divine intervention

 The son is rushing around the flat in high excitement. He has planned to go to a meeting in Thuringia, a seminar on youth management. He has set every one of his various alarm clocks , and they are all producing sounds at regular intervals. The only course of action is to sit at the table and watch him almost vanish in a blur of activity as he gathers his various items, packs his bags, sorts his books, and repairs a pair of completely destroyed headphones with black packing tape. He appears capable of simultaneous multiple activities in his haste.

Yesterdays walk was pleasant, it was possible to go along the river farther downstream towards the Danube using the train and those cheap tickets on offer by the railway people. The river banks are wilder and wider and not so well kept.  The way onward, from Mamming to Ganacker is less pleasant, starting as paths between fields with no shade, it ends as a walk along a tarred straight strip beside a trunk road.

The final stretch, from Ganacker to Landau follows a trunk road with no footpath. It is necessary to step out of the way of the approaching cars, that have won all rights of way over the humble pedestrian.

The church at Ganacker has the remains of a metal chain wound around it, a gift from a salt merchant in thanks for having been released from the grip of the marshes by a seemingly divine intervention. This chain used to go around the church three times, but two thirds of it were confiscated during the second world war to counteract the metal shortage during those times. Nobody was able to explain why a metal chain would be a suitable expression of gratitude.