Chapter 1. The journey begins
Maria shifted restless in her seat, her face pressed against the car window, as fields and silent woods passed by. The peaceful countryside of Drenthe, a province in the north of the Netherlands, seemed to stretch on forever, with low hills and grasslands dotted with wildflowers and sturdy oaks. It was late summer and the air felt thick with heat, which held the promise of adventure. Maria was about to visit the Dolmens, or ‘Hunebedden’ as they called them in Holland. They were supposedly ancient stone tombs, built from large boulders, left by people who walked this land thousands of years ago. Maria had been reading about it for weeks, studying pictures and maps, but nothing could have prepared her for the sense of mystery that now filled the air as they approached the site.
“Mommy, how much longer?” she asked, as excitement bubbled and they turned onto a narrow gravel road, shaded by a canopy of leaves. “Just a few more minutes, Maria,” her mother replied, smiling, “You’ll recognize it right away.” Suddenly it was there: a massive, weathered stone structure rising from the earth in a small clearing. It looked like an ancient giant that had fallen asleep, a remnant from another world that had remained steadfast and unmoved here. Maria got out of the car and felt the warm sun on her face as she took in her surroundings.The Hunebed was breathtaking. Huge stones were carefully arranged.
“Like in the shape of a snow igloo,” thought Maria, “or maybe it was a giant turtle.” The stones were rough and gray, strewn with green moss and lichens. Maria walked closer and ran her hand over the stone surface. It was cool under her fingers, but when she pressed her palm to it, she felt a faint buzzing sensation, as if the stone contained a deep, ancient energy. Her mother came closer and smiled at Maria’s delighted expression. “You know, these stones didn’t just become randomly placed.” “The covering stones – these large, flat stones on top – are exactly balanced, because the smallest points of the upper stones are placed on the lower stones.”
Maria’s eyes widened in wonder and she crouched down to take a closer look. Her mother nodded. “That’s one of the mysteries; archaeologists believe these structures were built by these people, the first farmers in Drenthe, who came to live here about 4,000 years BC. “They lived simply, from agriculture and a small herd of cattle and goats and they are only known for their pottery or cup making and yet they built this.” Maria frowned as she stared at the stones. She knew about the Beaker people. They had left behind clay pottery and flint tools, like little fragments of their lives. “But farmers,” she thought, “would never have been able to coordinate something like that so perfectly, would they?” she asked, with a hint of skepticism in her voice.
“I mean… they were farmers, but these stones are so big and they line up exactly with the sun and the stars. “How Have they ever been able to do that?” “I mean, they had to be giants of farmers!?” Her mother smiled fondly at her. “It seems beyond their capabilities, doesn’t it?” But history is full of surprises, Maria. “Sometimes people discover things before their time, things that even we today cannot explain.”
“How many of those Dolmens are actually in Drenthe, Mama?”
“There are fifty-two dolmens in Drenthe alone,” her mother replied, while her eyes scanned the clearing. “They are each numbered, from D1 to D52, and they’re all in the same east-west direction, because you know which direction the sun rises from, Maria?”
“Sure, from the West!”, because that’s on my left, says Maria stubbornly.”
Her mother laughs: “No, the sun rises in the east!”
Marias gaze followed the row of stones and her imagination went wild. All fifty-two dolmens faced the sun, as if they had been waiting for someone for 6,000 years. she would unveil mysteries. She looked up past the stones, at the rolling ridge of the Hondsrug, a long hill that stretched across the landscape, from north to south, almost like a backbone for the old country.
“Why did they choose the Hondsrug?” she asked, feeling a growing sense of awe.
“The Hondsrug emerged at the end of the last ice age,” her mother explains. “It’s one of the highest areas of Drenthe. They say that these stones came with the melting snow via Norway and Sweden as ‘boulders’.
“When was the end of the ice age?” Maria asked. “Very good question!” her mother replied: “This was also around 5000 years BC, at the same time that the Mammoths disappeared and the Dolmens were built.
Maria nodded attentively, but was only half listening. Her mind was buzzing with questions and chaotic images. The thought that other people, thousands of years before her, had also stood in this place and looked at the same landscape, the same sun and the same stars, was mind-boggling.
“One day I will find out who really built these Dolmens, Mamma, and also why.” “That will be great,” said Mamma, “the stones have been waiting a long time for someone to listen.
Chapter 2. The Legend of the Dolmens
That evening, Mara settled into the large chair by the fire in their cozy cottage, her mind still filled with the images of the Dolmens and the feel of those ancient stones under her fingertips. Her Grandmother sat next to her, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea and a soft, knowing smile upon her face.
Grandma had always been Mara’s favorite person to talk to about mysteries, and tonight felt like the perfect time to ask questions. The cottage was quiet and warm, with the soft crackle of the fire and the faint scent of pine trees filling the room. It was quiet outside, as if the world itself was listening. Grandma looked over her cup at her granddaughter. “What did you think of the Dolmens today?” Mara’s eyes lit up and she leaned forward eagerly. “It was great, Grandma!” I thought I understood what they looked like, but when I saw them in real life… it felt like the stones were alive, …and they are so perfectly placed! “I can’t believe farmers thousands of years ago could build something like this… impossible!”
