If houses are valued according to the size of the key to the front door, we’ve certainly found ourselves a winner. The regular key next to it should give an idea of scale.

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So Ilze and I pop over to the windmill for our first look around as owners of the property. It gets dark early this time of the year, just more than a day before we switch our clocks over to winter time. I park a couple of meters up the driveway, with no intention of getting stuck in the mud. We make our way up to the gate by foot, only to discover an old bicycle lock on the gate, the kind with a rubber tube around a steel cable and levers that you turn according to a three-digit code. Odd, Ilze did ask the seller about a lock, and he did say he would have it removed. But, undeterred, we simply climb over the gate.

Before going round the back to sidestep the electrified fence (something the seller jerry-rigged to keep out nosey amateur archeologists and international windmill thieves) we poke around the front first. And as I stand inspecting my brickwork (as one does), I notice a car parking behind ours in the driveway, and someone in dungarees walking up to the mill. Farmer Ted has arrived.

Now let me tell you about Farmer Ted. He’s the seller’s gardening service. The bit of land on which the windmill stands is 1,500m², and the adjoining piece of empty land (to which we will in future refer as “the land we should have bought as well”) is slightly bigger. This adds up to a quite sizable bit of lawn to mow. So Jan, the seller, being of good farming stock and hailing from the area, struck up a deal with Farmer Ted to let his two bovine lawnmowers graze on the land. Free gardening service, as well as someone to keep an eye on the place when Jan isn’t in the country.

And it’s this Farmed Ted marching up the driveway, with a purposeful that makes me thankful that farmers in Belgium don’t generally come equipped with shotguns. Well, you have to meet the neighbours sooner or later, and in this case apparently sooner. We meet at the gate, and the dialogue goes something like this:

Good evening.

Silent stare from Farmer Ted.

We’re the new owners of the windmill.

Yes, we just climbed over.

Ilze walks up to the gate, extends her hand and introduces herself. Farmer Ted ignores her completely, and I start planning ahead in case I have to kick his rural ass off my property. He’s about 50 years old, strong and solid in a rural way, but he probably won’t be mentally prepared for a grown man screaming like a girl (because, let’s be honest, any attempt to emulate Bruce Lee attacking turns out sounding like a girl screaming) and violently trying to bite him in the nuts. While I strategize Farmer Ted continues to ignore Ilze.

We bought the property today.

Yes, well, we did buy the property today. We’re the new owners.

I feel like Withnail throwing himself at the mercy of the farmer, pleading that “we’ve gone on holiday by mistake”. [MP3 audio]

I put a lock on the gate, and you just climb over.

Jan asked me to keep an eye out for trespassers.

But I have a trump card up my sleeve! Or in my pocket, at least. I produce the impressively huge key to the windmill.

I have the key. We own the windmill.

Apparently quite unconvinced, but tired of arguing in circles and not exactly sure how to respond to our ownership of the magical key to Camelot, Farmer Ted bends down and unlocks the bicycle lock.

I have to feed my cows.

With that, he turns and walks away. Welcome to the sticks, and don’t bother the livestock.

And to top it all off, we can’t get the windmill door open. There’s a trick to unlocking the door without snapping the key in two, and it’s a trick we haven’t mastered yet. So we spend twenty minutes marching about the property with flashlights, avoiding the cowpats as best we can, and fifteen minutes unsuccessfully trying to pick a lock that probably wouldn’t present a challenge to a drunken Mongol on stilts.

But still, we now own the windmill we can’t get into. That’s progress in my book.

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Finally, the St Bernard mill in Lubbeek belongs to us! Months of anxious paperwork have finally paid off: the final deed transfer was signed just an hour ago. The worn, rusty key, 130 years old, is lying right next to my keyboard. Ilze and I will certainly celebrate tonight, and champagne will be consumed!

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The clock is ticking, and within a couple of hours we will have taken physical ownership of the property. I’ve been for my medical examination for insurance purposes, Ilze has hers this afternoon. Fortis have presumably paid the €147,000 for the land into our notary’s bank account.

All that remains to be done is to visit our notary (in an hour) to finalise the paperwork for the insurance, and to meet with the seller and his notary to sign over the deed. And then, if everything goes according to plan, we will be the proud legal owners of a windmill.

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We’ve reached an important decision on renovations, the kind of informed decision you come to after shouting matches at building and renovations exhibitions. The barn will be renovated first, under the watchful eye of Ilze’s more eclectic post-modernist rococco design approach. The windmill itself will be renovated in a more modernist/minimalist style, under my own direction.

Next week Wednesday we should be getting the cheque from the bank, and on Friday we’ll be going to our notary’s offices in Mechelen to make the payment and sign the deed transfer. Champagne will probably be consumed on Friday evening!

Categories: Architecture
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The Belgian mill fanatics at Molenechos have compiled a database of Belgian windmills, and lo and behold, our windmill is listed. Their records basically confirm what we’ve managed to learn so far: the mill was built in 1870, and the sails were removed in 1936. One Jozef Vrijdags received permission to build the mill on 22 september 1869, so there you have it. Our windmill has a birthday.

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It’s been a quiet couple of days, windmill-wise. I spent a few days in Berlin for a meeting, Ilze went to Cologne to teach, and the bank and lawyers have been keeping themselves amused. But amusement of banks and lawyers can of course only lead to paperwork, which is what we’ll be doing this afternoon. They have some papers for us to sign, probably giving them ownership of every single penny we will ever earn. They’ll also be giving us paperwork to take to our GP for a physical for the insurance.

Mmm… perhaps I shouldn’t have been drinking so much coffee today…

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