(2009)
Rundt i Reservatet
Jeg bor i et udkantsområde, et randområde. Sørgerandsområde. For de siger, at det ikke har langt igen og snart falder ud over kanten.
Området tilses med bekymrede miner – hver gang peger tallene i den forkerte retning og prognosen er dårlig. Med rynkede bryn spørges der: Hvor længe endnu, før de vitale organer sætter ud?
Områdets børn og børnebørn kommer på korte sygebesøg, før de atter haster tilbage til livet i byen.
‘Alt har sin stund og hver en ting under himmelen sin tid’ – og hvilken tid har det ikke haft, udkantsområdet her! Tidligere generationer sled sig op på at opdyrke jorden og forsøge at fravriste naturen et udkomme her. Der blev kæmpet hårdt for hver ny meter hede under plov. Området bidrog til landets rigdomme. Her blev plantet og ryddet, her blev nedrevet og opbygget, ja sandelig – her blev grædt og leet, sørget og danset.
Sådan har ethvert landskab sin historie, det har sit mønster, som strammes, giver sig og ændres i takt med de ting, der sker i det. En ny orden etablerer sig. Og hvilken sikkerhed har de der gik forud vel nogensinde haft – når de skuede ud i horisonten – for, hvad der fandtes derude på den anden side randen?
Around in the Reserve
My home is at the edge of the world, at the edge of town – at the edge of extinction; it is said that the area will not have much time left and soon will be made extinct.
The area is being attended with great concern every time the figures point in the wrong direction and the prognoses are bad. With wrinkled brows the question is being asked, “How long will it be before the vital organs set out?”
Children and grandchildren of the area are coming to pay short sick visits before they once again hurry back to life in the big city.
“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven” – and what a time it has had, this area in the outskirts. Former generations wore themselves out to till the land and try to wrest a yield from nature here. A hard battle was fought for every new meter of moor that was brought under plough. The area contributed to the fortunes of this country. Here, they planted and plucked up, here they broke down and built up, yes, indeed, here they wept and laughed, mourned and danced.
Just like this, every landscape has its story, it has its pattern which is tightened, stretched and changed concurrently with the things that happen in it. A new order is constantly establishing itself. And what guarantee did the ones before us ever have – when they looked into thehorizon – as to what was to be found beyond the edge?
