#wats harren

[bigguccisossa300]

real shit

#414 #milwaukee music #wats harren #Youtube

[regioonlineofficial]

Woansdei 6 maart wie de priisútrikking fan it Bêste Frysktalige Redaksjestik fan gemeente Súdwest-Fryslân. Elts jier ropt de gemeente doarpskranten yn Súdwest-Fryslân op om harren bêste Frysktalige stikken yn te stjoeren. Dêrmei kinne se in moaie jildpriis winne. De redaksje fan Diggelfjoer út Wommels hat it bêste Frysktalige stik skreaun fan 2023. Se winne dêrmei 300 euro. Op it twadde plak is de redaksje fan Diggelfjoer Fjouwer Doarpen (Rien, Itens, Hinnaard, Lytse Wierrum) eindige. Sy winne 200 euro. Wethâlder Petra van den Akker fynt it wichtich dat dizze prizen útrikt wurde. Se seit: “Foar alle ynwenners is it fan belang dat sy mei it Frysk yn oanrekking komme. De doarpskranten kinne dêr in moaie bydrage oan leverje. Der binne yn 2023 net in protte stikken ynstjoerd. We sille dit jier sjen hoe't we dat op in oare wize ynfolje kinne.” De winnende Frysktalige stikken It stik fan Wommels giet oer ynwenster Annette Meijer-Wijbenga. Se hat te hearren krigen dat sy MS hat. Mar se giet net by de pakken delsitten. Mei it team Mentaal Sterk fan it MS fûns rint sy nei de top fan de Mont Ventoux, in tocht fan 21 kilometer mei lotgenoaten. “In sterk ferhaal mei emoasje oer it omgean mei MS en doelen foar har libben. Ek oer tsjinslach wurdt ferteld. It ferhaal jout in moai byld fan it karakter fan Annette en is geef Frysk skreaun.” Sa stiet yn it sjueryrapport. De Fjouwer Doarpen hawwe skreaun oer “It lêste rûntsje” fan molkboer Henk Feenstra út Hommerts. Nei 50 jier stoppe Henk dermei en gong hy mei pensjoen. In redaksjelid is mei Henk mei west op de SRV-wein en hat it lêste rûntsje troch Rien en Itens meiriden. De sjuery sei it folgjende: “It artikel lêst maklik en der wurde goeie fragen steld. It is in persoanlik ferhaal fan hoecht Henk Feenstra syn wurk die wat er mei makke hat ûnderweis en yn syn wein. It stik is aardich geef Frysk skreaun.” Sjuery Der binne yn totaal 8 stikken ynstjoerd fan 5 ferskiedene doarpskranten. De krantsjes mochten meardere stikken ynstjoere. De sjuery hat dizze stikken neisjoen en beoardiele op tema’s as: nijswearde, skriuwstyl, opbou, doelgroep, taalgebrûk en flaters. Yn de sjuery sitte: skriuwer Thys Wadman, sjoernaliste en presentator by Omrop Fryslân Tiete Sijens en FNP riedslid Jikkie Ruiter-Postma.

[platt-lehren]

Ut de Kinnertied van Emil

Sovööl stunn woll fast: as Moder Griep (de Heebamm) dör de Döör kwamm/kweem/keem, was/weer Emil jedenfalls al daar.

„Gah sitten bi ‘t Eten“, see Opa, wenn Emil versöch, sük up en Stohl to stellen. “Upstahn gifft dat neet/nich!” Man wenn keeneen/nüms mehr in de Köken was/weer, steeg he sogaar up de Tafel/Disk.

As dat bi Kinner so is: Emil was/weer weg. Slichtweg verswunnen. De halv Dag harren se hum söcht, hum ropen un sük Sörgen maakt. Tegen Avend höör Oma hum snurken. Se funnen hum in en olle Kist unner de Trapp. Mull harr he spöölt, see he. In Düüstern. Un en Mull kann nich antwoorden/antern.

In ‘t Vörjahr/Fröhjahr satten/seten se faken in ‘t Holt un versöchden, de Blömen/Blööm ut de Eer to kieken. Dat dat wat brengen sull/schull, harr Opa ja seggt. Na – recht wat sehn kunnen se egentlik neet/nich. Man van de fuchtig Achtersten/Maars kunnen se noch lang wat marken. Un Opa, de smüüster sük een.

„Wenn eten, denn eten; wenn warken/arbeiden, denn warken/arbeiden.“ Dat was/weer so en Proot/Snack van Emil. Sniggen ankieken, blot as Bispill/Bispööl, was/weer en lang/en Arbeid. De wassen/weren ja neet/nich so fell/gau. Man as dat to Huus Arger geev, umdat/wiel he neet/nich up Tied daar weer/was un he an de Tafel/Disk sitten blieven muss, bit all Mann mit ‘t Eten klaar wassen/weren – do wassen/weren se fell/gau genoog to utrieten/utbüxen.

Dat nu jüüst de Overblievsels van dat moje Middageten bi de Höhner/Hohner lannen sullen, wull Emil neet/nich ganz/heel insehn. De Höhner/Hohner, wat ok anners, wullen neet/nich so ganz/heel begriepen, wat de lüttje/lütt Bödel an hör Block verloren harr. Man umdat he keen Bott mook, bleev dat versammelt Höhnervolk nix anners over, as mit Körrelskrabben in de Sand tofree to wesen.

Dagenlang kunnen se Emil allmanto tüschen/tüsken de Tuunblömen/Tuunblööm krupen sehn. Dat sach/seech meest so ut, as wenn daarbi en groot/grote/groten Försker in Saken Immen un Mossimmen rutsuren wull. He harr vööl to vertellen, wo dat so togung mit Hönnig upladen un tosamendragen. Un dat Mooiste was/weer doch, de deen dat för hum. Emil, de grote Mossimmenfründ. Man as hum een steken dee, fung he an (to) bölken – he harr hör doch blot eien wullt ...

De Sömmer kwamm/kweem/keem, wenn Vader hum reep, ehrdat de Hahn kraih, un dat los gung in ‘t Holt. Wild beluren. Se sleken sük ganz/heel vörsichtig dör de natt un dokerg/dakerg Meden. „Dat de Rehen/Rehden neet/nich wegbissen“, see Vader, „blot neet/nich rögen!“ De Rehen/Rehden dochen sük hör Deel, van de anner Sied. Ok elke/jede Jahr.

