On a muddy, wet Monday morning, the ship lies in silence in an open field of green. The wheat rustles in the background and the onions watch in expectation. The scene looks rustic, but there is a certain tension in the air. We know it, and I believe, the wreck knows it.
It has been stripped of all its frames and soon it will be time for the strakes to be taken out, turning the once-majestic wreck into nothing more than an imprint in the polder’s clay.
Before the wreck is only remembered through artefacts, drawings, digital points, pictures and excavation reports, it had its last moment of glory. It had the honour of being documented for posterity by a journalist from RTV Noord who filmed her from every angle, and was further honourd by an offering of delicious apple cake.
Time can never stop however and the excavators continued diligently registering her through drawings and words while her bow and stern were further exposed in search of the solutions to the mysteries she offers. The strakes were observed in such a way that even Poirot himself would be impressed by the detail of the investigation, and drawings were produced that one day will most certainly line the walls of the Louvre (and not in the abstract art section).
As the evening draws near and the last planes of the day fly overhead, the wreck is being covered and she relaxes. One more evening in existence as a recognisable entity, before being moved out of her resting place forever…