Trip north

It takes 3.4 hours to get to where the small size of 'bus' arranged to take us into Pieterburen makes sense. At first we had been confused, having spent the good part of our morning on the criss-crossing train lines clanging through the countryside. But as we round a curve and head down the narrow track of gravelly dirt situated between stables and open farm land, we gasp at the sight of field upon field, trees gray in the hazy distance, and windmills turning in the wind unbroken by any natural form or fold in the seamless horizon. We are stunned by graceful expanses of quintessential Dutch landscapes, small crocks of houses spattered with greenery growing through and around the deep red bricks. Our small minivan with a 'bus number' situated in the window is all that can navigate these back roads.

Our driver is the most intimate connection we have had on this journey to the north of Holland so far. Train detours between Schiphol and Groningen delayed our track along a barge canal to get to this last outpost of a city close to the northern coast. We were happy to find a sympathetic and knowing driver who jostled us to the tiny town we asked for. Pieterburen is not known for many things. But people come to visit for two reasons, the zeehondencreche and wadlopen. After a few hours though, we found many more.

Situated 6 kilometers from the coastline where islands curve backwards like an arm's wave of protection against the North Sea, the town is an outpost for one of the few truly hikeable excursions of Holland... mud-walking. The wadden (mud flats) stretch open bellied for kilometers along this outpost coast. One is supposed to be able to walk from coastline to island and back again in the warmer summer months. A single small house with a trajectory of a tiny street points the way to the hazy distance where the mud flats will lie dormant for the winter. (Check out: www.wadlopen.com - while in Dutch, if you click on the yellow button on the right side of the page under 'klik op de button' you will see what wadlopen is all about.)

Our bus driver escorts us to the front door of the wadlopen society, its statue "Marietje" offering the last flowers of the season up in a final burst of glory. A man gardening salutes us and tells us to make sure we add our name to the story and any pictures we take. We turn from him and face the single curve that is supposed to lead to the zeehondencreche, the Seal Sanctuary... in the middle of... this town?

We made it around the corner a mere 5 steps.

Taking pictures of quaint country roads with a windmill down the lane will distract one from what is right in front of them: a riot of a bouquet of fur, cloven hooves, and bleating, wild-horned faces.

I swear to you that there are special angels for people who love animals, and these angels are active in Pieterburen.

10 steps beyond the goats and at the edge of a canal, a modern windmill churns in tune with the wind, silently directing the flight of seagulls, dipping down behind a low-slung building.One wonders how major marine operations are conducted from a tiny town in the middle of fields, ruled by four footed creatures, 6 kilometers from the ocean.

But, it turns out, seals only need one marked vehicle to make the transport from precarious situation to rescue operation- the Seal Ambulance, a minivan with a purpose. It transports seals from ocean front to veterinary services, and back again once a seal is ready to return to the wild.

We entered the building with curiosity high. From full-scale operations complete with quarantines, outdoor rehab pools, and fish kitchen, we were sucked into the world of seal rescue, animal and coast preservation. The Seal Rehab and Research Center began its life quietly in the nondescript style of a woman who had found her life's purpose walking the ocean flats and finding seals afflicted and affected to bring back home to her little town. Her backyard is now the backyard of a town all in on an incredible mission. (check out: www.zeehondencreche.nl)

Surreal and magical, the windmill in the sky, the cool air on our faces in the wane winter light. Children playing 'seal' outside and the adults also letting go as they pressed their bodies against holding ropes, against the floor, and tried to get close to these gentle beings. Seals spinning and diving, shavasina poses in mid-watery glide, sleepy infant seals with their ruffled fur in the sun, curious pups trying to have fun.

How easy it is for us to want to touch and feel an animal in this safe of a setting, so far removed from the reality that landed it here. Children collect stuffed toys, and we all buy postcards, but the day to day efforts of real people shaping animal reality goes on. And, we all have a part.

On our return trip down the single street, 15 steps, we stop for conversations with the sheep assortment. One black faced horned beauty bleats at me and paws at his pen. Their caretaker is out, parrot on her shoulder, talking about how she inherited these creatures, each with name, personality, and distinction. The cabeza negra and I have similar missions, and I soon find myself on his side of the fence, chatting with the caretaker while another sheep nibbles at my thumb.

You might think kissing sheep is a risky enterprise, especially when they are decked out in curley-cue horns... bt it's the burro one has to watch out for, sneaking up on the pony reaching for his own pat. Scampering across the pen, his black face nudges the pony out of the way and bites at his lips playfully as if to say, the only kissing around here will be done by me lady! I say- he looks like Pepe! And a quick glance at his name card reveals... there is something about that name. Pepes are pepes all over the place.

In the chandeliered romantic restaurant left over from the 1700's, we sip hot chocolate and cappucino while waiting for the return trip home. The milk of our drinks is slightly sweet, and I think: its either happy cows, or happy sheep. Or maybe its just me.