„Ji sünd woll nich klook“, schull Opa, as he hör weer in dat hoge Koorn tofaat/to faten kregen harr. Sullen/Schullen se doch woll weten, dat een daar nich langsgahn dürt/dröfft. Rutgahn deen se, man antwoorden/antern deen se daar neet/nich up. Verklaar maal en Opa dat Geföhl, wenn di dat Koorn um de Ohren sleit, wiel dat nämlik de grote wille See is, un de Piraten sünd achter di an ...

Baden gung de Sömmer over bit in de Harvst rin buten. Dat weer an mackelksten, för de Groten. Man dat se Emil, blot umdat/wiel he de Lüttjeste/Lüttste was/weer, alltied in de Emmer mit dat Gatt/Lock stoken, dat funn he heel un dall schabbig/schofel.

Wenn dat up de Arnt togung, wull woll elkeen/jeedeen de grootste/gröttste Kürbis vörtowiesen hebben. Blot wenn dat achteran Kürbissopp gaff/geev, un dat för dree Daag, denn höör/hull dat Pläseer / de Spaaß up! Man good, dat de Swienen alltied Smacht harren ...

Ja, dat Eten ... Dat stimm woll, Nabers Anton was/weer so groot, dat he hör de Pannkoken van de Kopp freten kunn. Dat‘n daarbi en stieve/stieven Nack kriegen kunn, dat harr de Spröök/Seggwies neet/nich seggt.

Denn was/weer daar noch de Saak mit de groot/grote Snuut. Vanwegen de eerst/eerste Schooldag. „Nee“, harren se seggt, „daar bruukt nüms mittokomen.“ Dat kunnen se al alleen. Dat Enn van dat Leed was/weer, dat se de Allerlesten wassen/weren. Umdat/Wiel de Schoolmester hör halen muss. Van buten. Waar se stunnen un sük neet/nich troden. Noch vör de groot Döör.

Klaar, dat ‘n ok maal trürig/trurig is. Wenn nüms/keeneen een verstahn will un all scheevlopen is. Dat hier is nu de allerleevste Fründin van uns Emil, de Hanne Schaap. De kunn he ‘t all vertellen, un de höör alltied to. Antwoorden/Antern dee se neet/nich so vööl, man/aver Emil weer overtüügt, dat se hum würkelk verstunn. Un se see ok nooit/nie wat na. 

Bang harren se sük maakt, richtig düchtig bang. De Bande harr up en Boom seten un sük dumm Tüüg vertellt. Gräsige Geschichten, um de Wedd. As dat düüster worden wull, höörden se unnern an de Boom ok noch wat krabben un puusten. Do weer dat heel un dall ut. Nüms/Keeneen harr de Mood to runnerklautern. Dat dat blot de Jager sien Hunnen wassen/weren, harren se ja neet/nich sehn kunnt van boven. Opa funn hör, as al nüms/keeneen mehr up Hülp wachten/töven dee. Hool hör mit de Ledder runner un broch de Schietbüdels in ’t Bedd.

Eenmaal harr Emil sük dat uphalst un weer mit de Lüttjen/Lütten lostrucken in de Sneei. Klaar, dat he hör wiesen muss, wat en Groten al all kann, up de Braadpann. Dat kunn he ja in Vörut/in ‘t Vören ok neet/nich weten, dat nu jüüst de dicke Maars neet/nich dör de beid Bomen/Bööm pass. Man en bietje/beten pienelk weer dat ja doch.

Ok sowat kunn ‘t geven. De Bontjekönig/Bontjekönenk was/weer daar west. Emil stunn vör de Tafel/Disk un sach/seech de/dat grootste/gröttste Bontje, de een sük denken kann. Un sien Kroon harr he ok vergeten, de lüttje/lütte König/Könenk mit de/dat groot Bontje. Un daarum mook dat ok nix, dat dat blot en Drööm west was/weer, midden in de Nacht. As de Maan in dat Fenster scheen/schien. As Emil noch lüttjet/lütt was/weer.

De Woorden, de neet na Jo Prootwies sünd, könen Ji utstrieken - of Ji laden disse Text as Datei runner unner www.ostfriesischelandschaft.de -> plattdüütsk -> to runnerladen un schrieven hum in Jo Platt um.

#platt #Birgit Lemmermann #plattdeutsch #plattdüütsch #böker #emil #kinnerböker

[readbookywooks]

Arya

Whatever names Harren the Black had meant to give his towers were long forgotten. They were called the Tower of Dread, the Widow's Tower, the Wailing Tower, the Tower of Ghosts, and Kingspyre Tower. Arya slept in a shallow niche in the cavernous vaults beneath the Wailing Tower, on a bed of straw. She had water to wash in whenever she liked, a chunk of soap. The work was hard, but no harder than walking miles every day. Weasel did not need to find worms and bugs to eat, as Arry had; there was bread every day, and barley stews with bits of carrot and turnip, and once a fortnight even a bite of meat.

Hot Pie ate even better; he was where he belonged, in the kitchens, a round stone building with a domed roof that was a world unto itself. Arya took her meals at a trestle table in the undercroft with Weese and his other charges, but sometimes she would be chosen to help fetch their food, and she and Hot Pie could steal a moment to talk. He could never remember that she was now Weasel and kept calling her Arry, even though he knew she was a girl. Once he tried to slip her a hot apple tart, but he made such a clumsy job of it that two of the cooks saw. They took the tart away and beat him with a big wooden spoon.

Gendry had been sent to the forge; Arya seldom saw him. As for those she served with, she did not even want to know their names. That only made it hurt worse when they died. Most of them were older than she was and content to let her alone.

Harrenhal was vast, much of it far gone in decay. Lady Whent had held the castle as bannerman to House Tully, but she'd used only the lower thirds of two of the five towers, and let the rest go to ruin. Now she was fled, and the small household she'd left could not begin to tend the needs of all the knights, lords, and highborn prisoners Lord Tywin had brought, so the Lannisters must forage for servants as well as for plunder and provender. The talk was that Lord Tywin planned to restore Harrenhal to glory, and make it his new seat once the war was done.

Weese used Arya to run messages, draw water, and fetch food, and sometimes to serve at table in the Barracks Hall above the armory, where the men-at-arms took their meals. But most of her work was cleaning. The ground floor of the Wailing Tower was given over to storerooms and granaries, and two floors above housed part of the garrison, but the upper stories had not been occupied for eighty years. Now Lord Tywin had commanded that they be made fit for habitation again. There were floors to be scrubbed, grime to be washed off windows, broken chairs and rotted beds to be carried off. The topmost story was infested with nests of the huge black bats that House Whent had used for its sigil, and there were rats in the cellars as well . . . and ghosts, some said, the spirits of Harren the Black and his sons.

