The property has belonged to the landlord for eight years.
Six hectares. Rural, quiet, tidy.
Animals allowed. Stable available.
Sounds good, right?
We’re the fourth tenants.
And all the previous ones disappeared after about two years.
Not just quietly – no, always with drama. Always a scene.
With a bang. And an aftertaste.
—
The first – a man with twenty ponies.
Twenty. Ponies.
He was allowed to use the stable, that was the agreement.
Used it as a hay storage.
Then came complaints – about dust.
Hay dust. In a stable.
Seriously?
In the end, he apparently caused about €20,000 worth of damage – deliberately.
Must’ve been really angry.
Whether it was justified or not – no idea.
But easy? It definitely wasn’t.
—
The second – a lesbian couple.
(Didn’t matter to me. Apparently it did to the landlord.)
One of them kept saying: “I can’t take this anymore.”
And when they left, they took every single key with them.
All of them. Just took off.
A mix of defiance, humor, and frustration.
I remember thinking: Who does that? You just move, right?
But apparently not – not when you’ve lived here.
—
The third – quiet and reserved.
They didn’t tell the landlord where they were moving.
Just wanted peace.
There was some conflict about money – even though nothing seemed outstanding.
Word is: they left because of him.
Not the place. Not the conditions.
Because of the man who owns it all.
—
And now: us.
Us with our horses, dog, cat.
Us who clean up, fix things, paint.
Who love everything about this place –
except maybe the noise when the wind blows from the northeast,
and the mosquitoes in June.
And still: We’re leaving too.
—
And then there are the stories.
The Great Water Mystery
One day we were “politely” told our water usage was far too high.
What followed was a ridiculous household logbook:
• When did we flush?
• When did we shower?
• When did the washing machine run?
• When did we fill the watering can?
We made lists. Seriously. With times. And liters.
Didn’t help – we remained “public enemy number one of water conservation.”
In the end, the truth came out:
It wasn’t us.
A leak in his own apartment had messed up the line.
The bill was huge, but the blame stuck to us anyway.
Logic? Not a priority.
—
The carriage, the trailer, the taillight
I had found an old carriage – a collector’s item with four flat tires and tons of charm.
I wanted to restore it – politely asked if I could store it in the barn over winter.
Answer: “Sure. Go ahead.”
Said and done.
It wasn’t in the way, was secured, just waiting for spring.
Then he backed his trailer into the barn.
Crash.
Taillight broken.
What followed was a masterclass in blame-shifting:
“Why is this carriage even here?”
“Because you said it could stay here over winter.”
“No! A week, tops! And it was parked differently!”
“Okay, but… you did back into it?”
“And now my taillight is broken – you’re paying for it.”
Logic? Once again: optional.
—
The dragging clutch
He offered to let us use his tractor.
Seemed straightforward – we thought: nice, practical, no big deal.
Then came the surprise at the end of the year:
€100 or €150 – “for usage.”
Receipt included.
Fine. Whatever.
A while later, I used the tractor to mow the pasture.
Suddenly, he showed up – allegedly to gather dandelions for his geese.
(Note: No one has ever seen a single leaf of dandelion.)
He stood there, shifting from foot to foot, and then it started:
“You’re always dragging the clutch.”
“Okay. I don’t think I am, but fine.”
“Yes, you are always dragging the clutch.”
“Got it. Won’t do it anymore.”
“But you always drag the clutch.”
(After ten repetitions…)
“What exactly do you want me to do?”
“Your tone is the problem now.”
And at that moment, it became clear:
It was never about the clutch.
It wasn’t about the €150 either.
It was about… principle. Or something like that.
—
And now you know why everyone before us left.
Lina Grace-A Home for souls 
Hinterlasse eine Antwort zu Warum haut hier jeder eigentlich wieder ab? – Lina Grace-A Home for souls Antwort abbrechen