This is the most southern corner of Southwestjutland, and thus also the most southern corner of Denmark, which Saxo describes in the prefatory note of the Denmark chronicle. Here you will find a distinctive landscape where the sky is unusually high, and where no ground formation hinders the view. From the tidal flasts in the west, protected by the string of pearls of the Northern Frisian islands, the marshland is spread over the country, intersected by large and small streams, with lots of lakes and reed swamps.

Towards east, on the other side of Tønder and to the north at Højer and Møgeltønder the country is rising, and you arrive at the large hill islands, the geestland, the moraines from the last but one Glacial Age.

This is 'the country behind the dikes, the marshland, where the change between land and sea is flowing, or it used to be so since the people living there have diked land in order to provide sufficent security against the forces of nature. Moreover even lines for dikes, groynes and silt trenching have been drawn. The marshland may seem to a stranger 'rough and poor', but 'to its children full of beauty'. The nature is grand in its own rough way. Consequently, people have learned to give in to nature. Nature has been the axis on which the cultural adaptation has revolved.

'For en fremmed barskt og fattigt' translated

To a stranger is our contry
rough and poor, but to its children
full of beaty, filled with mern' ries,
here by plougshares golden horns are found.

To the fast beyond the plains the
Cloister-Church stands like a giant,
westerly still, monuments speak
of Hans Schack's and Rantzau's works and deeds.

Land of beaty. No obstructions
stop our glances when they wander
round the nature where they gather
peace and rest to mind, to thoughts and heart.

Beautiful, when in the morning
beads of dew in fieIds of flowers,
jubilant the larks ar warbling
in the sky so very higt and blue.

To the sea the sun is setting,
painting meadows red and golden,
and along the street's old houses
Møgeltønder's limes are glowing.

Tender stillness but is broken
by the shrieking swans, and never
one forgets the birds of passage
which at Rudbøl's lake are flocking.

Land so de ar an full of beauty,
you servere may look to a stranger,
still you smile upon your children.
Native soil, we praise and love you so.