“Mieke Vochsen” is an invitation: pick a name, a face in old photographs, a misfiled ledger, and begin. The act of naming, of repairing, of telling, refuses erasure. Whether she is poet, artisan, archivist, or gumshoe, Mieke’s labor is the same — to gather fragments into a shape that can be passed on.
The trouble began the morning a polished man from The Hague arrived. His name was Van der Horst, and he carried a briefcase made of leather so fine it looked like skin. He represented a consortium that wanted to build a luxury resort on the barrier island just offshore—the one the villagers called Slaapsters Eiland , the Sleeper’s Island. mieke vochsen