Of Avocados and Guinea Fowl

 I have been floating in shallow water lately.  We took a week off and headed for Sedgefield. Picture this: a beautiful warm, (but not too hot) sunny day, a slight breeze, water lapping gently on the sandy shore and a shelf of water, warm because it is no more than half a meter deep.  Bobbing in the salty water is as close to feeling at peace with creation as I can be. My usually over active mind can be still and my worries can drift into nothingness.  It is a profound experience for me.  We rowed out in the trusty red row boat to a secluded spot across Sedgefield lagoon, and - unbelievably, because it is such a perfect day - we had the entire place to ourselves.  

Sedgefield is an outdoorsy place. I spent  most of the time there sitting on the stoep, mug of tea in hand.  Inbetween reading (Mother Mary Comes To Me - a beautifully written memoir), scrolling (I know, I know...) and playing board games, there was time to just Be. 

Stoep sitting is a family affair for us, usually each doing our own thing.  A couple of wild tortoises kept us company, munching on grass patches and getting chased by nosy birds.  Our other wild companions included guinea fowl.  (Named Guinea Flowers by our son when he was 4 after encountering them at Kirstenbosch botanical gardens.)  They are odd looking creatures - all scrawny neck, wild eyed and ineffectual flapping of wings.  They can actually fly short distances, but rarely seem to get the urge to bother.  Like us, they seem to enjoy doing things in family groups.  We would watch as they pecked and squarked around the garden too.  Sometimes they ran up and down the chicken wire fence, trying to get out.  Or in.  Or one was out and one was in, and they seemed agitated by this. Our lovely daughter would send encouragement out to them, as in "You can do it! Jump! Fly!", but English doesn't seem to be their first language as they ignored her.  Finally, in desperation to help, K  went to fetch the sliding gate remote and opened it so the creatures could walk through and be reunited.  Logic doesn't seem to be one of a guinea fowl's competencies either (they do have very small heads and brains) because they couldn't figure out this route either.  Compassionate K tried this a couple of times, but no luck.  The squarking continued.

 In their own good time, and without any human intervention, the birds flew over the fence and went on their cheery way.  Sometimes, with the best intentions in the world, we need to let problems resolve themselves because, try as we might, our solution is not what are needed right then.

The other occupation of stoep-sitting, is seeing the passing pedestrian traffic.  Some people greet and wave, others tug on their dog's leashes and move on quickly.  We are, after all, outsiders - it is a holiday cottage-  amongst an established suburb. (McLeary Cottage was one of the original dwellings in Sedgefield, built by my grandfather in the 1950s, surrounded by trees and not much else, so I rather feel like an original settler rather than an outsider.  The property now belongs to my brother.) 

One local resident waved, said hello, and then paused at our gate.  Unlike the guinea fowl, he knew what the sliding gate was for.  He sat with Andrew and me on the stoep and introduced himself as a new neighbour.  After the polite hellos and potted history which included his views on "The Covid Conspiracy", he came to the real reason for popping in.  The avocado tree.   Planted by my parents long ago, it is well established, tall and generous with making delicious avocados.  It overhangs the side boundary fence onto a copse owned by no one.  The problem though, he told us,  was that the local children from the over-the-hill, out of sight poorer area of Sedgefield, were picking the fruit and eating the avos.  Did we know?   We assured him we did, and that my brother really didn't mind - in fact he is glad the avos are harvested when we are not there and delighted they don't go to waste.  But, the neighbour continued, sometimes "the bicycle gang" jump the fence to take the avos from inside the property. He couldn't understand that my brother didn't mind this either.  South Africa has a huge economic divide, and food security is an everpresent issue.  Children die from lack of food (and hope) .

We would have to agree to disagree, and I wondered how I could encourage him to go away.  "You can do it! Jump! Fly!" I was tempted to say, but politeness won the day.

 I am hoping that this newcomer to Sedgefield will find the time to pop down to the lagoon and float in the salt water.  Maybe it's healing properties and calmness will create more space for a generous spirit and kindness.   

 There is little more comforting than being able to drift - arms outstretched- in a safe and buoyant environment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

Fools Gold

 We came pretty close to chucking up city life and buying a smallholding 23 years ago.  We had the offer to purchase papers in hand, pens hovering over the space for the our signatures.  The plan was to buy a beautiful, treed plot near Millwood in the hills behind Knysna, and grow carrots. Or was it radishes - I forget.  There was no electricity, no water on tap - just vast expanses of fertile land, a dam and a river and the peacefulness that isolation in the back of beyond offers.

The plot that got away...

  We hesitated long enough to see that we were really not being sensible, or fair to our son who would either  have to spend hours commuting to a school in Knysna or become a child of the forest like in a Dalene Matthee novel.  

Millwood is a breathtakingly beautiful area though, and I left a little bit of my heart there.  We have visited it on and off my whole life, as it is near Sedgefield where my family spent our holidays.   It is also a very interesting area for two reasons.  Firstly, the indigenous forests had been home to elephants. Sadly now only one is  known to be living wild, the herd having been hunted and frightened by urban creep.  Secondly the area is well known  because in the 1876, there was a short lived gold rush.  Millwood was the name given to the settlement that developed for the hopefuls. The gold yield was not enough to keep the mining going, and the tin homes and shops and taverns were abandoned.  One or two have been restored, and some of the mining equipment and caves are still there for exploration.  Jubilee Creek is an excellent spot for a visit and picnic and a wander in a stream. It is well worth the time when you are next visiting the Garden Route.