Grandma chuckled and put down her mug. “Yes, those farmers were skilled, weren’t they?” But there are many who believe they have had help along the way. “You see, those stones have been part of this land for as long as anyone can remember, but there are legends that say only giants could have built something so big.”
“Giants?” Maria’s heart skipped a beat as she remembered the massive stones stacked with such precision and so carefully balanced on those small points. She saw it in her mind: the endless forests of Drenthe, long ago, echoing with the sounds of these mighty creatures, Giants lifting the boulders as if they were pebbles, boulders weighing so many tons that even modern machines would struggle to lift them.
“Yes, Giants,” Grandma said, her eyes sparkling with the same excitement Maria felt. “The people mentioned here used to be called the ‘Huyen’, which were Giants who roamed the land and built dolmens to mark their place on earth and honor their ancestors. Some believe they had a special knowledge of the Earth and the stars. “They understood things that even we have forgotten.” Mara’s thoughts raced: ‘But who were they? “Were they… for real?”
Grandma looked thoughtful, as if she were weighing how much to say. “Well, it depends who you ask, but if you ask me, they were just as real as you and me, only taller!” Grandma gave Maria a wink and Mara burst out laughing: “Of course, it’s not that strange that “Giants” would have existed!” “Just like Dinosaurs and Mammoths, which once were so huge, everything just got smaller!”
Maria gave Grandma a kiss on the cheek before she walked up the stairs to her bedroom, smiling. Reassured that she was no longer the only one who “believed” in Giants. If Grandma believed in it, then these great people might have been real after all. A week later, Grandma came to visit them: in the meantime, Mara had come up with a few burning questions for Grandma: “Grandma, are there any more places like this?” “Other places with giant rocks?” Maria asked, hopping impatiently from one leg to the other, barely able to wait for the answer.
Grandma’s smile deepened. “Yes, Maria, the Dolmens are only part of a much bigger mystery.” These stones can be found all over the world. “They built these kinds of structures in countries like Norway, Greece, Ethiopia and even on remote islands like Easter Island, far across the ocean.” Maria’s eyes widened as she imagined a vast, ancient network of stone markers stretching across the globe. She imagined these builders from so long ago, spread across continents but somehow connected. “So… it’s like they were all part of one big plan?”
Grandma nodded, her eyes far away, as if she were seeing something only she could understand. “Yes, my child, some say that these old people were guided by the stars.” They followed patterns that connected them to the sky, marking the land with stones aligned with the sun and moon, and probably the stars as well. “I think many people have forgotten to look at the sky, especially in big cities, where the stars are hidden by light.” People have forgotten the moon and the stars, but you are different, Maria. You’ve always looked up, you’ve always wondered about things. “As long as there are people like you, the stars will continue to whisper their secrets, just like the stones.”
Chapter 3. The Stones at Stonehenge
During Maria’s first visit to the Dolmens, she became even more fascinated by ancient mysteries and read all kinds of books about early cultures and their symbols, ‘megalithic’ monuments and their connections with the earth. Now her school had announced a field trip to Stonehenge and she was very excited by the idea of being able to compare these famous stones, which were ten times the size of those of the Dolmens.
But nothing she had read could have prepared her for the feeling of facing the towering stones. When she looked up, she felt dizzy from the height, as if she were suddenly standing on top of the stone, instead of with both feet on the ground. The great stones of the ancient circle rose from the earth like enormous broad pillars, solid, yet with an air of mystery, as if the stones were fading away at the edges. Like a huge silent clock that had once kept time through the stars and the sun, the large stones captured and retained their energy for thousands of years.
Maria listened intently as their guide, Miss Taylor, tried to explain history and theories surrounding Earth’s evolution: “The sun is also a big star, rather than just a huge sphere or planet, with a huge sea of flames coming out of it.” That means the sun is a dying star that will one day be gone! That big sun, which seems to stay in the sky forever, is seen from the Universe as a ‘dwarf star’ or ‘a small dwarf’, compared to much larger stars! The sun was formed about 4.6 billion years ago and fortunately still has just as many billions of years to go”, the guide continued, looking at the group as if she were telling good news: “but when it finally goes out, it first grows bigger due to the heat and becomes a ‘red giant’ before dying, shrouded in mist and smoke, that’s why they call it a ‘little white dwarf’.”
Maria couldn’t help but shout out her question loudly, “So where do those fairy tales about giants and dwarves or gnomes come from?” Everyone in the class laughed, but Miss Taylor seemed a little taken aback by Maria’s unexpected question, to which she had no answer. “Ancient people believed deeply in the power of the sun and the cycles of the seasons,” Miss Taylor continued, as if she had not heard Maria’s question. “Stonehenge is aligned with the solstice: when summer begins on July 21, the sun aligns exactly with the ‘Heel Stone’, the large stone you see lying on top of the other two. It is shaped into a horseshoe, causing the sun to cast light right through the center of the monument. It’s fascinating how the prehistoric population has been able to calculate that on that day, when the sun is at its highest point at noon, it is also at its highest point in the Northern Hemisphere, at the same time as the Southern Hemisphere, making it day on one half of the earth and night on the other half of the earth. It is like cutting an apple in half from North to South!
