- published: 05 Jul 2016
- views: 6781
A terp, also known as a wierde, woerd, warf, warft, werf, wurt or værft, is an artificial dwelling mound found on the North European Plain that has been created to provide safe ground during storm surges, high tides and sea or river flooding. The various terms used reflect the regional dialects of the North European region. In English sources, terp appears to be by far the most common term used.
These mounds occur in the coastal parts of the Netherlands (in the provinces of Zeeland, Friesland and Groningen), in southern parts of Denmark and in Germany where, before dykes were made, floodwater interfered with daily life. They also occur in the Rhine and Meuse river plains in the central part of the Netherlands.
In the Dutch province of Friesland, an artificial dwelling hill is called terp (plural terpen). Terp means "village" in Old Frisian and is cognate with English thorp, Danish torp, German Dorf, modern West Frisian doarp and Dutch dorp.
Historical Frisian settlements were built on artificial terpen up to 15 metres (49 ft) high to be safe from the floods in periods of rising sea levels. The first terp-building period dates to 500 BC, the second from 200 BC to 50 BC. In the mid-3rd century, the rise of sea level was so dramatic that the clay district was deserted, and settlers returned only around AD 400. A third terp-building period dates from AD 700 (Old Frisian times). This ended with the coming of the dike somewhere around 1200. During the 18th and 19th centuries, many terps were destroyed to use the fertile soil they contained to fertilize farm fields. Terpen were usually well fertilized by the decay of the rubbish and personal waste deposited by their inhabitants during centuries. The largest terp, seen in the illustration to the right, is still preserved.
Miles away from
Those that matter
Unfamiliar place
Hours bleed out and
Days tail off then
Night degrades to gray
Crooked timber
Keep me warm and safe
Bells toll slowly
Loud dark iron
Can't place where I am
No clear signal
Scraping dragging
Fate pulls faces
Crooked timber
Steer me keep me sane
Times' attrition
Grinds these landscapes
Sifts them into shape
My resistance
To it's pressure
Buckles more each day
Crooked timber
That we can't make straight