For the past thirty years, Warner has lived on Ferdinand Bolstraat, just around the corner from Stadhouderskade. On the third floor, nestled between the rooftops of the city, two beehives sit quietly on his balcony, home to two buzzing colonies. But not for honey. Warner is a natural beekeeper. He cares for the bees without asking anything in return. “I leave them alone,” he says. “I don’t harvest their honey, they need it themselves. I watch. I listen. And I wonder.” Thanks to the bees, Warner has learned what blooms where, and when. “One day they’re flying to the butterbur, tomorrow to the chestnut trees. That rhythm, that connection to nature , right here in the middle of the city , it’s so beautiful.” And the city, it turns out, is a great place for bees, both honeybees and wild solitary bees. Flowers bloom everywhere, there’s far less pesticide use, and surprisingly, more biodiversity than in the countryside. “Out there, it’s increasingly just monoculture,” Warner says. “Short, flowerless grass, I call it ‘grasphalt.’ It’s green, but lifeless.” By keeping his bees naturally, Warner allows them to steer their own genetic path. “They learn to adapt to their surroundings and become stronger, more resilient — to disease, to climate change, to whatever comes their way. That’s what they need.” And then there’s that one moment that tends to scare people: a swarm. Warner smiles. “A swarm is a beautiful thing. There’s no reason to panic. If you stay calm, so will they. Just watch. Take it in. You’re witnessing the birth of a brand-new bee colony.” See a bee swarm? Keep an eye on where it lands. Call the animal rescue service or find a local beekeeper through the swarm list (*zwermlijst*). You’ll be helping them find a safe new home. Warner’s wish for the neighborhood: Embrace nature. Don’t be afraid. Look. Breathe. Be amazed. The city is alive and the bees are here to remind us.

"Every year, we return to the Boerenwetering near the Stadhouderskade, just like we’ve done for years. And we’re not alone. My friends and family come back too, landing in exactly the same spot. This is our neighborhood too. We know every blade of grass, every bend in the water. We forage along the banks, keep the lawns neatly trimmed, chatter among ourselves, and bathe in the sunlight. People watch us, smile, sometimes even speak to us in soft voices. We belong here. Just like the cyclists, the walkers, and the neighbors chatting on the benches.This is our home." Much like dogs are descended from wolves, the farm goose is a domestic cousin of the wild greylag goose. Where their ancestors were grey and untamed, farm geese are brilliant white — and just as alert and protective as a good guard dog. Did you know geese can live up to 30 years? That they’re deeply sensitive creatures and fiercely loyal? Once they find a mate, it’s for life. Just something to think about next time you’re curled up under your goose-down duvet… or writing a medieval love poem with a goose feather quill. Honk honk. (With thanks to Folkert de Boer)

For over 82 years, Margreet has lived in her childhood home on the Stadhouderskade, near the little Hemonyplein together with Bert and Peter. She knows every stone, every tree, every memory of the neighborhood. And the neighborhood knows her: as a kind neighbor and a beloved singing teacher. Sometimes, during her lessons, the windows are open. Voices float out, filling the street with music. A little moment of magic for anyone passing by. “Amsterdam used to feel like a village,” she says. “This is where I learned to ride a bike. This is where my memories live.” The neighborhood has changed a lot over the years, some parts restored, others lost. But Margreet? She stayed. And now, she’s building something new: a sense of connection. “I started with something small: saying hello. To everyone. And you know what? It works.” She also tidies up the little Hemonyplein — the mess there bothers her. She's now friends with the garbage collector, greets familiar and new faces alike. More and more people greet her back. Small gestures, big impact. “I feel more at home now than I did ten years ago. Because I’m getting to know people. Because we’re seeing each other again.” Margreet’s wish for the neighborhood: "Fall in love with the place you live. Embrace your community."

You might easily pass me by , I’m just a few millimeters long, with my speckled back and gentle steps. But I’m here. Sometimes tucked away in a quiet corner of your home, sometimes hidden among the blossoms outside. And I am part of the great web of life. “I’m a cleaner. A gatherer of what’s left behind. Whatever lingers, I carry away.” As a beetle, I have a soft spot for flowers. Pollen is my treat, and helping flowers bloom through pollination is my gift to the world. My young, the larvae, are little caretakers too. They feast on what others leave behind: shed skin, stray hairs, old wool. We are the silent cleaners, the humble keepers of forgotten things. We don’t harm the living; we simply help nature’s cycle continue. If you ever spot me, take a moment to marvel at my delicate patterns. And did you know? I’m sometimes called the “museum beetle'?

I bloom wherever I can, between paving stones, in grassy fields, on forgotten patches of land and green rooftops. Sometimes I’m pulled out, mistaken for a weed. But that’s not necessary. My golden flowers are an early gift of nectar for bees, butterflies, and other small visitors. I’m there when little else is blooming, think of me as the season’s first breakfast, a feast for those waking from winter’s sleep. And I’m not alone. I have hundreds of siblings, over 250 species in the Netherlands! Together we form a family, blooming wherever we find a chance. My flowers nourish, and my presence helps sustain the city’s biodiversity. So let me grow. Let me bloom. And when my flowering days are done? I change. From bright yellow to a soft silver globe. My seeds grow wings. One by one, I let them go , each a little traveler, carried by the wind. Every floating puff is a tiny adventure, setting out in search of new ground. On its way to offer nectar, somewhere else in the city.