“The most incredible thing is that the midpoint between the two points – the Northern and Southern Hemispheres – is reached on June 21, when the sun is exactly vertically above the equator, as if you cut the apple in half again, but now from East to West! And this ‘reversal of the sun’ happens on the one day we know as ‘Tropic of Cancer’ of the North and ‘Tropic of Capricorn’ in the South! The sun, as it were, turns during the solstice. “They must have been great giants if they had that perspective on the earth,” Maria thought, but she kept that thought to herself.
“For all we know,” Miss Taylor continued, “Stonehenge may have been a place of worship and ceremony. Gatherings of people who lived in small tribes, where celebrations took place around the open fire for three days and three nights. They had eight of these nature festivals a year, divided into four lunar and four solar festivals, depending on the cycles of the seasons. “They also worshiped trees, stones and rivers and saw everything in nature as part of a connecting web.”
Maria’s curiosity increased. She understood how the different tribes would gather, as they still did at the winter solstice, a few days before Christmas, or even at the spring equinox, around Easter, as the beginning of the new year. The group walked slowly around the monument and Mara was drawn to a quiet spot at the edge of the stones. Maria reached out to touch the cold surface and felt that familiar tingle, as if the stone contained echoes of ancient voices. At that moment, she could almost imagine herself in another life, here under the same stars, being part of a festival that lasted three days. A soft voice spoke next to her, breaking her daydream:
“Are you looking for something?” Startled, Maria opened her eyes to see a cheerful-looking boy about her age standing next to her. He wore a dark green scarf and held a small notebook in his hand. “Oh, I…I guess I was just daydreaming,” Maria said with an awkward smile. “About what it would have been like thousands of years ago.” The boy nodded knowingly. “I feel the same way.” It’s like the stones are full of memories, isn’t it?”
“Yes!” Maria replied, relieved to find someone here who understood. “I feel like if I listen hard enough, I might hear something.” The boy smiled. ‘Have you come to know the old beliefs? The ancient people who worshiped trees, rivers and even stones? “They believed that everything was alive and that everything had a spirit or an energy.” Maria nodded and remembered what the guide had said. “I felt the same on the stones at home, in the Netherlands.”
The boy’s eyes were wide in surprise. “Do you also have these types of stones in the Netherlands?”
“Yes, they are called ‘Hunebedden’ and they are not as famous as Stonehenge, but still very old. Maybe the people who built these ‘megalithic structures’ knew each other, or had the same beliefs, perhaps shared they even share their knowledge of the stars and the seasons” Maria’s thoughts raced: “What if all these ancient sites were part of a network, as Grandma had said, and the people who built them shared the same understanding of the world?”
The boy put his notebook in his pocket and looked at her with a grin: “I feel like people like you and me should keep the memory alive, don’t you think?” “To understand what the stones mean.” He showed her a small gemstone, worn smooth by time, captured in a delicate silver necklace. “Here, take this,” he said. “I found it here a few years ago.” “It is a rose quartz or ‘heart stone’, a symbol of ‘connection’ – a reminder that these places are all connected, just like us.” Maria picked up the stone and felt its warmth in her hand. She closed her fingers around it and looked up, but the boy had already disappeared into the mist that Stonehenge suddenly surrounded. She didn’t know if she would ever see him again, but when she put the stone in her pocket, she felt a deeper sense of connection than ever before.
As she walked back to the bus, Maria felt inspired. She would follow these connections, these symbols and stories, wherever they led. She wanted to understand how people from so long ago had known so much about the Universe and how they had been able to listen to the world in ways that now seemed lost.She sat down in her seat on the bus and stared at the stones of Stonehenge one more time. She felt their presence, as if they were looking at her one more time, encouraging her to keep searching.
Chapter 4: Mega Stones around the world
Back in her room, surrounded by cards, books and a notebook chock full of sketches, Maria felt the pieces starting to fit together. Her research into megalithic structures around the world had revealed a fascinating pattern. As she mapped each spot, she discovered that there were at least 1350 larger dolmens in Northern Germany that were arranged in the same way as in Drenthe, in the same line as in Drenthe, just behind the natural hill border, the Hondsrug. In addition to the famous stones of Stonehenge, there were the Carnac Stones in France, thousands of weathered stones arranged in mysterious rows across the fields.
In England, Ireland and France they were called ‘Dolmen’, but there were hundreds of individually standing enormous stones, of enormous size, which were called ‘Menhirs’. Despite their beautiful appearance they were only remembered as in ‘Asterix and Obelix’, Gauls from France, where Obelix carries one of these Menhirs around casually, waiting for someone ‘to throw a stone at’. Maria thought of another cartoon: ‘The Flintstones’, a family living in the Stone Age, who drove a car made of stone, with stone wheels, but Fred and Barney had to push their car with their feet and move it. She looked at an old cartoon of the Flintstones on her phone and saw a big dinosaur with a long neck helping Fred and Barney in the quarry by lifting the stones with his mouth, as if he were a large crane truck.
She wondered why they had these dinosaurs associated with the Stone Age, as if Dinos hadn’t gone extinct long before Fred and Barney showed up and she kept on looking for more information. She discovered dinosaurs were extinct by a comet that crashed in Utah, America, about 66 million years ago. Prehistoric people like the Neanderthals were cave dwellers who lived in caves, hunters and gatherers with nothing but clubs or spears. They lived around 40,000 years BC, at the end of the last ice age, where they survived for at least 1,000 years in frigid conditions and snowy environments before the ice caps began to melt, until they eventually died out as well. It took more than 40,000 years before modern humans or ‘Homo Sapiens’ arrived in the Netherlands, approximately 5,000 years BC.
