer vacation at the “Lerchenberg” (mountain with the Larks) in Erlenbach, on the shores of Lake Zurich. It is the majestic, proud farmhouse with the red barn, visible even from across the lake, the house where my father grew up. His brother Hans, my uncle, continued farming and subsequently his son Hans Jr., my cousin, followed in his footsteps. An unmarried sister, my godmother, known as Tante  (aunt) Marie by everybody, lived there as well.  At the age of fifty she seemed to have an old body with young brains. Between WWI  and WWII they barely made enough money to sustain the farm.

The living arrangement in the farmhouse was interesting.  Another sister,  Sophie, who was a bookkeeper and breadwinner, died at an early age. Tante Marie was supposed to take care of her parents and didn’t learn a profession, never worked outside the house. I might add she never helped with the farming either.  She was the perfect social worker without a degree. In this large house Tante Marie had a living room and a kitchen with access to the big veranda overlooking the lake. Upstairs she had two bedrooms, also overlooking the lake. On the other side of the hallway, facing the mountain side, lived Uncle Hans and Aunt Elise with their two children, Hans Jr. and Lieseli. They were a little older than my own three sisters. Their kitchen was big, and in their living room was a table with a slate inlay. Playing cards and using chalk for marking the scores was lots of fun. The adults’ bedrooms were upstairs too and the cousins’ were right under the roof.  They had two farmhands who helped taking care of the farm and the animals. The barn with its 20 cows was detached.

My earliest recollection dates back to when I was about four. I decided I wanted to go to Erlenbach to visit Tante Marie. From Kloten, where I lived, we had to take the train to the main station in Zurich, distance 7 miles, then take the tram or walk to the lake train station Stadelhofen, and another seven mile train ride got us to Erlenbach. (To take the train from the main station through the tunnel to the lake station, was too expensive). Our house was located at the Dorfstrasse.  I walked the ½ block to Petergasse and headed straight up to the train station. It didn’t take too long until Grite, our maid, had realized what I was up to, spotted me, sprinted, and took me to where I belonged, home.

  Tante Marie let me sleep in this big, comfy bed. She stuffed pillows under the mattress to prevent me from falling out of bed. Often she went visiting friends or sick people and I trotted along. To the village it took 15 minutes downhill, but walking back up the hill was another matter. The road was relatively steep and sometimes the summer heat was unmerciful.

Unfortunately my cousin Lieseli was diagnosed with diabetes at a very young age.  I watched her giving herself an injection of Insulin twice a day and she died at age 27. Erlenbach had two public places for swimming. One had a beautiful sandy beach, but was more expensive, (25 cents). The other, (10 cents), had a pier with steps leading right into the water, which was so clear I could see the fish. I didn’t like the idea of swimming with the fish, but of course that’s where Lieseli and I ended up.

Two girls my age lived close by. From the veranda I could look down into a large expansive estate. Right below lived the caretaker of this estate with his family. Madeleine was their only child and they had a dog.  I never forgot the tragedy. The villa owners had a tiny dog that somehow got killed by the caretaker’s dog. From the villa came a screaming and insanely angry maid and hit the caretaker’s poor dog almost to pieces. Thankfully he survived. Madeleine was a fun playmate, sort of a tomboy. The villa owners had a one-year-older son and she liked to play with him. I never met him as during vacation time he was off to someplace with his family. The other girl was also a single child and very, very protected. I suspect the parents were an older couple. She was a timid little soul. If there was a little wind, she had to wear a bonnet. In retrospect, she might have had some illness I was not aware of.      

Tante Marie cooked for me; one day she made cauliflower, which I didn’t like. Her comment: “I bet when you are grown up you will like it.” Right she was. She didn’t make me eat it, lucky me. However one time I was not so lucky. Very seldom did we eat with the farmer’s family and then came the unforgettable day. Tante Marie had to go to a funeral across the lake and left me to have lunch with the farmers. Aunt Elise made the Friday specialty, tarts or some type of pizza. It was (and still is) one of my favorite meals. However, I never had tarts topped with onions. I was used to cheese tops and all types of fruit. Onion? No way. They laughed and made fun of me. I had to eat the whole big piece. Everybody had long left, I was still sitting there until I finally finished it and earned a piece of apple tart.  Is it a surprise that the opposite of this “teaching” experiment happened? To this day, I still don’t like onions.

One summer, when I was ten years old, Tante Marie wanted me to meet a new neighbor.  A family had moved in two blocks away and their ten-year old girl didn’t speak our German dialect fluently, as her mother was French and they had moved from France to Erlenbach. I was fascinated by Simone’s accent and pretty soon we were the best of friends. The fun lasted only a few summers as she became paralyzed and spent one whole year in the hospital. We are still in touch; in 2008 I translated her life story from German to English.  I gave the little booklet the name “Destiny.”

By that time WWII had broken out and we school kids had to do our mandatory three weeks helping farmers. I signed up to help on my uncle’s farm. It was the first time in all these years that I worked for them. I helped with the hay and promptly developed a rash. My cousin Hans had married and had twin boys. Happily I said good-bye to hard farm work and happily helped care for the babies. 

In retrospect I realize the hardship my uncle’s family went through. Tante Marie didn’t chip in to help carry the burden. She was a Sunday school teacher and visited sick people and friends. Everybody loved her, except her sister-in-law, Elise, and later Hans’ wife Margrit.  Hans and Margrit had five boys, and one of the oldest twins, Heini, has the farm now. They don’t have cattle anymore, but are famous for their delicious apples and honey. They also sold part of their land and don’t have any more money worries.

Two years ago Paul, my oldest sister Lily’s son, picked my sister Erika and me up to have lunch together. After lunch Paul asked me if I had a wish to drive someplace and I immediately said the “Lerchenberg”. I had not been inside the house for close to forty years. The barn still had the same red color, but the veranda had a brightly colored green fence.  Hesitatingly I rang the doorbell and was greeted by Heini’s wife Ursula whom I had not met before. After the first initial shock and surprise she invited us into the house, showed us around, told me about her grown children, the changes in the living arrangement, the remodeling, and to top it all off, gave me a jar of their famous honey.