It was only supposed to be a coffee: Longing meets country life
The author Alexa von Heyden (42) tells how her lakeside house became a refuge for family and friends during the Corona crisis.
"Seriously?!" My friends were horrified when my husband and I announced three years ago that we were moving with our 6-month-old child from the coveted Prenzlauer Berg out to Brandenburg. A life without yoga studios, poached eggs, and the chance to enter a luxurious shopping temple within a few tram stops was unimaginable to them. To me, too. But there I was: with my little daughter strapped to my belly in a carrier, surrounded by countless moving boxes in an extremely rundown but still comparatively affordable home with a view of the lake, without a single café, designer boutique, or convenience store within walking distance. I started to cry.
When my tears had dried, my transformation began: I outgrew the Berlin blogger bubble, an abstract world that paralyzed my personal development through constant comparison with other women, into a cozy neighborhood where it matters less what job I just landed (no one understands anyway, and if they do, people find my self-presentation embarrassing), but much more interesting is which type of hollyhock thrives in my garden or what I make from the plums on the tree: cake or compote?
I was constantly outside and not only learned to live with the seasons but developed into a renovation expert who can hold a hammer drill just as elegantly as a clutch. Tearing down walls was my personal moment of empowerment. Meanwhile, I watched my daughter grow into a brave and confident child through the country air and contact with her grandparents, who knows most of the plants and animals around her and jumps into the lake shouting with joy in the summer.
When the first Corona lockdown came in March, I realized that we had moved at exactly the right time. Unlike my friends, who were stuck with their children in their admittedly very tasteful but suddenly quite cramped old apartments, I opened the door to the terrace and sent my child into the garden so they could let off steam on the trampoline or pick a few chives from the herb bed for lunch. We took a ride around the lake on the balance bike and met: no one. We hiked through the forest and were still alone. Social distancing was not difficult for us. The few restrictions we had were a closed daycare and that the grandmas did not come to visit. And of course, there was no toilet paper left here in the village either. But my daughter prefers to poop in the garden anyway.
Our house by the lake has become much more than just our retirement provision and our child's future inheritance since the Corona pandemic. Villa Peng has turned into a retreat for my family and friends. Because as soon as the lockdown was over, my phone rang and messages came in: "Hey, what are you doing this weekend?" Suddenly, all the Berliners wanted to come "out" to the lake with us. At first, only a coffee was planned; still, I laid out the bedding. Because I didn't want to share only on Instagram the privilege we have here.
My friends came by train or car; it only takes an hour from the main station, and many wondered upon arrival why they hadn't come earlier – after all, within Berlin it often takes an hour door to door as well. They looked tired, downcast, and pale. We drank the agreed coffee, then walked barefoot through the garden, picked the sweet cherries from the trees, and went swimming. My friend S. didn't come back on the SUP for hours because she was celebrating her regained freedom in the middle of the lake. I watched from the shore as she lay on the board, let herself drift with the waves, and looked up at the sky. It became a ritual that many visitors repeated. Or they fished a garden tool out of the shed and started digging in the soil. Evening came, we grilled sausages, chopped beetroot, and drank beer from the bottle. We talked honestly about what worries, frustrates, and makes us despair. Even me, in the countryside. Some tears flowed and helped shed a piece of the months-long stress that sits in all our bones. The heartfelt honesty of our conversations replaced the missing hug.
Like S., many visitors stayed overnight spontaneously, extended for another night, or came back on one of the following weekends. When many friends didn't want to spend their vacation abroad in the summer, they came to us, including my siblings with their children. Some slept in the house, others with a caravan or tent under the hazelnut trees in the garden, or even simply under the starry sky on the terrace. On some weekends, we had so many overnight requests that I had to turn some down.
Summer is over now, but visitors are still coming. As long as it's still allowed. We walk together through the forest, gather chestnuts, porcini and butter mushrooms, and look for traces of the wolf that roams the meadows between the villages. When my friend S. drove back to Berlin, she said goodbye: "Thank you for letting me be myself again." That is exactly the sex appeal of Villa Peng, even if you have to accept some cultural or culinary compromises in the countryside: You learn to endure yourself and are relieved to find that you don't necessarily need a Bottega Veneta bag on your arm, a 10-course oyster menu in a trendy restaurant, or neon-pink illuminated fiberglass mirrors in the hallway to feel a sense of happiness as a person. It also works with dirt under your fingernails.
PS: Our next renovation project at Villa Peng will be the old barn. We want to open a Bed & Breakfast in 2021 so that the dream of country living becomes tangible for even more people around us. We're already looking forward to it!