Maria continued to look for stones across the shores of Europe and discovered one wondrous place after another: from stone circles arranged purposefully and with incredible precision on the earth, if you looked from above, to the gigantic statues of Rapa Nui, stone statues with faces, like a row of seven giants, looking out over the sea. as if they were still expecting other giants, while they stood on an island for thousands of years in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, disconnected from all other living beings. She came across some of the latest discoveries: sunken ruins at the coast of Greece, with beautiful pillars and entire floors of mystical mosaic, laid in ancient patterns, as if to decorate the bottom of the Mediterranean. As she continued to study the markings on her map, she muttered, “Well, I suppose someone just forgot to connect the dots…”
Chapter 5: Grandfather’s Giants
Maria had heard that her Grandma had researched a part of her family tree and now she was determined to do some research herself. She kept looking at the dots on her map, marking the stones all over Western Europe, and she kept connecting these dots until she understood what story they were trying to tell her. The following weekend, Maria’s mother suggested she visit her grandparents, who lived in a small house on the edge of the Hondsrug. Her grandfather was the manager of a number of dolmens and took care of the land around them.
Maria’s heart skipped a beat, when she saw her Grandfather standing outside his house. He looked as sturdy as an oak, with a friendly, rugged face and large stature. In the afternoon they walked together through the fields and visited the nearby dolmens. When they reached the largest stone, Maria touched the cool stone and imagined how giants would have built them. “Grandpa,” Maria said, turning to him, “Did you ever believe those stories about Giants?” Grandpa smiled and his eyes narrowed into little laughing lines. “Oh, absolutely.” When I was young, my Grandfather told me the legend of ‘Ellert and Brammert’ – two Giants who lived in Drenthe, hundreds of thousands of years ago!”
He gestured to the dolmens and his voice became softer, as if he were sharing a secret: “The two of them were not just like any other Giants! They were protectors of the land. People used to believe that they watched over Drenthe and protected the land as living guardtowers.” Maria’s eyes widened in surprise, “What happened to them?” Grandpa chuckled: “legend has it, that they are still here, in our minds or in our memories. Watching over the stones, waiting for someone who still remembers their stories. “Maybe someone like you, Maria.”
They continued walking and as they did, Maria shared her idea about tracing her family tree, to see who their great-grandfathers and mothers were. Grandpa looked at her proudly. “Our family has been in Drenthe for a long time and I could give you the names of my father and mother and their ancestors. Then we could go to the Archives of Drenthe and they can help us find the rest of our family tree”. That evening, as Mara sat at her desk at home, she began drawing her family tree, starting with her grandfather and grandmother. She felt that every name she added was like a new stone in her own connection with the past. As she traced the lines of her ancestors on her laptop, Maria wondered how she could further expand her interest in prehistory, to further explore the connection between the Great Stones.
Chapter 6. The Story of The Statue of Bartje
It was a cool morning when Maria and her Grandfather arrived at Drenthe’s Archives. The imposing historic building seemed to be waiting for her, full of promises of old stories and lost memories. “Here, Maria,” her grandfather said softly, pointing to a statue of a little boy, dressed in short trousers and wooden shoes, holding his little hands in his pockets: “Look who’s standing there!” “Do you know him?”
“That is Bartje” her Grandfather said with a smile. “He is almost a legend here in Drenthe, but nowadays hardly anyone knows who he was, except for one thing: he ‘doesn’t pray for brown beans’.” Maria had to laugh. “Don’t pray for brown beans?” “Why not?” Her Grandfather sat down on a bench and patted next to her. “Come sit down and I’ll tell you his story. It’s something my Grandfather once told me when I was your age.” Maria sat down next to him, her gaze fixed on the statue, while Grandpa started his story.
“Bartje lived a long time ago, in a time when people here in Drenthe had to work very hard to make ends meet. Bartje’s family was poor; his father was a farm laborer and worked in the fields for the big farmers. They almost never had enough to eat, and what they did have were mainly brown beans. “Always just beans,” he said with a wink. “Sometimes they add a little syrup over it, like we now do with pancakes, to give it some flavor, but other than that, besides a little piece of bread, there was little to eat. “After a long day of work,” Bartje’s mother promised his father a piece of bacon with the beans. That was very special, because they only got that bacon maybe once a week. Bartje, who was happy with the promise of something special, sat down at the table and his mother filled the plates with beans for everyone. But when it was time to eat, only his father got the bacon, because after all, he was the only one working hard in the fields and his mother had forgotten all about the little piece of meat she would save for Bartje.
Maria felt a slight frown on her face. “And Bartje got nothing?” “No little piece of meat for Bartje”, her Grandfather confirmed, but still he had something to eat. But when his father started with his prayer, as they always did before dinner, Bartje refused to pray!. When his father became angry and told Bartje to pray, that’s when Bartje said : ‘I won’t pray for brown beans only!’” Maria burst out laughing. “He really had the nerve to say that?”
“Yes, certainly,” her Grandfather said with a smile. “And that has given him a place in our history. He is a symbol for independence, for having your own voice, even when you are little, or even when you are poor, living in difficult times.” Maria looked again at Bartje’s statue, his posture proud and unyielding. “I think I understand,” she said softly. “He didn’t want to bow down to something he didn’t believe in.” “That’s quite brave.”
