In early October, ‘22, Jitske was digging into her Frisian family history as part of an artistic research. First visit was the archive where the archaeological finds of her grandpa, Ealse, are stored. Ealse dug up archeological finds on his farm land, pieces of old Roman pots and plates, but also arrow heads and sometimes jewelry and more. His children used to help him on Sundays.

For both Jitske and me, the story of the swan is one of consolation. The wild swan came into the life of Ealse—my father’s best friend and Jitske’s pake—after the death of Jitske’s aunt. This was Ealse’s and Janke’s first-born child after whom Jitske was later named.

This is Jitske Wadman, the granddaughter of Ealse, my father’s best friend. Jitske studies to become a teacher of Visual Arts & Design in Groningen, the Netherlands. She and I are collaborating on the children’s book about her pake (grandfather) and the swan.

Not long ago, I dreamed that I was in Tytsjerk, the town in Friesland where the story of the swan took place. There was going to be an unveiling of a monument in honor of Ealse Wadman. Someone pulled away a black cloth, revealing a sculpture that stood on a simple granite foundation: a swan flying above a man, both made of stainless steel sparkling in sunlight. The sculpture of my dream reminded me of work by my friend Jeroen Stok, a Dutch sculptor, who specializes in fine art as well as memorial sculptures.

“It was a few weeks after Jitske’s death. Ealse was working in a field a ways away from the house, at the edge of his land. It was a fall day, crisp and cold. Rust-red and yellow leaves scattered about the earth like fiery bouquets celebrating life while announcing death. He must have been struck by their momentary, frivolous splendor as he dug his shovel into a slightly frosted patch of earth looking for pieces of pottery.”