Here’s something wild: most of the beautiful lakes in Friesland aren’t natural. They’re actually giant holes left behind from centuries of digging up mud. And people got rich doing it.
Peat cutting, or “turfstekken” in Frisian, was basically the coal mining of medieval and early modern Friesland. Except instead of going down into the earth, Frisians dug up the top layers of ancient compressed plant matter that had been sitting in their swampy province for thousands of years.
This stuff burned. Really well. And in a region where trees were scarce and importing wood was expensive, peat became black gold.
The industry took off around the 1500s and kept going strong until the 1900s. Entire families would spend their summers in the peat fields, cutting rectangular blocks of wet peat, stacking them to dry, and then selling them as fuel.
It was brutal work. You’d be standing in cold water up to your knees, bending over all day with a special spade called a “turfspade.” Your back would scream. Your hands would blister. And the mosquitoes? Absolutely relentless.
But people did it anyway because the money was decent and honestly, what other options did you have in 17th century Friesland?
The peat workers developed their own vocabulary for the work. A “bult” was a stack of drying peat. A “legakker” was the field where peat was cut. A “turfskip” was the flat-bottomed boat used to transport the peat blocks through the canals.
Some of these words are still used today, even though hardly anyone cuts peat anymore. Language has a funny way of preserving old industries long after they’re gone.
Here’s where it gets interesting though. As Frisians dug deeper and deeper, they created massive excavations. When they finally hit water or clay and couldn’t dig anymore, they’d abandon the site.
Rain and groundwater would fill these holes. Within a few years, you’d have a brand new lake.
This is how Friesland ended up with so many lakes. The Sneekermeer, parts of the Tjeukemeer, countless smaller lakes scattered across the province – they’re all former peat excavations.
Basically, Frisians accidentally created one of the best sailing and water sports regions in Europe while trying to stay warm in winter. Not a bad trade-off.
The peat industry also shaped Frisian society in unexpected ways. It created a seasonal work rhythm where entire communities would migrate to peat colonies during summer months. Special temporary settlements called “arbeiderskolonies” would pop up near the digging sites.
These colonies had their own social dynamics, their own hierarchies, their own gossip networks. Kids grew up spending half the year in their home village and half in the peat fields.
The industry even influenced Frisian literature and music. Countless songs tell stories of peat workers, their hardships, their small joys, their yearning for home while living in muddy camps.
One famous Frisian folk song, “It Heitelân,” includes references to peat smoke rising from cottage chimneys. The smell of burning peat became synonymous with home and comfort.
By the late 1800s, the industry started declining. Coal became cheaper and more accessible. Gas and eventually electricity took over heating homes. The last commercial peat cutting in Friesland happened in the 1960s.
But the landscape remained forever changed. Modern Frisians sail their boats across lakes that their great-great-grandparents dug with hand tools. They water-ski over what used to be someone’s exhausting summer workplace.
Some old peat barges have been restored and turned into houseboats or floating restaurants. You can literally live inside a piece of working history.
And if you look carefully at old Frisian farmhouses, you might still see a peat shed – a covered storage area where dried peat blocks were kept through winter. Most are used for bikes or garden tools now, but the architecture remembers.
So next time you see photos of Friesland’s gorgeous lake district, remember: that postcard-perfect water was created by generations of people with sore backs, muddy boots, and a desperate need to stay warm.
Friesland literally dug itself into beauty. And that’s kind of amazing when you think about it.
