Village People

Photo by Michael Lisman

I grew up in a village in an area near Erlangen, Germany called Dechsendorf. It resembled the village in the picture above but without the mountains. Rougly the same size with the familiar church steeple dominating the village roof line. My memories of the village are as pristine as the day we moved there when I was 2 years old. My father was already there and my mother transported herself with me from Honolulu, Hawaii to join him. Sadly, I don't have pictures of that magical place, something I should seek to see if any do exist in the family.

From my memory, Dechsendorf might be the name of the village or simply the area it was in. Pictures I see of Dechsendorf on the internet do not resemble the village as I remember it and it appears like there may have been some clear cutting of the forest, sadly, to make room for more housing. What appears in pictures now is certainly larger than the village I remember. Still, it hasn't grown exponentially if indeed, I am looking at the village that grew through time.

When I was there, one dirt road ran straight as an arrow through the village. If I had to hazard the length of it, I'd say it wasn't longer than 1/8th of a mile long, if that. There was a church steeple. A chicken or two or three wandered the road and I had fun chasing them but never catcing them. I wandered around the forest that surrounded it. It was idyllic for a child growing up, perfect. Fun came from being pushed in a wheelbarrow or on the back of an adult bicycle on the dirt road. I loved and focused on the sound of the gravel under the tires. Tactile memories are strong still. I had an old man for a friend who walked in small shuffle steps and spoke no English but I understood him somehow, despite this. I would speak the pretend German of a 4 year old who believed it was real when around other German tots. We all seemed to understand each other anyway. I would go on walks with the old man, hide from him and give him near heart attacks thinking he lost me, giggling delightfully behind a tree at his desperation and spinnning around, looking everywhere.

I've traveled much in Europe through the years. Every place I have visited, it's always the villages that give me a sense of great peace and melancholy. A calm descends and a yearning grows within to stay forever.

This blog is entirely dedicated to villages I have been to and to those I've never come close to but share a tremendous familiarity and affinity with. Most to all of the photos used on this blog are from other photographers. Where I know their names, I will credit the photo to them. I am extremely grateful to live in a time to be able to visit far away places and live through the photographs of those who share their visual acuity with the rest of the world through the internet.

- Ciance