- Düsse Siedenserie ward vun Reinhard F. Hahn (sassisch@geocities.com) rutgeven. Alle Warken sünd rechtlich schütt un dröfft nich ahn Verlööf (101477.2611@compuserve.com) wiedergeven warrn. De Serie is för Netscape 4.04 or beter maakt worrn. De Achtergrund is 'n Tackendook, dat vun Fru Kramer-Freudenthal ehr egene Hand maakt worrn is.
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- © 1997, R. F. Hahn
Low Saxon in the original orthography: Oorndank 1996
vun Clara Kramer-Freudenthal
(Wienmoond 1996)Warrer is een Johr vergohn, een Johr, wat uns dat Warrer no to reken, keen gode Oorn versproken hett. Bi uns in'n Goorn sünd keen Tomoten riep worrn. Arfen un Bohnen hebbt wi plücken kunnt, ober dat wüürt ok al. Liekers schüllt allentalben de Buurn tofreden ween. Koolt, veel to koolt wüür de Sommer, ok de Michälimoond wüür to koolt. Ober dat Kuurn is riep worrn. Uns Broot is uns seker. Appeln un Plumm' hingt noch riep an de Bäum. De Appeln lacht uns mit rode Backen an. De Kutüffeln mööt nu ok ruut ut de Ier, bevör de ierste Frost kummt. Jo, wi bruukt nich to hungern as männig Minschen op unsen Irdball. Hebb köttens hüürt vun een lebe Fro, de jüst ehr Süster to Beseuk ut Kasastan harr, woans dat dor utsüht. As se trüchkomen is geev dat keen Stroom, keen Gas un keen Woter. De Minschen hebbt keen Arbeit, hebbt Hunger un freert. Se mööt vun dat Beten leben wat se sik seiht un plant hebbt. Is foken to'n Leben toveel un to'n Starben to wenig. In dat grote Russland hungert sogor de Suldoten, un jümehrn Sold kriegt se al siet Monoten nich. In de Lodens is keen Woor un wenn Woor dor is hebbt de Minschen keen Geld wat to käupen. Loot uns Gott danken un beden, datt uns dat spoort blifft. Müüch uns de Freden wohrt blieben, datt is mien gröttste Beed.
Sünndag fiert wi Oorndankfest un hebbt ok heel veel Grund de Hannen mool to folen un unsen Herrgott to danken, datt uns dat doch good geiht. Mookt joon Hatt wiet för de Minschen, de hungert un freet, de de Moog knurrt un de keen warmen Mantel hebbt. Nich bloots in Swattafriko un Südameriko is de drütte Welt, nee, se kummt mit Riesentreed neuger an uns ran ut den Oosten.
Frei mi al op uns smuck utstaveerte Falkenbargkark mit Oof un Feldfrücht' op'n Altar, liggt sachs ok een poor Ohrn dorbi, or gor een Schöddel mit Weten, un mit de grote Oornkroon an de Deck. Warr Gott Voder danken, datt he allns hett wassen loten. Ok uns fliedigen Buurn warr ik danken, datt se, so as Johr för Johr, de Soot uns Mudder Ier anvertruut, bearbeit', pleegt un de Oorn inbröcht hebbt. Ok wenn dat hüüttodoogs veel Moschienen gifft de mithelpt, swore Knokenarbeit blifft Landweertschupp allemool. De Buur mütt smoddens freuh ruut ut de Puuk, un sobends fallt he meud rin un weet, datt he sien Dagwark doon hett. Dor hett de Dag foken 12-14, un in de Oorntiet foken noch mihr Arbeitstünn. De Buur kann nich streiken, un wenn he dat doon wörr, denn seeh dat bannig leeg bi un för uns ut.
Nu wünsch ik all mien leben Lesers een scheunet un vergneugtet Oorndankfest mit Sünnenschien un Freid an unse scheune Notuur.