Her grandfather nodded. “Precisely.” And that is something you often see here in Drenthe. The people may be modest, but they are strong, and they stick to their principles. Just like Bartje.” Maria smiled and stood up. As they walked further to the archive room, she felt closer to the history of Drenthe than ever. Bartje was not just a story; he was a reminder of the power of individuality and perseverance, something she wanted to take with her in her own quest.
Chapter 7. At Grandma’s Table
After their visit to the Archives and the statue of Bartje, Maria and her Grandfather drove to their house, where the smell of brown beans and bacon already greeted them at the front door. Maria smiled. “Grandma always makes food that smells like the old days,” she said softly. At the table stood a large pan with steaming brown beans, bacon, onions and a generous spoonful of mustard in the middle. As Grandma bragged, Maria looked at her curiously. “Grandma, what was it really like to be poor?” Grandpa told me about Bartje today, and I try to imagine what it was like to always have to eat beans”.
Grandma laughed as she put down her spoon. “Oh child, being poor not only means having little, but also having to be creative.” You know what that always reminds me of? The story of the stone soup.” Maria looked at her grandmother with wide eyes. “Stone soup”? “How do you do that?” “I’ll tell you,” Grandma said with a wink: “A long time ago, in a village far away, there lived a poor man who had nothing, except a large pan and a few stones.” He was hungry and had no food, but he had an idea. “He put a large pan of water on the fire, threw the stones in it, and then his neighbor went by. “What are you doing there?” asked the neighbor. “I’m making stone soup,” the man said proudly. “But it would taste even better with a little salt, would you happen to have some salt?” The neighbor went back to his own house and brought him some salt and then he said, “Maybe an onion wouldn’t hurt either.” And so he brought him an onion.
“Do you know what happened then, Maria?” Grandma asked with a smile. Maria shook her head, completely engaged by the story. “The man went from door to door, and every neighbor brought something for the soup—a carrot here, a potato there, and from another neighbor he got a sprig of parsley. In the end he had a big pot full of delicious soup, and the whole neighborhood ended up eating the soup togeGrandma looked at Maria with a twinkle in her eye. “See, girl?” Being poor doesn’t mean you have nothing. “It means that you learn to work together, to make something beautiful out of little.” Maria took a bite of her beans and thought about the story. She looked at her Grandfather and Grandmother, who were happily eating, and felt a warmth flow through her. Maybe being poor wasn’t the worst thing after all—as long as you had family and friends around you”.
ther”.
Grandma looked at Maria with a twinkle in her eye. “See, girl?” Being poor doesn’t mean you have nothing. “It means that you learn to work together, to make something beautiful out of little.” Maria took a bite of her beans and thought about the story. She looked at her Grandfather and Grandmother, who were happily eating, and felt a warmth flow through her. Maybe being poor wasn’t the worst thing after all—as long as you had family and friends around you”.
“Grandma?” Maria asked, “did the soup always used to be as thick as porridge?”
Grandma laughed. “Ah, girl, we didn’t have much before, but the soup and the porridge used to be so thick, that the spoon stood upright.” Grandpa nodded and added, “That was our secret: the soup had to not only fill you, but also keep you warm—inside and out.”
Maria smiled as she listened. It felt like she was not just looking at a meal, but at a whole life full of wisdom and warmth.
Grandma laughed as she added some more mustard to her beans. “It used to be different, in the old days. The pot stood in the middle of the table. We had no plates, no bowls, only spoons and everyone ate from the same pot.” Maria looked surprised and Grandma continued giggling: “If you found a lump in your porridge—and there always were—you just spit it back in the pot, that’s how it was back then.” The three of them burst out laughing, and Grandma looked at her granddaughter: “You know, Maria”, she said with a soft smile, “Whether you’re cooking soup or porridge Maria, always add a little love, that makes everything better, doesn’t it?”
Chapter 8. To Greece, the lost World of Atlantis
Maria narrowed her eyes as the Mediterranean sun reflected off the waves, casting a soft glow over the rocky coastline. Finally she was in Greece, surrounded by the smell of olive trees and the salty water of the turquoise blue sea. She was sitting on the beach, next to her friend Elena – a fellow student archaeology, which she had met during her studies – both staring at the same sea, happily excited. It had taken months of planning, but they had finally arrived in Greece, near the ruins Maria had read about, remains of a city long submerged. It made her realize how much of history was still undiscovered, how much was still hidden, just beneath the surface, at the bottom of the sea or deep under the ground.
They had come here to dive near an ancient submerged site, said to have been part of an earlier Greek civilization that inspired the ‘Legend of Atlantis’. Ancient writers like Plato had described Atlantis as an advanced society, a vast island full of grand temples and stone roads, now hidden beneath centuries of tides.
Maria became fascinated by the legends of Greece as she leafed through pages of books on mythology and ancient history. Stories of gods and giants filled her mind, weaving connections that she instinctively wanted to explore. In Greek lore, giants, one-eyed Cyclops and Titans had once roamed the earth, descendants of Gaia, Mother Earth, and Kronos, the original Father of Heaven. It reminded her of the Drenthe legends, the stories her grandfather had told her about the Giants who built the Dolmens.