Arya thought that was stupid. Harren and his sons had died in Kingspyre Tower, that was why it had that name, so why should they cross the yard to haunt her? The Wailing Tower only wailed when the wind blew from the north, and that was just the sound the air made blowing through the cracks in the stones where they had fissured from the heat. if there were ghosts in Harrenhal, they never troubled her. It was the living men she feared, Weese and Ser Gregor Clegane and Lord Tywin Lannister himself, who kept his apartments in Kingspyre Tower, still the tallest and mightiest of all, though lopsided beneath the weight of the slagged stone that made it look like some giant half-melted black candle.

She wondered what Lord Tywin would do if she marched up to him and confessed to being Arya Stark, but she knew she'd never get near enough to talk to him, and anyhow he'd never believe her if she did, and afterward Weese would beat her bloody.

In his own small strutting way, Weese was nearly as scary as Ser Gregor. The Mountain swatted men like flies, but most of the time he did not even seem to know the fly was there. Weese always knew you were there, and what you were doing, and sometimes what you were thinking. He would hit at the slightest provocation, and he had a dog who was near as bad as he was, an ugly spotted bitch that smelled worse than any dog Arya had ever known. Once she saw him set the dog on a latrine boy who'd annoyed him. She tore a big chunk out of the boy's calf while Weese laughed.

It took him only three days to earn the place of honor in her nightly prayers. "Weese," she would whisper, first of all. "Dunsen, Chiswyck, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling. The Tickler and the Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei." If she let herself forget even one of them, how would she ever find him again to kill him?

On the road Arya had felt like a sheep, but Harrenbal turned her into a mouse. She was grey as a mouse in her scratchy wool shift, and like a mouse she kept to the crannies and crevices and dark holes of the castle, scurrying out of the way of the mighty.

Sometimes she thought they were all mice within those thick walls, even the knights and the great lords. The size of the castle made even Gregor Clegane seem small. Harrenhal covered thrice as much ground as Winterfell, and its buildings were so much larger they could scarcely be compared. Its stables housed a thousand horses, its godswood covered twenty acres, its kitchens were as large as Winterfell's Great Hall, and its own great hall, grandly named the Hall of a Hundred Hearths even though it only had thirty and some (Arya had tried to count them, twice, but she came up with thirty-three once and thirty-five the other time) was so cavernous that Lord Tywin could have feasted his entire host, though he never did. Walls, doors, halls, steps, everything was built to an inhuman scale that made Arya remember the stories Old Nan used to tell of the giants who lived beyond the Wall.

And as lords and ladies never notice the little grey mice under their feet, Arya heard all sorts of secrets just by keeping her ears open as she went about her duties. Pretty Pia from the buttery was a slut who was working her way through every knight in the castle. The wife of the gaoler was with child, but the real father was either Ser Alyn Stackspear or a singer called Whitesmile Wat. Lord Lefford made mock of ghosts at table, but always kept a candle burning by his bed. Ser Dunaver's squire Jodge could not hold his water when he slept. The cooks despised Ser Harys Swyft and spit in all his food. once she even overheard Maester Tothmure's serving girl confiding to her brother about some message that said Joffrey was a bastard and not the rightful king at all. "Lord Tywin told him to burn the letter and never speak such filth again," the girl whispered.

King Robert's brothers Stannis and Renly had joined the fighting, she heard. "And both of them kings now," Weese said. "Realm's got more kings than a castle's got rats." Even Lannister men questioned how long Joffrey would hold the Iron Throne. "The lad's got no army but them gold cloaks, and he's ruled by a eunuch, a dwarf, and a woman," she heard a lordling mutter in his cups. "What good will the likes of them be if it comes to battle?" There was always talk of Beric Dondarrion. A fat archer once said the Bloody Mummers had slain him, but the others only laughed. "Lorch killed the man at Rushing Falls, and the Mountain's slain him twice. Got me a silver stag says he don't stay dead this time neither."

Arya did not know who Bloody Mummers were until a fortnight later, when the queerest company of men she'd ever seen arrived at Harrenhal. Beneath the standard of a black goat with bloody horns rode copper men with bells in their braids; lancers astride striped black-and-white horses; bowmen with powdered cheeks; squat hairy men with shaggy shields; brown-skinned men in feathered cloaks; a wispy fool in green-and-pink motley; swordsmen with fantastic forked beards dyed green and purple and silver; spearmen with colored scars that covered their cheeks; a slender man in septon's robes, a fatherly one in maester's grey, and a sickly one whose leather cloak was fringed with long blond hair.

At their head was a man stick-thin and very tall, with a drawn emaciated face made even longer by the ropy black beard that grew from his pointed chin nearly to his waist. The helm that hung from his saddle horn was black steel, fashioned in the shape of a goat's head. About his neck he wore a chain made of linked coins of many different sizes, shapes, and metals, and his horse was one of the strange black-and-white ones.

"You don't want to know that lot, Weasel," Weese said when he saw her looking at the goat-helmed man. Two of his drinking friends were with him, men-at-arms in service to Lord Lefford.

"Who are they?" she asked.

One of the soldiers laughed. "The Footmen, girl. Toes of the Goat. Lord Tywin's Bloody Mummers."

"Pease for wits. You get her flayed, you can scrub the bloody steps," said Weese. "They're sellswords, Weasel girl. Call themselves the Brave Companions. Don't use them other names where they can hear, or they'll hurt you bad. The goat-helm's their captain, Lord Vargo Hoat."

"He's no fucking lord," said the second soldier. "I heard Ser Amory say so. He's just some sellsword with a mouth full of slobber and a high opinion of hisself."

"Aye," said Weese, "but she better call him lord if she wants to keep all her parts."

Arya looked at Vargo Hoat again. How many monsters does Lord Tywin have?

The Brave Companions were housed in the Widow's Tower, so Arya need not serve them. She was glad of that; on the very night they arrived, fighting broke out between the sellswords and some Lannister men. Ser Harys Swyft's squire was stabbed to death and two of the Bloody Mummers were wounded. The next morning Lord Tywin hanged them both from the gatehouse walls, along with one of Lord Lydden's archers. Weese said the archer had started all the trouble by taunting the sellswords over Beric Dondarrion. After the hanged men had stopped kicking, Vargo Hoat and Ser Harys embraced and kissed and swore to love each other always as Lord Tywin looked on. Arya thought it was funny the way Vargo Hoat lisped and slobbered, but she knew better than to laugh.

