07) A Walk Through Time – Seewald, Tettnang Forest, and Laimnau

There was a time when these forests had been Jürgen’s daily companions. Back then, the day began before sunrise—5 a.m., tracksuit pulled on in the dark, and then off into the cool morning air. His feet knew the way by heart: through the Seewald, into the Tettnang Forest, along winding paths all the way to Laimnau, twenty kilometers away. After the long run, he would stroll back, savoring the forest’s living breath—the scent of damp earth, the chorus of birds, the rustle of unseen creatures. No matter the season, a cold bath awaited at the end, a ritual of renewal.

Now, many years later, in 2019, the rhythm had changed. The steps were slower, shared now with his son Huayna. The same beloved forests stretched before them, but this time not as a challenge, but as an invitation to remember, to look closer, and to simply be.

They set off on the old path, their hike only briefly interrupted by short stretches of paved road. After passing through the quiet depths of the Seewald, they came to a small ancient wooden bridge. On the other side, a little rest area welcomed them. They stopped for their first break, sharing a crisp apple, the simple sweetness a small pleasure amid the deep greens and browns of the forest.

While they rested, they wandered nearby, bending low to look for small wonders—flowers pushing up through the leaf litter, bright insects clinging to blades of grass, tiny, delicate worlds unnoticed by most.

Their path led them onward through the Tettnang Forest, deeper and deeper until they reached the last stretch: a steep climb. Breath steady, they climbed up toward two old benches and a large wooden cross that stood like a quiet sentinel over the landscape. At the summit, they paused. Before them stretched the village of Laimnau, the wild Argen River flashing in the distance, and beyond that, the misty majesty of the Allgäu Alps rising on the horizon. It was a view that seemed to gather together earth, water, and sky into one great, breathing presence.

Here, Jürgen produced two cigars he had brought along—a small ceremony, a small teaching. He showed Huayna how to smoke properly, not hurriedly, but with intention. They sat quietly, the smoke curling up into the cool air, offering it in spirit to the Indian peoples of the world, and in memory of the teachings of Jesus Christ, a silent act of respect across time and tradition.

On the return journey, they moved once more through the Tettnang Forest, until they reached a modest stone memorial. There, three names were carved into the stone. One of them was Karl Kobel—Jürgen's grandfather, Huayna’s great-grandfather. Jürgen had never known him personally, but the stories passed down from his father had kept the man’s memory alive: a skilled pilot who once flew display and demonstration flights for the Dornier aircraft company, until fate, and perhaps the spirit of the skies, took him home in a crash right here, near this very place. His two colleagues would meet the same end in the years that followed.

They lit a small beeswax candle at the foot of the memorial, letting its soft flame flicker in the quiet of the forest. It was a small, steady act of remembrance—for Karl, for the others, and for all the invisible threads that tie the living to those who came before.

After a few moments of silence, they turned back toward home, their steps lighter, the weight of the day resting gently on their shoulders.

Published: 04/05/2025