What fascinated her most was the story of Poseidon and the mythical island of Atlantis. According to ancient accounts, Atlantis was a great civilization, advanced and powerful, ruled by Poseidon, the God of the Sea. But the people of Atlantis, proud and bold, had angered the gods, and the whole island was swallowed up by the sea – a paradise lost beneath the waves.
She read attentively and noted mentions of the island of Ogygia, where Odysseus was held captive by the nymph Calypso. Some writers associated Ogygia with the mid-Atlantic Ocean, far from Greece, while others argue that it could be a hidden island in the Mediterranean Sea itself. Her mind was spinning with possibilities. Could there still be traces of Atlantis or another lost civilization to be discovered beneath the sea?
This fascination had brought her to Greece, accompanied by her friend Elena. Together they had arranged a dive close to shore, where they believed part of an ancient city lay beneath the waves. The Mediterranean sun sparkled on the water as they put on their diving suits, and the girls giggled with excitement. As they submerged in the sea, Maria was awed by the silent, blue world that stretched before her and the only sound was the slow rhythm of their breathing. They followed their guide to the seabed, where faint outlines of stone structures began to emerge from the sand and seaweed. They watched in awe how the shapes became clearer: stone columns half buried, carved steps leading nowhere, fragments of pottery in the silt of the seabed.
The seabed contained beautiful mosaic floors, made from small pieces of glazed stone, in beautiful patterns and striking colors. Here and there, stone pillars sank diagonally into the seabed, like the forgotten heroes of Greece, remnants of a world that had once been prosperous. Her eyes fell on a mosaic half buried in the sand. She wiped away some silt, revealing an intricate design of waves and snakes – symbols that reminded her of Poseidon and the legends of the sea. The mosaic seemed to shimmer under her touch, as if the story of Atlantis pulsed beneath her fingers like the echo of a heartbeat from the mythical Empire.
When they surfaced again, Maria’s thoughts were racing. There was a part where the ruins lay over the rocks of the island, with a stone staircase leading them out of the water as if the present Poseidon it had been specially decorated as if it were a swimming pool was, and to invite the people of our time to take a look at this underwater world. As she looked out over the Greek coastline, she knew Immediately that her journey was far from over. Each place she had visited was like a chapter in a book she was compiling: a story that connected her family, her heritage, and the mysteries of the ancient world.
Chapter 9. Memories of the Past
A few years later Maria went to a role play in the village, where they told a story they had made about the ‘Giant of the Dolmens’. She was happy, she was no longer the only one who shared the idea that Dolmens might have been built by ‘Giants of Men’. Maria’s attention is immediately captured by the young girl in the play, where she meets ‘the ghost of the Giant’ in person: he kneels down carefully, so that his face was leveled with the young girl: “Well, hello there, little one,” he murmured, in a voice as deep as the earth itself. “What brings you to my stones?” The young girl in the play stammered, “Your stones?”
The Giant’s laughter rang out, echoing through the air. “Yes, my stones!” I have guarded them for centuries and I still do! I am known as Grundle and long ago I helped with my own two hands to place these stones here”. Grundel’s smile was gentle and his massive right hand rested gently on one of the larger stones. He looked at the girl quizzically for a moment and growled softly, approvingly: “You’re different,” he says, “most people just come here to have a look and then leave immediately.”
“That makes me quite sad,” Grundle continues, “It feels like we’re not even worth looking at, or taking a moment to think about, as if we built all those monuments in Drenthe for nothing.” “Even if we had used them as cemeteries, shouldn’t we be more respected, or even appreciated for that, rather than just being a pile of stones?” Grundle was asking for himself, but he seemed to understand that it wasn’t the girl’s fault either and that she felt the same way: “But you… you feel the stones, you listen!”
“Yes, I feel like they have something to say, something hidden that no one has been able to find,” said the young girl on stage. The giant nodded approvingly. “You’re right, girl. The stones contain memories and stories from long ago, and some of those stories are about my relatives – the Giants. “Would you like to hear one?” The girl nodded eagerly, her eyes wide with excitement: “Many, many years ago,” Grundle began, “Giants roamed this land. We were a mighty people, strong and wise. It must be clear that we were not all men. Along with our Giant women and children, we traveled over the land, over mountains and straight through the sea, across the rivers and swamps”. Suddenly, Maria remembers when she was a small child sitting on her own father’s shoulders. Although her father was a small man, she felt like he was a Giant. Maria remembered the joy of ‘being great’, greater even than the rest of the people. Her father showed her a glimpse of the world in a way she hadn’t seen before as a young child, and a warm smile appeared on her face, as she remembered that epic moment.
“We lived in harmony with nature and we had a special bond with the earth, but also with the sun, the moon and the stars,” Grundle continued patiently. “Because we were so big, we could reach for the stars and the sun was like a father to us during the day, and at night the Moon watched over us like a mother when we were sleeping. Grundle looks wistfully into the distance for a moment, remembering those old times, long before little people walked the earth: “My grandfather was one of the greatest Giants of them all.” His name was Bodin, a Giant so tall that his head brushed the clouds, and his strength was unparalleled, but he was known for more than just his size; he was a protector of the land, a builder of the Dolmens and a storyteller.”