English translation by R. F. Hahn: Harvest Thanksgiving 1996
by Clara Kramer-Freudenthal
(October 1996)Another year has passed, a year that did not promise a good harvest, considering the weather. No tomatos got ripe in our garden. We did manage to pick peas and beans, but that was it. Nevertheless, farmers everywhere ought to be happy. The summer was cold, much too cold; St. Michael's Moon was too cold as well. But the grain ripened. Our bread is assured. Apples and plums are still hanging ripe in the trees. The apples smile at us with red cheeks. Also, the potatoes must now be taken out of the soil before the first frost hits. True, we need not go hungry as many people do around the globe. Recently I heard from a dear lady whose sister had visited her from Kazakhstan - how things are over there. When she returned there was no power, no gas and no water. People have no work, are hungry and cold. They are forced to live off that which they have sowed and planted themselves. Oftentimes it is too little for living and too much for dying. In the great country Russia even the soldiers are starving and have not been getting their pay for months. There is no merchandise in the stores, and when there is some merchandise, then people have no money to buy anything. Let us thank God and pray that we are going to be spared this. May peace be preserved for us; that is my main prayer.
This Sunday we will celebrate Harvest Thanksgiving, and we do have good reason to fold our hands and thank our Lord God that we are still well. Open your hearts wide for the people that go hungry and cold, those whose stomachs rumble and those who have no warm coats. The Third World is not only in Black Africa and South America; no, it comes nearer to us with long steps from the east.
I look forward to our beautifully decorated Falkenberg Church with fruit and vegetables on the altar. There will probably also be a few ears of grain lying there, or even a dish with wheat, and with the large harvest crown on the ceiling. I will thank God Father for having allowed everything to grow. I will also thank our diligent farmers for having trusted Mother Earth with the seed, have worked her, looked after her and brought in the harvest. Even though these days there are many machines that help, agriculture remains hard physical work. A farmer must get out of bed early in the morning, and in the evening he falls back into it tired and knows that he has done his day's work. Oftentimes he works 12-14 work hours and even more during harvest time. A farmer cannot go on strike, and if he did then things would look rather bad for us.
Now I wish all my dear readers a pleasant and merry Harvest Thanksgiving with sunshine and enjoyment in our beautiful natural world.
Transliteration in Lowlands Orthography: Oorndank 1996
fun Clara Kramer-Freudenthal
(Wiinmaand 1996)Warrer is ein jaar fergaan, ein jaar wat uns dat warrer naa tou reken kein goude aarn ferspraken het. Bii uns in d'n gaarn suend kein Tomaten riip worren. Arfen un bonen hebt wii pluekken kund, aver dat woyr 't ouk al. Likers schuelt allenthalven de buren toofreden ween. Kold, feel tou kold woyr de sommer; ouk de Michaelimaand woyr tou kold. Aver dat kourn is riip worren. Uns brood is uns seker. Appeln un plummen hingt noch riip an de boym. De appeln lacht uns mit rode bakken an. De kutueffeln meut nuu ouk ruut uut de eird' befoer de eirste frost kumt. Jaa, wii bruukt nich tou hungern as mennig minschen op unsen eirdbal. Hev koettens hoyrd fun ein leve frou dei juest er suester tou besoyk uut Kasachstaan har, wouans dat daar uut-suyt. As sei trueg-kamen is geev' dat kein stroom, kein gas un kein water. De minschen hebt kein arbaid, hebt hunger un freirt. Sei meut fun dat beten leven wat sei sik said un plandt hebt. Is faken tou 'n leven tou feel un tou 'n starven tou wenig. In dat grote Russland hungert sogaar de Suldaten, un juem eren sold kriigt sei al siit monaten nich. In de ladens is kein waar, un wen waar daar is hebt de minschen kein geld wat tou koypen. Laat uns Got danken un beden dat uns dat spaard blivt. Moyg' uns de freden waard bliven; dat is miin groetste beed.