The Bloody Mummers did not linger long at Harrenhal, but before they rode out again, Arya heard one of them saying how a northern army under Roose Bolton had occupied the ruby ford of the Trident. "If he crosses, Lord Tywin will smash him again like he did on the Green Fork," a Lannister bowmen said, but his fellows jeered him down. "Bolton'll never cross, not till the Young Wolf marches from Riverrun with his wild northmen and all them wolves."

Arya had not known her brother was so near. Riverrun was much closer than Winterfell, though she was not certain where it lay in relation to Harrenhal. I could find out somehow, I know I could, if only I could get away. When she thought of seeing Robb's face again Arya had to bite her lip. And I want to see Jon too, and Bran and Rickon, and Mother. Even Sansa . . . I'll kiss her and beg her pardons like a proper lady, she'll like that.

From the courtyard talk she'd learned that the upper chambers of the Tower of Dread housed three dozen captives taken during some battle on the Green Fork of the Trident. Most had been given freedom of the castle in return for their pledge not to attempt escape. They vowed not to escape, Arya told herself, but they never swore not to help me escape.

The captives ate at their own table in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, and could often be seen about the grounds. Four brothers took their exercise together every day, fighting with staves and wooden shields in the Flowstone Yard. Three of them were Freys of the Crossing, the fourth their bastard brother. They were only there a short time, though; one morning two other brothers arrived under a peace banner with a chest of gold, and ransomed them from the knights who'd captured them. The six Freys all left together.

No one ransomed the northmen, though. One fat lordling haunted the kitchens, Hot Pie told her, always looking for a morsel. His mustache was so bushy that it covered his mouth, and the clasp that held his cloak was a silver-and-sapphire trident. He belonged to Lord Tywin, but the fierce, bearded young man who liked to walk the battlements alone in a black cloak patterned with white suns had been taken by some hedge knight who meant to get rich off him. Sansa would have known who he was, and the fat one too, but Arya had never taken much interest in titles and sigils. Whenever Septa Mordane had gone on about the history of this house and that house, she was inclined to drift and dream and wonder when the lesson would be done.

She did remember Lord Cerwyn, though. His lands had been close to Winterfell, so he and his son Cley had often visited. Yet as fate would have it, he was the only captive who was never seen; he was abed in a tower cell, recovering from a wound. For days and days Arya tried to work out how she might steal past the door guards to see him. If he knew her, he would be honor bound to help her. A lord would have gold for a certainty, they all did; perhaps he would pay some of Lord Tywin's own sellswords to take her to Riverrun. Father had always said that most sellswords would betray anyone for enough gold.

Then one morning she spied three women in the cowled grey robes of the silent sisters loading a corpse into their wagon. The body was sewn into a cloak of the finest silk, decorated with a battle-axe sigil. When Arya asked who it was, one of the guards told her that Lord Cerwyn had died. The words felt like a kick in the belly. He could never have helped you anyway, she thought as the sisters drove the wagon through the gate. He couldn't even help himself, you stupid mouse.

After that it was back to scrubbing and scurrying and listening at doors. Lord Tywin would soon march on Riverrun, she heard. or he would drive south to Highgarden, no one would ever expect that. No, he must defend King's Landing, Stannis was the greatest threat. He'd sent Gregor Clegane and Vargo Hoat to destroy Roose Bolton and remove the dagger from his back. He'd sent ravens to the Eyrie, he meant to wed the Lady Lysa Arryn and win the Vale. He'd bought a ton of silver to forge magic swords that would slay the Stark wargs. He was writing Lady Stark to make a peace, the Kingslayer would soon be freed.

Though ravens came and went every day, Lord Tywin himself spent most of his days behind closed doors with his war council. Arya caught glimpses of him, but always from afar—once walking the walls in the company of three maesters and the fat captive with the bushy mustache, once riding out with his lords bannermen to visit the encampments, but most often standing in an arch of the covered gallery watching men at practice in the yard below. He stood with his hands locked together on the gold pommel of his longsword. They said Lord Tywin loved gold most of all; he even shit gold, she heard one squire jest. The Lannister lord was strong-looking for an old man, with stiff golden whiskers and a bald head. There was something in his face that reminded Arya of her own father, even though they looked nothing alike. He has a lord's face, that's all, she told herself. She remembered hearing her lady mother tell Father to put on his lord's face and go deal with some matter. Father had laughed at that. She could not imagine Lord Tywin ever laughing at anything.

One afternoon, while she was waiting her turn to draw a pail of water from the well, she heard the hinges of the east gate groaning. A party of men rode under the portcullis at a walk. When she spied the manticore crawling across the shield of their leader, a stab of hate shot through her.

In the light of day, Ser Amory Lorch looked less frightening than he had by torchlight, but he still had the pig's eyes she recalled. One of the women said that his men had ridden all the way around the lake chasing Beric Dondarrion and slaying rebels. We weren't rebels, Arya thought. We were the Night's Watch; the Night's Watch takes no side. Ser Amory had fewer men than she remembered, though, and many wounded. I hope their wounds fester. I hope they all die.

Then she saw the three near the end of the column.

Rorge had donned a black halfhelm with a broad iron nasal that made it hard to see that he did not have a nose. Biter rode ponderously beside him on a destrier that looked ready to collapse under his weight. Half-healed burns covered his body, making him even more hideous than before.

But Jaqen H'ghar still smiled. His garb was still ragged and filthy, but he had found time to wash and brush his hair. It streamed down across his shoulders, red and white and shiny, and Arya heard the girls giggling to each other in admiration.

I should have let the fire have them. Gendry said to, I should have listened. If she hadn't thrown them that axe they'd all be dead. For a moment she was afraid, but they rode past her without a flicker of interest. Only Jaqen H'ghar so much as glanced in her direction, and his eyes passed right over her. He does not know me, she thought. Arry was a fierce little boy with a sword, and I'm just a grey mouse girl with a pail.

She spent the rest of that day scrubbing steps inside the Wailing Tower. By evenfall her hands were raw and bleeding and her arms so sore they trembled when she lugged the pail back to the cellar. Too tired even for food, Arya begged Weese's pardons and crawled into her straw to sleep. "Weese," she yawned. "Dunsen, Chiswyck, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling. The Tickler and the Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei." She thought she might add three more names to her prayer, but she was too tired to decide tonight.