“Bodin believed that stones from the Dolmens had a special power. He taught us to place them in predetermined circles, rows and shapes, parallel to the stars that stood above them. We used these stones to mark important places and to indicate the changes of the seasons, by aligning them with the sun and moon, and finally the stones were intended as monuments, to honor those who had come before, our ancestors”. Grundle gestures to the Dolmen on stage, which was made of foam rubber: “These stones here are the only evidence of our existence and our heritage.”
Maria’s eyes sparkled, “Did Grundle just say that the stones had ‘spirits’?” Grundle was nodding solemnly. “The stones carry the memories within them. Each of them contains a little piece of our story, a little piece of our essence. When a Giant builds with stones, he leaves a part of himself behind. “Bodin believed that our spirits would live on forever, through these stones.” The young girl finally asks her burning question: “But how is it possible that something as solid as a stone, which has been in the same place for centuries, can hold something as fleeting and invisible as memories and the spirit of the giants?”
Grundle chuckles because he had expected the question and he seems to be happy, trying to explain why it is possible that something as hard as a rock can contain so much energy for a long period of time: “You’ve probably heard of Einstein’s formula of E=MC squared?”, he asks. The young girl looks worried, because she has indeed heard about it in math class, but still doesn’t understand what it means: “Does it have something to do with space?” she asks nervously. “Very good!” Grundle says, wanting to reward her for asking him; “but we can also apply the same formula to the stones; it means that the E is for Energy and the M is for the Mass, being the same!” Energy moves at the speed of light, just like a shooting star, at 300,000 kilometers per second! The energy in the stone moves, as it were, in the center of the large or small stone, but twice as fast as the speed of light!”
“It means that no matter how big the mass or how big the stones are, they contain as much energy, or even twice as much energy, as a shooting star! The stones contain an incredible amount of energy, and you only need a small stone to contain twice as much energy as the energy of a shooting star!” The people in the audience start muttering to each other in delight, as if in a collective – aha experience – because most of them finally understand the formula themselves, thanks to Grundle’s explanation. The young girl in the play answered in her own surprised way: “Then…could it be that the stones are some kind of ancient energy generators or energy stores?” Grundle claps his hands in excitement: “That’s a brilliant idea, little one, but let’s leave that to your ‘science’ to investigate”!
The play pauses and the audience can get a drink at the bar, while they talk excitedly about the performance. but Maria is still sitting in her chair trying to grasp the whole idea of her feelings for the stones. For the first time in her life, she doesn’t feel stupid, having feelings for something ‘dead as a stone’, as she remembers hearing the whispers of the stones, traveling through time at the doubled speed of light. She touches the small, pink quartz stone on her necklace and feels the familiar, warm feeling of connection and universal love flowing through her again. The audience soon returns from the break and the play continues, while Maria continues to watch with an enormously warm feeling of being understood.
Grundle continues to tell where the Giants live: “We preferred to live in caves, to protect ourselves from the cold and wild animals, but when the little people came, it was a good place to hide, because the little people were afraid of us and did not understand us.” Grundle leaned closer, his voice soft : “You see, my child, it’s the same formula. Although you are small, you have the same amount of energy as a giant, even twice as much as me!”
“So when the little people came, they came as a group and together they multiplied that energy as if it were a group of Giants! That’s why even a little man can defeat a Giant just by throwing a stone at him, because that little stone has twice the power or the energy of a Giant! But one day Giants started to disappear. One by one they all died and the world changed. The little people forgot all about us and said that we only existed in fairy tales. “Only our stones remained, memories of the time we walked through this beautiful country.” This stone here contains not only ‘the spirit of Bodin’, but of all the Giants who came before and after him. He chose this place, long before it was called Drenthe. He chose it because of the peace, the beauty of the land and the significant stars above, which seem to shine brightest here at night.’
The young girl looked up at the awe-inspiring Grundle: “Does this mean that if I’m here at the stones, I’m connected to the spirit of the Giants?” “Yes,” said Grundle, in a reverent voice, “Every time you touch this stone, you connect with my kin and with the stories of the past. By honoring this place, you become part of its story too.” Grundle smiled, a sad but peaceful look in his eyes, “It’s been a long time since someone listened to me Maria.” “My time here was short, but now I know the stones are safe with you.”
Grundle gets up to leave: “You just keep asking those ‘stupid’ questions, little girl! Remember there are no such things as stupid questions, only stupid answers!” Grundle walks off stage, with the sound of approaching thunder in the distance as he’s leaving. Maria is still sitting in her chair, when the audience has left for another round of drinks. She says out loud to herself: “Now I understand why a ‘heart of stone’ is not cold and why an ordinary stone is as precious as a gemstone, as a rose quartz or as a ruby, because it contains twice as much light as a shooting star and therefore it must also contains twice as much heat or warmth as the sun!”
Chapter 10: The Gift of the Heartstone
Maria walked through the quiet village and turned right at the Medieval St. James Church, in the direction of the Twin Dolmens – D17 and D18 – which stood parallel to each other, like silent companions. Although one of the structures was almost destroyed, it had a silent power, as if it was still guarding something precious. Maria remembered the boy she met near Stonehenge, a bright-eyed kindred spirit who had given her the rose quartz stone, polished into a teardrop shape and set in a simple chain. Maria had worn it ever since, finding comfort in its warmth and the memory of a friend just passing by..
