Schwarzbachtal bei Haus Schwarz

Kirchhundem-Heinsberg (51.049434 | 8.202152)

Open and sheltered

Surrounded by wild meadows, forest and a stream, the former site of a farmhouse abandoned over 100 years ago in the "Schwarzbachtal" nature reserve

I am standing on a small wooden bridge. The Schwarzbach babbles below me. Contrary to what its name suggests, it shimmers reddish as it meanders in gentle, wide curves through the open valley and its meadows. Bushes and trees, scattered along its banks, mark its course in the distance, where its meandering disappears. First thought: Simply beautiful! Second thought: Why do I find this area so beautiful?

People, regardless of age or culture, seem to prefer the same type of landscape. And this has been the case since time immemorial. There are a few hills that serve as lookouts, but not too steep, otherwise the climbing becomes too strenuous. Loosely scattered trees that provide hiding places, but not too dense a forest, otherwise we won't be able to see when danger threatens. Here and there a watercourse and a pond, but not too wet, otherwise progress will be difficult. Researchers believe that this balanced mixture existed in the original home of Homo sapiens, the East African savannah. A balance according to the motto "see and not be seen", which still shapes our ideal conception of nature today.

Regardless of whether this is true: On my lookout on the bridge, the Schwarzbachtal actually reminds me of the Tanzanian savannah, where I have been several times as a reporter. A deep-seated feeling of homecoming sets in. My eyes enjoy being able to wander freely around the wide valley.

A weatherproof leaf book on the bridge railing tells me what a lively abundance the small stream is home to. Noble crayfish, trout and bullheads prefer to frolic in undercut sections of the bank. This does not stop the kingfisher from fishing for prey for itself and its young. Grey wagtails hop over the gently washed over stones. Otherwise, I see black: the valley is a flyway for the rare black storks, a common tree species is the black alder, and the meadows are dug up at night by numerous black coats, the wild boar. Black is quite colorful here.

I follow the course of the stream to the place where Schwarz House once stood. It was built in the middle of the 18th century on a dry spot on the bank, in the middle of nothing; at the end of the 19th century it burned to the ground and was then actually black. Was the house named after the stream or vice versa? Why would anyone want to live in such seclusion? Did the inhabitants in this valley feel protected or rather endangered? What did they eat at a time when all food had to be laboriously carried here on their own backs or on the back of an ox? Did they experience great freedom away from the social control that prevailed in the village? Or were they trapped in barrenness and hardship? The house in the forest raises questions about the possibility of a completely different life. However, the house was not as secluded as it is today. The "Via francofurtensis", an old trade route that connected the Bilstein region with Hessen and on which there would have been lively trade with horse-drawn carts, ran right past it.

The Schwarz house was first inhabited by the family of a hunting warden of Baron von Fürstenberg. They probably lived almost self-sufficiently, from grain grown on small terraced fields, milk from their cows, eggs from their chickens and ducks, berries picked in the forest and venison from hunting. There were many stomachs to fill, and a baptism register lists twelve children in the Schwarz household. The family erected a cross on the farm, where they prayed on Sundays and public holidays when it was impossible to walk to church due to the high snow cover. A happy life, nourished by the abundance of nature? Or an existence in a vale of tears? When the house burned down, a few years before the beginning of the 20th century, the last inhabitants moved away, the Reichlings, as the family was called after they married into the family; their descendants still live in the surrounding villages today.

What remains? The foundation walls and cellar, which were once unharmed by the fire, have been pushed over, but with a trained eye you can still recognize the site. Older people from Heinsberg even know where a gooseberry bush from the garden of the Schwarz family has survived and is still bearing fruit 120 years after the exodus of the inhabitants. Years ago, the family erected another cross to commemorate the beginning in the Rüsper Forest. I sit on the bench next to it, protected by young trees behind me, my gaze following the bends of the stream into the wide valley. I unpack my snack. A feeling of security sets in. But it's also easy for me: I don't have to grow the ingredients for my cheese sandwich in the meadows in front of me.

Author: Michael Gleich