Arya was dreaming of wolves running wild through the wood when a strong hand clamped down over her mouth like smooth warm stone, solid and unyielding. She woke at once, squirming and struggling. "A girl says nothing," a voice whispered close behind her ear. "A girl keeps her lips closed, no one hears, and friends may talk in secret. Yes?"

Heart pounding, Arya managed the tiniest of nods.

Jaqen H'ghar took his hand away. The cellar was black as pitch and she could not see his face, even inches away. She could smell him, though; his skin smelled clean and soapy, and he had scented his hair. "A boy becomes a girl," he murmured.

"I was always a girl. I didn't think you saw me."

"A man sees. A man knows."

She remembered that she hated him. "You scared me. You're one of them now, I should have let you burn. What are you doing here? Go away or I'll yell for Weese."

"A man pays his debts. A man owes three."

"Three?"

"The Red God has his due, sweet girl, and only death may pay for life. This girl took three that were his. This girl must give three in their places. Speak the names, and a man will do the rest."

He wants to help me, Arya realized with a rush of hope that made her dizzy. "Take me to Riverrun, it's not far, if we stole some horses we could—"

He laid a finger on her lips. "Three lives you shall have of me. No more, no less. Three and we are done. So a girl must ponder." He kissed her hair softly. "But not too long."

By the time Arya lit her stub of a candle, only a faint smell remained of him, a whiff of ginger and cloves lingering in the air. The woman in the next niche rolled over on her straw and complained of the light, so Arya blew it out. When she closed her eyes, she saw faces swimming before her. Joffrey and his mother, Ilyn Payne and Meryn Trant and Sandor Clegane . . . but they were in King's Landing hundreds of miles away, and Ser Gregor had lingered only a few nights before departing again for more foraging, taking Raff and Chiswyck and the Tickler with him. Ser Amory Lorch was here, though, and she hated him almost as much. Didn't she? She wasn't certain. And there was always Weese.

She thought of him again the next morning, when lack of sleep made her yawn. "Weasel," Weese purred, "next time I see that mouth droop open, I'll pull out your tongue and feed it to my bitch." He twisted her ear between his fingers to make certain she'd heard, and told her to get back to those steps, he wanted them clean down to the third landing by nightfall.

As she worked, Arya thought about the people she wanted dead. She pretended she could see their faces on the steps, and scrubbed harder to wipe them away. The Starks were at war with the Lannisters and she was a Stark, so she should kill as many Lannisters as she could, that was what you did in wars. But she didn't think she should trust Jaqen. I should kill them myself. Whenever her father had condemned a man to death, he did the deed himself with Ice, his greatsword. "If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look him in the face and hear his last words," she'd heard him tell Robb and Jon once.

The next day she avoided Jaqen H'ghar, and the day after that. It was not hard. She was very small and Harrenhal was very large, full of places where a mouse could hide.

And then Ser Gregor returned, earlier than expected, driving a herd of goats this time in place of a herd of prisoners. She heard he'd lost four men in one of Lord Beric's night raids, but those Arya hated returned unscathed and took up residence on the second floor of the Wailing Tower. Weese saw that they were well supplied with drink. "They always have a good thirst, that lot," he grumbled. "Weasel, go up and ask if they've got any clothes that need mending, I'll have the women see to it."

Arya ran up her well-scrubbed steps. No one paid her any mind when she entered. Chiswyck was seated by the fire with a horn of ale to hand, telling one of his funny stories. She dared not interrupt, unless she wanted a bloody lip.

"After the Hand's tourney, it were, before the war come," Chiswyck was saying. "We were on our ways back west, seven of us with Ser Gregor. Raff was with me, and young Joss Stilwood, he'd squired for Ser in the lists. Well, we come on this pisswater river, running high on account there'd been rains. No way to ford, but there's an alehouse near, so there we repair. Ser rousts the brewer and tells him to keep our horns full till the waters fall, and you should see the man's pig eyes shine at the sight o' silver. So he's fetching us ale, him and his daughter, and poor thin stuff it is, no more'n brown piss, which don't make me any happier, nor Ser neither. And all the time this brewer's saying how glad he is to have us, custom being slow on account o' them rains. The fool won't shut his yap, not him, though Ser is saying not a word, just brooding on the Knight o' Pansies and that bugger's trick he played. You can see how tight his mouth sits, so me and the other lads we know better'n to say a squeak to him, but this brewer he's got to talk, he even asks how m'lord fared in the jousting. Ser just gave him this look." Chiswyck cackled, quaffed his ale, and wiped the foam away with the back of his hand. "Meanwhile, this daughter of his has been fetching and pouring, a fat little thing, eighteen or so—"

"Thirteen, more like," Raff the Sweetling drawled.

"Well, be that as it may, she's not much to look at, but Eggon's been drinking and gets to touching her, and might be I did a little touching meself, and Raff's telling young Stilwood that he ought t' drag the girl upstairs and make hisself a man, giving the lad courage as it were. Finally Joss reaches up under her skirt, and she shrieks and drops her flagon and goes running off to the kitchen. Well, it would have ended right there, only what does the old fool do but he goes to Ser and asks him to make us leave the girl alone, him being an anointed knight and all such.

"Ser Gregor, he wasn't paying no mind to none of our fun, but now he looks, you know how he does, and he commands that the girl be brought before him. Now the old man has to drag her out of the kitchen, and no one to blame but hisself. Ser looks her over and says, ‘So this is the whore you're so concerned for' and this besotted old fool says, ‘My Layna's no whore, ser' right to Gregor's face. Ser, he never blinks, just says, ‘She is now' tosses the old man another silver, rips the dress off the wench, and takes her right there on the table in front of her da, her flopping and wiggling like a rabbit and making these noises. The look on the old man's face, I laughed so hard ale was coming out me nose. Then this boy hears the noise, the son I figure, and comes rushing up from the cellar, so Raff has to stick a dirk in his belly. By then Ser's done, so he goes back to his drinking and we all have a turn. Tobbot, you know how he is, he flops her over and goes in the back way. The girl was done fighting by the time I had her, maybe she'd decided she liked it after all, though to tell the truth I wouldn't have minded a little wiggling. And now here's the best bit . . . when it's all done, Ser tells the old man that he wants his change. The girl wasn't worth a silver, he says . . . and damned if that old man didn't fetch a fistful of coppers, beg m'lord's pardon, and thank him for the custom!"