Suendag fiert wii Aarndankfest un hebt ouk heel veel grund de handen maal tou folden un unsen Hergot tou danken dat uns dat doch goud gait. Maakt joon hat wiid foer de minschen dei hungert un freirt, dei de maag knurt un dei kein warmen mantel hebt. Nich bloots in Swattafrikaa un Suydamerikaa is de Druette Welt; nei, sei kumt mit risentreed' noyger an uns ran uut d'n oosten.
Frai mii al op uns smuk uut-staveirte Falkenbargkark mit aav un feldfruecht op d'n altar. Ligt sachs ouk 'n paar oren daarbii, or gaar 'n schoeddel mit weiten, un mit de grote aarnkroon an de dek. War Got Fader danken dat hei allens het wassen laten. Ouk uns flidigen buren war ik danken dat sei, soo as jaar foer jaar, de saat uns Mudder Eird' an-fertruud, bearbaidt, pleegd un de aarn in-broecht hebt. Ouk wen dat huyttoudaags feel maaschinen givt dei mit-helpt, sware knakenarbaid blivt landweirtschup allemaal. De buur muet 's moddens froy ruut uut de puuk, un 's avends falt hei moyd' rin un weitt dat hei siin dagwark daan het. Daar het de dag faken 12-14 (twoelv bit feirtain) un in de aarntiid faken noch meir arbaidstuenden. De buur kan nich straiken, un wen hei dat doun woyrd', den seig' dat bannig leig bii un foer uns uut.
Nuu wuensch ik al miin leiven lesers 'n schoynet un fergnoygdet Aarndankfest mit suennenschiin un fraid' an unse schoyne natuur.
English translation by R. F. Hahn: Harvest Thanksgiving 1996
by Clara Kramer-Freudenthal
(October 1996)Another year has passed, a year that did not promise a good harvest, considering the weather. No tomatos got ripe in our garden. We did manage to pick peas and beans, but that was it. Nevertheless, farmers everywhere ought to be happy. The summer was cold, much too cold; St. Michael's Moon was too cold as well. But the grain ripened. Our bread is assured. Apples and plums are still hanging ripe in the trees. The apples smile at us with red cheeks. Also, the potatoes must now be taken out of the soil before the first frost hits. True, we need not go hungry as many people do around the globe. Recently I heard from a dear lady whose sister had visited her from Kazakhstan - how things are over there. When she returned there was no power, no gas and no water. People have no work, are hungry and cold. They are forced to live off that which they have sowed and planted themselves. Oftentimes it is too little for living and too much for dying. In the great country Russia even the soldiers are starving and have not been getting their pay for months. There is no merchandise in the stores, and when there is some merchandise, then people have no money to buy anything. Let us thank God and pray that we are going to be spared this. May peace be preserved for us; that is my main prayer.
This Sunday we will celebrate Harvest Thanksgiving, and we do have good reason to fold our hands and thank our Lord God that we are still well. Open your hearts wide for the people that go hungry and cold, those whose stomachs rumble and those who have no warm coats. The Third World is not only in Black Africa and South America; no, it comes nearer to us with long steps from the east.
I look forward to our beautifully decorated Falkenberg Church with fruit and vegetables on the altar. There will probably also be a few ears of grain lying there, or even a dish with wheat, and with the large harvest crown on the ceiling. I will thank God Father for having allowed everything to grow. I will also thank our diligent farmers for having trusted Mother Earth with the seed, have worked her, looked after her and brought in the harvest. Even though these days there are many machines that help, agriculture remains hard physical work. A farmer must get out of bed early in the morning, and in the evening he falls back into it tired and knows that he has done his day's work. Oftentimes he works 12-14 work hours and even more during harvest time. A farmer cannot go on strike, and if he did then things would look rather bad for us.
Now I wish all my dear readers a pleasant and merry Harvest Thanksgiving with sunshine and enjoyment in our beautiful natural world.