My name is Miss Isabella Van Butzeele. I lived here from 1693 to 1722, at the edge of the large meadow, where you are sitting now, in the Convent "Ter Liefde". I liked to look up from my labour, in those years, though I did not see a lawn with trees then. In 1262, Margaret of Flanders, one of our patrons, allowed us to bury our dead sisters close to us. We were also given our own chapel, where the church now stands. That way we could stay within our own walls for all our masses. We were quite independent spirits, we beguines.

So when I looked up from my work, here at the big meadow, I prayed for the memory of my deceased sisters, whose graves I could see from the window. I also prayed for ordinary people, because parishioners who went to church with us were also allowed to find their final resting place here. We were not that strict after all. 

In the French era, more than two hundred years ago, the cemetery had to disappear. The French were not keen on people of faith. They thought we were useless. Fortunately, we had a nursing home here, which is why we were allowed to stay. But the headstones were cleared, including mine, because I had been dead for seventy years by then. 

From then onwards, cows grazed where crosses once stood. Useful, for milk, meat, leather. We could put that to good use, in the nursing home.

Today, the residents of our courtyard want to turn the meadow into a wildflower meadow. This requires patience. Every year, they have the field mowed a couple of times. They remove the grass so that the soil impoverishes and all kinds of fascinating plants sprout up. Rare orchids, mosses which prefer to keep it modest but are equally special, and lots of other greenery. It does me a world of good.

So stay on the paths, dear visitors. Leave your faithful four-legged friend on the leash, too. Listen to the birdsong, the buzzing insects. Think of all thef ragile life that is sprouting here. Perhaps also think of me for a minute. For yes, I do still sleep here, with so many others, in the earth.