The men all roared, none louder than Chiswyck himself, who laughed so hard at his own story that snot dribbled from his nose down into his scraggy grey beard. Arya stood in the shadows of the stairwell and watched him. She crept back down to the cellars without saying a word. When Weese found that she hadn't asked about the clothes, he yanked down her breeches and caned her until blood ran down her thighs, but Arya closed her eyes and thought of all the sayings Syrio had taught her, so she scarcely felt it.

Two nights later, he sent her to the Barracks Hall to serve at table. She was carrying a flagon of wine and pouring when she glimpsed Jaqen H'ghar at his trencher across the aisle. Chewing her lip, Arya glanced around warily to make certain Weese was not in sight. Fear cuts deeper than swords, she told herself.

She took a step, and another, and with each she felt less a mouse. She worked her way down the bench, filling wine cups. Rorge sat to Jaqen's right, deep drunk, but he took no note of her. Arya leaned close and whispered, "Chiswyck," right in Jaqen's ear. The Lorathi gave no sign that he had heard.

When her flagon was empty, Arya hurried down to the cellars to refill it from the cask, and quickly returned to her pouring. No one had died of thirst while she was gone, nor even noted her brief absence.

Nothing happened the next day, nor the day after, but on the third day Arya went to the kitchens with Weese to fetch their dinner. "One of the Mountain's men fell off a wallwalk last night and broke his fool neck," she heard Weese tell a cook.

"Drunk?" the woman asked.

"No more'n usual. Some are saying it was Harren's ghost flung him down." He snorted to show what he thought of such notions.

It wasn't Harren, Arya wanted to say, it was me. She had killed Chiswyck with a whisper, and she would kill two more before she was through. I'm the ghost in Harrenhal, she thought. And that night, there was one less name to hate.

#ClashofKings

[masakanibu-blog]

Soarten Planten Kin Be oanplante Yn Estate

Soarten fan planten dy't kin wurde yn kultuer brocht http://slosa.blogspot.com/2016/04/jenis-jenis-tanaman-yang-bisa-ditanam-secara-hidrponik.html Mei How To Estate - Sa seker bnayak seklai planten dy't kin wurde groeid mei help fan media betsjut sûnder grûn of Hydroponic teelt systeem. Hydroponic planten kinne wurde yn kultuer brocht thús. Dêrom hjoed Hydroponic al keazen ek foar dyjingen dy't wol oan it wurk, mar hawwe gjin lân of lazy te ferlitten it hûs.

 Home Hydroponic teelt kin wêze rendabel is foar ús jo witte, want de foardielen fan Hydroponic teelt mei de technyk is tige miljeufreonlik en hiel ienfâldich. As wy prate oer de foardielen en de foardielen fan Estate plant is tige folle

 Der binne inkele winst dy't kin dijakikan as beplanting materiaal Hydroponic systemen, ûnder oare griente en sier blommen. Yn it algemien foarbylden fan planten dy't kin tapast wurde is trunked sêft, mar net hearskje út de mooglikheid, hurd komt kin ek wurde plante mei it Hydroponic metoade. Hjir binne in pear foarbylden dy't ik kin diele mei jo helpful semoba:

 Miskien wat fan jo dêr ek dy't net witte wat it is Estate en hoe om it. Troch plant gewaaksen mei hidrponik metoade is oantoanber lestich. Sa miskien foar begjinners dy't hawwe nea plante Hydroponically sil belibje bytsje kedala. Mar hjir de basis-pleats altyd jouwe ynformaasje dy't relevant is foar dit ûnderwerp.

 lettuce

Lettuce is ien fan de grienten binne bêste as groeid mei Estate systemen. Vegetables lettuce net nedich ûnderhâld te yngewikkeld. Mei goede soarch, hoewol't net neier yngean lettuce kin groeie weelderige en goed. Yn de tiid fan siedzjen plantaardige zaden lettuce, yn minder as twa wiken de zaailingen sil groeie twa daun.Nah fast net? Sa ferjit net te plantsjen grienten lettuce troch middel fan Estate.

 spinaazje

Spinaazje is ek in ideaal grien grienten groeid mei Estate systemen. Spinaazje is in griente, dat wurdt tige wurdearre troch it publyk sa dat de grienten wurde ek in soad dy't hjir grutbrocht. Benammen foar dyjingen dy't wolle groeie har eigen thús, do miskien beskôgje plantsjen spinaazje mei Estate systeem. Spinaazje kin wurde ferwurke yn in ferskaat oan iten lykas sop, spinaazje chips, en ek in ferskaat oan oare gerjochten wienen grif hiel lekker en lekker.

 komkommer

Komkommers binne ek in soarte fan Hydroponic gewaaksen dy't groeid troch de maatskippij. Mar jo moatte witte dat komkommers moatte mear spesjale oandacht as plantaardige lettuce. Boppedat komkommers moatte mear romte, dus wy moatte in gruttere container foar groeiende komkommers. Komkommers binne griente dy't populêr en in soad wurdearre troch it publyk. Komkommers helpful foar ferleegjen hege bloeddruk, acne, en kin glêd 'e hûd, dan komkommer kin ek wurde ferwurke yn in ferskaat oan iten lykas pickles, ingelegde en farske griente.

 griente watercress

Vegetable kale is wis net wat dat is bekend mei it folk fan Yndoneezje. Sels de griente kamermeisje útgroeid ta ien fan de favorite iten fan Yndonesysk maatskippij en grif in soad fan lekker menu dat kin wurde produsearre út plantaardige kamermeisje. Och ja, kinne jo ek besteegje jo alle moannen útjeften tabletten, troch it oanplantsjen fan harren eigen griente kangukung thús troch mei help fan de Hydroponic metoade.

