12) A New Home in the Seewald

Just a few steps away from what was once Jürgen’s beloved Riedlewald — now officially called Riedlepark and sadly scarred by "progress" — lay another area deeply marked by the Second World War. There, where bombs had once carved deep wounds into the earth, nature had quietly, patiently healed itself. In the bomb craters, crystal-clear water had gathered, reeds had grown thick and lush, and small allotment gardens had blossomed around them. People had tended these little patches of green, enriching their meals with homegrown vegetables and fruits.

In the waters and among the reeds, life flourished: fish darted about, frogs sang their evening songs, newts slid silently below the surface, dragonflies glittered in the sun, and spiders wove their delicate webs. Jürgen even remembered once finding a fire salamander, black and gold like a living jewel.

But, as it had happened so often, this small paradise eventually fell victim to "modern development." The gardens and the ponds were buried under concrete and asphalt. In their place now stood a vast parking lot and an industrial site — a new blow to the soul of the boy who had once seen magic in every corner of that place.

When his parents divorced, Jürgen had moved with his mother to another home, farther from the scars of destruction and closer to hope. From there, it was just a short walk to the Eriskircher Ried, a precious nature reserve, and to the Seewald — another forest that soon grew dear to his heart.

Many decades later, in 2019, Jürgen returned to those same trails, this time with his son, Huayna, at his side. They wandered through the Seewald, where the trees still stood proud and the paths felt familiar, as if no time had passed at all.

Shortly after arriving in Germany, Huayna had celebrated his birthday. As a gift, Jürgen’s mother had given him something special: a slackline — a wide strip of sturdy fabric stretched between two trees, inviting daring acrobats to balance across it.

Now, with the forest as their silent audience, it was time to try it out.

Jürgen helped anchor the slackline between two solid trees. Huayna, grinning, was the first to climb onto it. With arms outstretched and an expression of total focus, he moved step by careful step. It was as if the line and his body spoke the same language — swaying gently with the breeze but always staying upright.

Jürgen watched with admiration (and a hint of envy). Of course, he couldn’t resist trying it himself. With a determined look, he stepped onto the line…and after a few heroic seconds of wobbling and wild arm-flailing, landed softly in the grass with a laugh.

They spent two happy hours this way — laughing, challenging each other, and cheering for every little success.

When they finally packed up the slackline, the forest was beginning to glow with the soft light of the afternoon. The air was heavy with the scents of earth, moss, and pine. They strolled home slowly, savoring the calm, the greenery, and the simple, irreplaceable joy of time spent together under ancient trees.

For Jürgen, it was a homecoming. For Huayna, it was the beginning of his own bond with the Seewald — a new, small home where both the past and the present could quietly coexist.

Published: 09/05/2025