Peter Berdowski: The Netherlands Muddles on, and We Proudly Call It 'Poldering'.

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As a child, I loved listening to my mother's stories about her youth. What I found most fascinating were the annual floods of the polder where she lived, the Haagsche Beemden. My grandparents' farm stood high on a sand ridge, ominously named the Galgenakker, and was therefore spared the burden of the water. In winter, flooded meadows froze over, and my mother skated to school on her wooden skates, straight through the polder.