 By . Cara Menanam Hidroponik

Source: slosa.blogspot.com

[regioonlineofficial]

Het is de organisatie opnieuw gelukt: Expo Driezum-Wâlterswald 2024 is een feit! Op 21, 22 en 23 maart pakken veel bedrijven en organisaties uit en laten ze daarmee zien wat de regio in Friesland te bieden heeft. In en rond dorpshuis De Nije Warf bieden ruim 50 ondernemers en organisaties een kijkje in hun eigen keuken. “De beurs beloofd voor een breed publiek interessant te worden” aldus medeorganisatoren van het eerste uur; Bauke Schaafsma en Andries Terpstra. “Iedereen kan met eigen ogen zien wat er zo dicht bij huis allemaal gemaakt wordt en te koop is”. Expo Driezum-Wâlterswald De negende editie van Expo Driezum-Wâlterswâld biedt veel verschillende stands. Het aanbod varieert van een tuinbedrijf en woninginrichting tot schoonheidssalon en kapsalon, van camping tot bank- en assurantiezaken en van bedden tot auto’s. Uiteraard ontbreekt ook de gemeente Dantumadiel niet op deze beurs. Sterker nog de gemeente heeft een belangrijke rol in het presenteren van bedrijven rondom duurzaamheid en woningbouw. Wethouder Gerben Wiersma is blij met deze nieuwe komende editie. “De Expo is in prachtich middel foar it lokale bedriuwslibben om harren te presintearjen. Mar ek is it foar de ynwenners dé gelegenhyd om mei de bedriuwen yn de regio yn de kunde te kommen. It kin minsken helpe bygelyks yn harren syktocht nei in oannimmer of ynstallateur. Wat is der dan better om dat yn de eigen fertroude omjouwing te dwaan?” Dus heeft u een vraag rondom isoleren, zonnepanelen, subsidieregelingen of alles wat ook maar met duurzaamheid te maken heeft? De gemeente en desbetreffende bedrijven staan klaar om uw vragen te beantwoorden! Of bent u bijvoorbeeld op zoek naar een nieuw(e) auto, bankstel of keuken? Reserveert u dan alvast 21, 22 en 23 maart in uw agenda en mis deze unieke presentatie van bedrijvigheid van deze regio niet!

[regioonlineofficial]

Eind deze week ontvangen alle inwoners van Noardeast-Fryslân (18 jaar en ouder) een brief met een vragenlijst thuis voor een draagvlakonderzoek. De gemeenteraad wil er via een peiling achter komen hoe de inwoners denken over een opvang voor maximaal 250 asielzoekers in Dokkum. Draagvlakonderzoek Het COA (Centraal Orgaan Opvang Asielzoekers) vroeg in juli de gemeente Noardeast-Fryslân om mee te werken aan twee opvanglocaties: een tijdelijke opvanglocatie in het oude gemeentehuis in Kollum en een vaste opvanglocatie in Dokkum. De gemeenteraad wees het verzoek voor een locatie in Kollum af. De raad besloot om wel een draagvlakonderzoek te doen naar een permanent AZC in Dokkum. Dit onderzoek start donderdag 23 november. Men kan de vragenlijst online of op papier invullen, of telefonisch laten afnemen Burgemeester Johannes Kramer benadrukt dat elke mening belangrijk is: “Oft je no posityf, neutraal of negatyf tsjinoer in AZC steane, folje de fragelist yn. Want sa krijt de gemeenteried in goed byld fan wat der libbet. Alle antwurden helpe de gemeenteried by it meitsjen fan harren beslút.” De inwoners krijgen 4 weken de tijd om de vragenlijst in te vullen Op 11 januari 2024 presenteert onderzoeksbureau Enneüs de resultaten aan de gemeenteraad. De raad bepaalt daarna of er draagvlak is voor een AZC in Dokkum. Als de raad dat vindt, start het onderzoek naar een geschikte plek in Dokkum. Er wordt per mogelijke locatie een buurtbijeenkomst georganiseerd. En een steekproef gedaan naar het draagvlak in de directe omgeving. Kijk voor meer informatie op: www.noardeast-fryslan.nl/azc

[regioonlineofficial]

Woensdag opende specialistische peutergroep De Putters aan de Hantumerweg in Dokkum haar deuren. De peutergroep is er voor kinderen die (tijdelijk) extra ondersteuning nodig hebben op het gebied van ontwikkeling en/of gedrag. Twee gespecialiseerde medewerkers staan op de groep van maximaal acht kinderen. Géanna Tanja is één van de medewerkers op de groep: “Op de groep wordt de ontwikkeling van het kind gestimuleerd binnen een veilige, vertrouwde setting. Er is sprake van intensieve samenwerking met ouders en specialisten om het kind goed door te laten stromen naar passend onderwijs”. De gespecialiseerde peutergroep is een initiatief van de gemeente, SBO de Twine en Wille Het peuterlokaal is ondergebracht in de Twine, een school voor speciaal basisonderwijs. De peutergroep is door het bestuur van de school (stichting Arlanta), Wille en gemeente Noardeast-Fryslân op gezet. Wethouder Jouke Douwe de Vries mocht woensdag het peuterlokaal openen. Samenwerken aan maximale ontwikkelkansen voor kinderen in Noardeast-Fryslân Om kinderen die extra zorg en aandacht nodig hebben beter te helpen, slaan het onderwijs, jeugdzorg en de gemeente Noardeast-Fryslân de handen ineen. In 2021 is de regionale aanpak Zorg & Onderwijs bepaald De regionale aanpak is gericht op zo min mogelijk bureaucratie en betere ondersteuning in de klas, op school, bij de opvang of in het gezin. “It bart no noch faak dat bern út harren eigen fertroude omjouwing helle wurde om op in oar plak help en stipe te krijen. Wylst bygelyks de juf of master dy 't it bern alle dagen sjocht, faak folle bettere oplossingen hat.” vertelt wethouder Jouke Douwe de Vries. “We wolle dêrom soargje foar mear maatwurk op skoalle en de opfang. Mear sjen wat it bern écht nedich hat en stopje mei it ûnnedich plakken fan labels. Op dizze wize binne der minder trochferwizings nei djoere spesjalistyske soarch nedich, dêr binne wy wis fan.”

[regioonlineofficial]

De gemeente Dantumadiel set útein mei in projekt om it Frysktalich skriuwen ûnder skoalbern yn de gemeente te ferbetterjen. Op 4 skoallen yn de groepen 7 en 8, wurde lessen jun oer it fertellen en skriuwen fan Fryske ferhalen. De skoallen dy’t meidogge binne CBS De Boustien en IBS It Pompeblêd beide yn De Westereen, de Th. De Vriesskoalle yn Feanwâlden en de Dr. J. Botkeskoalle yn Damwâld. “Foar in soad bern yn Dantumadiel is it Frysk harren memmetaal. Der wurdt in soad Frysk praat. It skriuwen bliuwt der wat op efter. Ik hoopje dat dizze lessen der oan bydrage dat bern it Frysk ek mear skriuwe sille”, sa seit wethâlder Rommy Kempenaar. Priis foar it moaiste Frysktalich ferhaal De lessen binne fuortdaliks nei de hjerstfakânsje útsein set. As ófsluting komt skriuwster Lida Dijkstra by de skoallen del om te fertellen oer hoe’t ferhalen skreaun wurde. Wethâlder Rommy Kempenaar wie 15 novimber op basisskoalle It Pompeblêd yn De Westereen om te sjen hoe’t Lida Dijkstra de skriuwersles jûch. Under de skoallen is in wedstryd útskreaun Wa’t it moaiste ferhaal skriuwt, dy kriget in priis.