Amber works as a child coach at Combiwel Junior, right here in De Pijp. She’s there for children between the ages of 4 and 12, for those going through tough times at home, and for those who simply want to play, talk, draw, or move. For every child who deserves to be exactly who they are.“In the short time you get to be a child, I want to be there for them.” She organizes activities that spark joy: dancing, drawing, football, building, imagining. It’s not just about being busy, it’s about growth. About moving forward.Toward a sports club, a hobby, or something that builds confidence. A place where you matter. “Some kids call me their second mom and that means a lot to me. I offer them a safe place, a moment to breathe, a chance to just be themselves.” Her work is often invisible, yet deeply valuable. Children are the future, she says, and now more than ever, they need someone who sees them, listens to them, and moves with them. “We help raise them too, people sometimes forget that. It’s vital that there are spaces where children feel safe, especially if home doesn’t offer that.” Amber always looks at what the neighborhood needs. How can we make activities low-threshold, welcoming, and accessible for every child? Her wish for the community is clear: “I hope we grow closer together. There’s so much diversity here, which is beautiful, but it can also lead to friction. I wish we were kinder to each other, more respectful. And a little more honest with ourselves, too.”

You wouldn’t guess it at first glance , I understand , but I’m becoming a ladybug. Small, red, with black spots. You’d recognize me anywhere. But I don’t start out that way. First, I’m an egg. Then a long-legged larva, black with orange patches. You’d never know it was me. I feast on aphids, every day, every minute. So many aphids! Which makes me perfect for your garden. I help plants grow strong and keep gardens healthy. In fact, I’m often invited into organic farms as a natural pest controller. After a while, as a larva, I find a quiet spot beneath a leaf. On the outside, nothing seems to happen, but inside, everything is changing. And then, suddenly: wings. A round, red shell with seven spots — sometimes more, sometimes fewer. I’ve become what I was meant to be. You’ll find me on leaves, on flowers, or sunbathing on a windowsill. And sometimes, without warning, I open my wings and fly , silently, lightly in search of a new place to land. I still eat aphids, though less eagerly than before. And now, I too become food for birds, other insects, even the occasional spider. My life is short, but lived fully. And I’m not alone. There are over sixty species of ladybugs in the Netherlands: yellow, black, with two spots, ten, or none at all. Some call me a bringer of luck. Others, a little miracle. But me? I simply see myself as part of the whole.

Mijke has lived in De Pijp her whole life. She knows the neighborhood inside and out. She loves the friendly vibe, but sometimes finds it a bit messy. “I don’t get why people dump their trash on the street. Even if the bin is full just walk a little further to the next one.” Wanting to make a difference, Mijke joined the "Children’s Neighborhood Council", a group of kids who come up with ideas to make their area nicer, cleaner, greener, and more welcoming. Together with other children, and with adults like Amber from Combiwel Junior, she helps shape the future of the neighborhood. They even went to city hall to share what could be improved. “We make soup, play games, and organize clean-up actions. We get to know each other and we speak up for nature.” Nature is Mijke’s calm place. “I can be a bit energetic, and nature helps me slow down. It’s also just so beautiful to look at. My best friend and I often sit in the community garden. That’s where I feel really happy.” Mijke dreams big for her neighborhood: more color, more flowers, more green. Less litter on the streets. No more fireworks that scare the birds. And more places for people without homes. "Right now there’s only one shelter and that’s not enough. I’d love little ponds for frogs and birds, and grassy spots where dogs can peacefully do their business.” Her tips for other kids? "Pick up trash, even if it is not yours. If you see it on the street, toss it in the bin. It not only gives you a good feeling, but also helps nature."

We’ve been standing here since 1865. Two London plane trees, once planted at the edge of Leidsebosje, now the thickest trees in all of Amsterdam; our trunks measure nearly 7 meters around. Chances are, you’ve biked past us without a second glance. This spot is busy, loud, full of traffic. But please stop for a moment. Place your hand on our bark. Look up. You might feel it: the weight of time in our branches, the quiet memory we carry. We weren’t always standing right here. In 1925, the city planned to cut us down to make way for a bridge. But the neighbors spoke up. They wanted us to stay. So we were moved instead. Imagine that: wooden platforms beneath our roots, winched slowly across the soil. Ten whole meters, to where we now stand. Not destroyed, saved. Look up. Listen to the wind in our leaves. What you see above ground is only half of us. Below, we are just as vast, a living web of roots and fungi. Through this delicate underground network, and through scent signals in the air, we speak. We warn: “Drought is coming.” We share: “Here, take some sugar, neighbor — I see you’re unwell.” Yes, even trees look after one another. We are forest creatures, social beings. We prefer to grow together, never alone. And if you wander deeper into Leidsebosje, you’ll find more of our kind. True, we don’t offer the most food for insects, but we offer shelter, shade, and wonder. Our leaves rustle the stories of generations. We cool the air, clean what you breathe out, capture water and catch the light. And while the world around us rushes by, we remain, slow, wise, connected. So next time you walk or bike past, pause. Feel the stillness. You’re standing beside something ancient. Cherish trees, young or old, big or small. And plant them whenever you can. We are two old giants. We’ve grown here together and beneath your feet, we are deeply intertwined.