When a Coockoo Calls, a Memory Answers

About superstitions, blackberries and always being outside

When I heard the first coockoo calling this year, I smiled. Not only because it’s the next step towards summer, but because it reminds me infallibly of my great-grandfather.

He was born in 1899, and he was the only person I knew who was born in the 19th century. (Imagine! The 19th century!) He died in 1985, on Christmas day, when I was 10 years old, old enough to have clear memories of the time with him.

My great-grandfather had a very strong connection to nature, always had. He had to be outside every day and as long as possible. He not only liked to be outdoors or in nature, it was his nature, his way of being.

He worked as an agricultural labourer, as a coachman (yes, with actual horses, those were the days) as a young man and then for more than four decades in a sawmill. Plus he and my great-grandmother had a bit of land, cows, chicken and the like. Call it a very small farm. He was allowed to borrow the heavy working horses from the seamill for his field work. Their best cow once was called “König” (German for king) (don’t ask me why!) and because my great-grandmother was a bit anxious when dealing with this headstrong animal, she wore her husband’s jacket and hat for cover when she had to milk her.

My great-grandfather working at the sawmill

My great-grandfather always worked with his hands, outdoors, in and with nature. He needed fresh air and always something to do more than anyone else I’ve known.

It wasn’t all idyllic. Hard work, obviously. Hard times more often than not (for different reasons).

But something I’ll always remember about him is his deep rootedness in nature. His daily walks. That he knew the best places for blackberries. He shared them with us, as well as the elderberries from which my mother would make juice. (Especially great for when we came down with a feverisch cold. There was nothing better than drinking hot elderberry juice to get better.) He also knew good places for hazelnuts.

For my great-grandfather foraging was a natural part of his life. He knew how and where to find what in every season.

My great-grandfather especially liked talking about the blackberries and his special places where he would find them. Without telling us where exactly, of course. It’s like with mushrooms, you don’t tell anyone your best spots. He would point to his left thumbnail, telling us that the best blackberries were as big as the thumbnail of his big, horny hand. He was so proud. Being out, finding something good made him happy.

So, what has any of this to do with the coockoo?

Hearing the coockoo call never fails to remind me that my great-grandfather used to say that your wallet will not be empty all year round if you knock on it when the cuckoo calls. (So he made sure I always had a coin in my pocket as a kid.)

Superstition, sure, but it’s a treasured memory.

One that arises every time I hear a coockoo call.

Time has no meaning then.

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