[regioonlineofficial]

Maatschappelijke organisaties in Noardeast-Fryslân kunnen via een subsidie compensatie krijgen voor de hoge energiekosten van afgelopen winterperiode. De gemeenteraad heeft hiervoor € 700.000 beschikbaar gesteld. Deze subsidie is vanaf 10 juli beschikbaar. Veel maatschappelijke organisaties hebben sinds vorig jaar te maken met hoge energiekosten. Maatschappelijke organisaties zijn bijvoorbeeld een dorps- en buurthuis, een kerkgebouw, MFA en MFC, een jeugdhonk, een structureel gesubsidieerde cultuurinstelling, cultuurvereniging of sportvereniging in de gemeente Noardeast-Fryslân. De regeling is bedoeld is om bij te springen bij organisaties die door hogere energiekosten in problemen zijn gekomen of dreigen te komen. Wat wordt gecompenseerd? De subsidie compenseert meerkosten over de periode 1 oktober 2022 tot 1 april 2023 ten opzichte van de periode 1 oktober 2019 tot 1 april 2020. De aanvrager krijgt 50 procent van het berekende energienadeel als subsidie vergoed. De subsidie bedraagt maximaal €25.000,- per aanvrager Aanvragen kan tot 1 oktober a.s. "Maatskiplike organisaasjes binne tige wichtich foar de mienskip. Wy wolle se stypje mei de regeling foar enerzjykompensaasje en de al eardere fêststelde regeling foar ferduorsumingsmaatregels". Wethâlder Soepboer ropt de bestjoeren op: meitsje gebrûk fan de subsydzjemooglikheden, sadat foarsjennings en harren aktiviteiten beskikber bliuwe foar de ynwenners". Meer informatie bij gemeente Noardeast-Fryslân Meer informatie is te vinden via www.noardeast-fryslan.nl/subsidies-en-fondsen.

[regioonlineofficial]

Tytsjerksteradiel maakt, met hulp van inwoners en dorpsbelangen, een nieuw mobiliteitsplan (verkeersplan). In dit plan staat hoe de gemeente in de komende 10 jaar de leefbaarheid, verkeersveiligheid en bereikbaarheid in de gemeente wil vergroten.   Wethouder Tytsy Willemsma: ‘Wy wolle in plan meitsje dat breed droegen wurdt troch ús mienskip. Dat kin allinnich as ús ynwenners meitinke oer harren omjouwing. Fiele se har feilich as se op 'e fyts nei it doarp gean? Kinne se goed fan A nei B komme? Wat giet der goed, mar foaral: wat kin better?’ Inwoners en dorpsbelangen kunnen tot en met 9 april hun mening geven via een korte vragenlijst op denkmee.t-diel.nl. Breed gedragen mobiliteitsplan  Het huidige gemeentelijk verkeer- en vervoerplan is niet meer actueel. Het nieuwe mobiliteitsplan moet inzicht geven in de richting waar de gemeente de komende 10 jaar in wil ontwikkelen op het gebied van verkeer en vervoer. Daarbij is een goede balans tussen bereikbaarheid, leefbaarheid en verkeersveiligheid belangrijk. Niet alleen inwoners en dorpsbelangen worden betrokken. Ook worden sessies georganiseerd met o.a. de provincie Fryslân, buurgemeenten, politie, Arriva en de Fietsersbond.  Alle informatie wordt verzameld en uitgewerkt tot een concept mobiliteitsplan. Na de zomer kunnen belanghebbenden hierop reageren. Aan het einde van het jaar besluit de raad over het plan.  

[regioonlineofficial]

Wethâlder Chris van Hes rikke hjoed de Fryske Kultuerpriis út oan de makkers fan it radioprogramma Gaastnijs fan Radio Spannenburg. De programmamakkers Lucas Hoogkamp, Hans Eisma en Wietze de Haan namen de priis fan € 750,- yn ûntfangst. De sjuery foar dizze priis bestiet út Chris van Hes, Meindert Tjerkstra en Douwkje Douma-Zijlstra. De sjuery hat Gaastnijs selektearre út 8 ferskillende foardrachten, wêrfan't sommige meardere kearen neamd binne.   Sjueryrapport De sjuery oer de winners: "De winners fan de Fryske Kultuerpriis dogge al jierren geweldich wurk foar de hiele gemeente De Fryske Marren. Se ferslaan nijs op harren eigen autentike manier. Se binne oeral yn ús gemeente te finen. De ynterviewstyl dy't sy ha is posityf en skerp. Neist it nijs wat se bringe stjoere se ek muzyk de eter yn. De fleurichheid dy't se ferspriede is in mearwearde foar ús gemeente en foar de Fryske taal. Frysk en Hollansk mei de er beide wêze en dizze lykweardichheid is in foarbyld foar oaren". De yntsjinners Meiwurkers fan Besikerssintrum Mar en Klif en Museum Joure (tegearre falle dy under de stifting Erfgoed, Natuur en Landschap) kamen op it idee om dizze nominaasje yn te tsjinjen. Direkteur Iris Nutma seit der oer: "As it yn bytsje kin, binne de interviews yn it Frysk, se binne oeral, ynterviews binne posityf fan ynstek, op 'e radio, mar ek (foaral) op Facebook hawwe se in grut beryk". Wêrom jouwe wy de Kultuerpriis? Yn De Fryske Marren wurdt in protte Frysk brûkt, sa as út sifers blykt: 70 oant 80% fan ús ynwenners  praat Frysk, 80 oant 90% ferstiet it ek. De gemeente wol it brûken fan it Frysk stimulearje. De útrikking fan de Kultuerpriis is dêr in middel ta. De priis is dit jier foar it earst útrikt op de ynternasjonale dei fan de memmetaal (International Mother Language Day), in inisjatyf fan UNESCO.