Climbing a mountain

In late spring, for the Pfingsten (Whitsuntide) religious holiday, Germans make a special commune with nature. I first participated when I was four yearsold. I know that because of a photo taken of the 1934 outing. My parents, Erich and I, and a group of neighbors are shown resting on a grassy embankment that ran along the narrow road half way to the top of our Donnersberg (ThunderMountain). The Donnersberg is 687 meters, or 2,273 feet high — the highest elevationin the Pfalz. It’s always had a great significance in the lives of our people. Oneof our Pfälzer writers, Heinrich Weis, once wrote that the mountain reminded him of a god, who in the form of a huge bull, came to rest among the forested hills. Happy there, he stayed and allowed the trees to cover him as well. While small as mountains go, it does obstruct and disperse severe weather coming from the west, but I don’t know if the name comes from that or Celtic mythology. Tramping up the mountain each year as a young girl, such things meant little to me. In time I would learn that the Donnersberg had many legends, some that came down through the centuries from Celtic tribes that made thetop a fortified home. Much later, Napoleon Bonaparte would be so impressed by the mountain on one of his campaigns into Germany, he designated the region Departement du Mont-Tonnerre. For the moment, however, local history had no place in the excitement of reaching our destination. We young ones always separated from our elders upon reaching the peak, to make the more arduous climb to the top of the watchtower. Called the “Ludwigsturm” after one of our old Kaisers, it was higher than any of the tallest trees. Entering through a door at the base, we’d start up a spiral stone staircase. Except for the occasional small square opening in the outside wall, it was quitedark. Even young legs began to ache before bright daylight greets the climber stepping out on a large platform, enclosed by a meter-high stone wall. The viewfrom the top of Ludwigsturm is breathtaking. Erich took pleasure in showingoff his knowledge by pointing out distant big cities like Kaiserslautern far to the south, Mainz in the north, and Worms on the eastern horizon. In between, was the panorama of rolling fields of every hue, deep wooded valleys, andvillages spotted here and there. To the west and southwest, the landscape was almost entirely rugged forest, as far as my eyes could see.

On a Green Twig —

On a Green Twig is the memoir of Anna Klein Spencer who grew up in Germany during the Depression and World War II. Her lively, richly detailed recollections of rustic life in a Rheinland village provide invaluable perspective about German life before and after Hitler, Nazism and World War II. This personal account tells how a young girl’s family life and her community were turned upside down by world events. It offers a lesson in how perseverance and courage can transform tragedy and misfortune into a new lease on life – on a green twig.

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