Overgrown mining equipment at Millwood

A lot of South Africa's wealth - and a large chunk of its misery - has been built on gold. Gold threads are woven into our history since it's first discovery in the  mid 1800s.  In 1967, the South African government decided to mint a gold coin to allow citizens to buy and own some of the wealth of the land.  So it said. And Andrew's parents decided to invest in 3 Kruger Rands (named after Paul Kruger - the President of the Boer Republic where gold was first discovered), one for each of their children.

Andrew remembers being given his.  His parents traditionally pushed coins into the steamed Christmas pudding, and when he was 18, his slice of pud contained this generous gift covered in brandy sauce.  It was a rainy day investment, and one which needed to be kept safe.  After we married, and moved into our tiny fixer-upper home, we chose a cunning hiding spot to fool any would be intruders (and we did have a couple of those who helped themselves to our worldly goods.)  When we put some extra electrical plugs in the house, we hid the Kruger Rand in the wall socket and screwed on the plug coverplate.  Brilliant hiding spot, don't you think?

So good in fact that when we moved 8 years later, in the chaos that packing up one's life entails, we forgot.

It plagued us for a long time.  Perhaps we had hidden it so well that it was still there, and we could retrieve it. It felt like unfinished business, something that needed a resolution. The house had passed through a couple of families before we plucked up the courage to give it a go.  Armed with photographs of us (looking so young!) and our house renovations to prove we were the legitimate owners of the coin, Andrew rang the doorbell.  The new owners were charming, and obliging, although they said, they had had electricians in to create double plugs, but Andrew was welcome to look. Screwdriver in hand he removed the coverplate. Obviously the treasure was gone. 

It had been a fool's errand and yet it was an important one.  We no longer wondered if the investment was there waiting to be found.  We could make peace with the fact that we had made an expensive mistake and there was nothing we could do about it.  We could - finally - let it go. In fact we could even hope that the coin was a windfall that the finder truly needed and somehow we had inadvertently put some good back into the world.  (That is just a fantasy - new found gains can also be destructive.)

Also, I realised, I tend to hang on to past mistakes for far too long, hoping to go back and see if by magic I can undo them.  I can't. But it is good to get resolution and not always be wondering "what if." Let it go, Wendy, let it go.

Besides I have unminted wealth that can't be locked away in hiding places.  And I am pretty sure my children are grateful I didn't send them out elephant hunting or panning for gold in Jubilee Creek in their formative years. One day I will ask them.

 

 

Rowing into the blue(s)

My hands were tingling this morning.  I could feel the familiar blisters hardening where I was gripping the handles of the rowing machine, and the tiny cuts on the tips of my fingers from some ill judged glass handling yesterday stung slightly.  So I closed my eyes, before continuing my 3 kilometer row.  With my eyes shut, I could feel the soft breeze on my face, just enough to take away any harshness of the early morning sun.  The salt water lapped quietly each time I dipped an oar, and the boat rocked as the tide came into the lagoon.  Twinkle, the rowboat named back in the our childhoods, is solid, bright red, easy to navigate and unsinkable.  It is my happy place.

When I open my eyes, I am nowhere near the idyllic Sedgefield lagoon in the sunshine.  I am sitting on a mechanical rowing machine in the gym, and it is raining and blustery outside.  This is not my natural habitat.  I have never been a gym bunny .  I am a firm believer that bunnies belong outside, hopping in a field.

(Long ago, before children, Andrew and I glimpsed the sweetest looking rabbit frolicking in some wild grass in the grounds of Balmoral castle.   Scotland is  entrancing. Wandering in the summer mist and drizzle around the castle grounds, we thought it would be fun to walk in the footsteps of the royal rabbit.  We got quite close to the residence before we lost sight of the creature, so we turned round to head back. Only then did we notice the sign that Strictly Forbade us from entering the area close to the Royals.We quietly skulked off hoping not to be caught.  It was a lesson in reading signage in life if we want to say out of trouble.)

My gym membership is another step in my Year of Trying out New Things.  It is an attempt to slow down my osteoporosis, as the medication suggested by the doctor has unappealing side effects and long term consequences.  So far so good with the gym thing.  What helps is that we all go as a family, and as a extra bonus, Andrew's cousin uses the facility too, so it feels like a safe, friendly environment.  It also is a place that empasises health rather than appearance, so my oversized t-shirts and old takkies are perfectly acceptable attire.

My next challenge is to conquer The Changing Rooms.  I have yet to get my kit off and wander about in the altogether from shower to lockers. I am ok with this.  Baby steps.  I will put it on next year's Challenge list.

Rowing on a real lagoon in a real boat is obviously first prize. But in the meantime  I am happy to admire the callouses on my hand from indoor rowing as a sign that I am taking charge of my own body and health.  Luckily I have a vivid imagination, and  twice weekly I can press reset on the stresses of life and dip my oars into my reservoir of happiness.

 

Twinkle - the magical boat