Behind the church was an old cemetery, covered with gravestones dating back to the year 1879. Mara passed D17 to her left, when she felt a subtle pull towards the crumbling stones of D18. She knelt down by the stones, her fingers tracing the rough, moss-covered surface. It was here, almost forgotten among the ruined stones, that she felt the energy of her ‘Heartstone’ resonate. She felt the pink quartz glowing softly for a moment, pulsating with warmth, as if it seemed to reflect the silent strength of her heart and that of the Dolmens around her.
Her dear Grandfather had been dead for years now, but his memory made it feel as if he was with her and still stood behind her in everything she did: his voice was floating in her thoughts: “Maria… you listened carefully, you are ready to understand…The Heart Stone is like a bridge, Maria, a bridge of connection between the past and the future, of what is known and what remains to be known. An invisible bridge that connects you with me and to people of all ages in different places, all over the world.”
The two Dolmens or the “Twins” felt like a reminder of the connections we carry with us and at the same time as a promise, of the bonds that are yet to come. When opening her eyes again, she felt an intense feeling of peace come over her. She now knew that her Heartstone was more than a keepsake; it was a gift, a legacy shared across generations and distances, a solid reminder of the invisible connection between herself and her grandfather, never to be forgotten, forever remembered by the presence of the “Hunebedden”or the Megalithic Structures in Drenthe.
Chapter 11. Return to the Dolmens
Years had passed, but Maria’s connection to the land, the stones and the stories they brought with them, had never faded. She had traveled a lot through her work as an archaeologist and now she was looking at the postcards she had saved, from all those different places. There was actually no one in the entire world who could tell her what the stones were for, except that they were only to be considered as burial places, somewhat related to the sun, the moon and the stars.
She had connected the dots on the map, but this only raised more questions: it was still a mystery how there were huge stones om Rapa Nui, or Eastern Island. with the beautiful different faces engraved on them, as if they were real Giants, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. On one side of the island stood a beautifully formed row of seven Giants, facing the sea, staring as if they were still waiting for someone to come get them. On the hills of the mountains another thousand Giants lay scattered, as if they had been abandoned in the haste and they were placed there randomly. With their bodies half sunk into the ground, they lay huddled across the landscape with ruined faces, seemingly placed there, without any effort, like a graveyard for Giants. Another group of archaeologists had recently excavated some of them and they discovered that the remains of their bodies were hidden in the soil of the mountains. They were not placed there randomly, but huge square gates were purposefully dug out to house the Giants.
Science always thought the stones were made around 1500 BC by the first Polynesian people there, but another archaeologist doing soil research found seeds of the banana plant, which had been brought there by other people more than 3,000 years ago, because you have to plant a banana and it couldn’t just come across the Pacific Ocean in the form of seeds. Maria believed the Stones were even much older, only to be built by Giants of people, since modern science still couldn’t give a logical explanation for them. The original population calls the stones of Giant Men ‘Moai’ and believes that the stones contain the ‘spirit’ of their ancestors. That gave Maria enough confirmation to look for the connection and stop her investigation. She now knew what the connecting factor of the stones was, the connection she felt for herself with her family by heart and the hearts of the people who built these magnificent Giant statues.
Now she was back, along the well-known paths in Drenthe, but with a very special person by her side: her grandson Levi. The morning sun filtered through the trees as Maria led him along the winding path she knew so well. Levi’s small hand gripped hers tightly, his eyes widening with excitement as he stared at the gigantic stones of the Dolmens, the same stones that had once captured her own heart and imagination.
“Grandma, are these the Dolmens you told me about?” he asked in a voice full of wonder, “Are these the beds where the Giants sleep?” Maria smiled and nodded. “Yes, Levi, these are the ancient stones that have been sleeping here for thousands of years.” “They were built by very great people who wanted to commemorate their families and keep them close even after they were gone.” Levi looked thoughtful, as if he was considering the idea. He released her hand and approached the Heartstone, the same stone where she had once felt the presence of Bodin, the protective giant. Mara knelt down next to him, “Close your eyes for a moment, Levi,” she whispered. “Listen carefully, if you are very quiet you may hear the whispers of the people who were here long ago.”
Levi closed his eyes and frowned, as if trying very hard to listen, to hear something: “I think I heard something, Mama.” It was very soft, like a little song.” Mara’s heart swelled with joy, “I think you’re right, Levi. The stones have their own song: a memory they love to share with those who will listen.” They sat together in silence for a while, the soft hum of the forest and the rustle of the wind floating around them like an old lullaby in itself.
As the sun rose higher, casting a warm glow over the stones, Maria once again felt that sense of deep peace descending upon her. She had come full circle, back to the stones where her journey had begun, and now she could pass that legacy on to her grandson. As Maria stood up, she took Levi by the hand and together they started walking back along the path, leaving the dolmens behind them. With a happy smile on his face, Levi squeezed her hand and Mara felt a song bubbling up within herself, “Shall we sing a song, Levi?”
‘Somewhere over the rainbow, somewhere high above, there is a place that we dream of…”. “So actually, Grandma,” said Levi, “the Dolmens are a kind of heart that keeps beating as long as we keep listening to them?” Mara looked at him, with tears in her eyes, and nodded: “Exactly, boy, that’s exactly what they are.”
My Vision 