In the frame

We are already saying goodbye to September as the year flies by. The last few weeks have seen me out there learning how to take photographs with a proper camera, as you will have noticed from the proliferation of pictures of birds, flowers and the sea that I have been posting. I find the zoom function fascinating, as my artistic side comes to the fore with attempts to photograph the inside of a flower or the eye of a lizard, or perhaps capture the sunlight shining through a breaking wave. Birds in particular are a challenge as, by the time I have removed the lens cap, pressed the On button, found the bird in the viewfinder and then zoomed in on it, it has long since relocated to another tree. Add to that the removal and replacement of my glasses to enable me to spot the bird in the first place, and you can see that a lot of time is spent doing everything but take the picture. But the different functions and settings are another thing altogether. By having to reset them for virtually every frame, I have had some total flops and others that exceed my expectations.

I recently found that nothing was coming out satisfactorily and so I headed to the photographic shop at the local mall to seek expert advice on what I was doing wrong. I tried to explain as best I could what I wanted to achieve, and the man took the camera and captured a shot of the inside of the shop, pronounced it to be perfect and that I should just practice. In other words, I was a complete idiot and was wasting his time. I will remember that when I upgrade to my R40 000 camera one day at the shop next door.

Here are a few of the successes!

Lime Tree Cafe

As one of the many patrons of The Pickled Fish who were dismayed at the departure of the owners to pastures new, it was with keen anticipation that I headed off to the leafy suburb of Bergvliet a few days after the opening of the Lime Tree Cafe, the latest venture of the team of Rael Abramowitz  and Graham Isaacson. On stepping into the room, I was immediately struck by the atmosphere - already buzzing after being open only three days, it was clear that the people enjoying lunch were well-known to both the staff and the owners and were, like me, following their taste buds!

Graham's dishes are famous for their amazing flavour yet delicate touch - always memorable - and the Roast Chicken Salad did not disappoint. A lady at the table next to me almost licked her plate and felt obliged to tell me that she was not familiar with his cooking but was definitely a convert. A brief chat with Graham brought the comforting news that his prawn curry would be on the menu - well worth the long drive from Kommetjie!

The coffee - always an indication of the quality of things to come - is excellent and served in the largest cup that is not a mug, and the cakes, which are all baked on the premises, are served in portions which thankfully fit on a sideplate.

The decor is fresh and uncluttered, with tables set at a socially comfortable distance apart, and there is a sheltered outdoor eating area with views of the mountains. Its situation on the corner of Childrens' Way and Dreyersdal Road is a wise choice, being in the heart of the 'ladies who lunch' belt and there is little doubt that this is going to be another very successful venture.

More spring-cleaning

Today I cleaned out that drawer - the one in the kitchen where I put all the gadgets and utensils that I can't think of putting somewhere else. The items that went back into the drawer:

Tin opener, knife sharpener, measuring cups, measuring spoons, 2 vegetable peelers, 2 pairs of kitchen scissors, meat mallet, 3 hand whisks, 2 wooden spoons, 2 pairs of salad servers, pair of tongs, set of scone/biscuit cutters, set of meat skewers, 2 silicon spatulas, funnel, egg slicer, 5 Consol jar lids, ball of string, wooden hand juicer, gimmicky multiple-bladed scissors for cutting herbs, cake lifter, Stanley knife, tea strainer (as if I buy leaf tea), tea steeper (ditto), bottle opener, two corkscrews, melon baller, apple corer, two plastic medicine syringes, egg separator, silicon pastry brush and assorted items handed out at Tupperware parties as a gift.

I can quite safely say that most of these items haven't been used for years, but I know that if I throw them out, I will need them the next day. I also kept 2 sets of chopsticks on the off-chance that I may want to eat a stirfry with them at some time in the distant future and 10 plastic knives in case of a picnic. I think I may be persuaded to part with these on the next clear-out.

What I threw out:

About 50 loose toothpicks, 3 sachets of sugar from an ancient takeaway, 3 straws, a viciously sharp peeler bought from a fleamarket years ago which has peeled more skin from my fingers than from a vegetable, 2 elastic bands, a peg, various lids from long-disappeared Tupperware items, a plastic lid for an opened can and 2 for opened cooldrink cans.

The drawer is now only half full and I feel motivated to do some more adventurous cooking now that I have been reunited with some of my favourite implements - I prefer doing things manually rather than with a mixer - and there is also space for some new additions. Some swanky knives, perhaps. I love a sharp knife!

Now to tackle the two drawers underneath...

Those taxis again

Living in a sleepy seaside village with minimal traffic leaves one quite unprepared for running the gauntlet of the main road through Sea Point, where taxis appear to reign supreme, restraining even the cheekiest of Audi drivers and even the odd Ferrari, who prefer to hang back rather than risk a contact that would remove rather more than the paintwork.

Having been to Cape Town three times this week (I usually go about once every six months), I thought that I was quite well adjusted to driving in relatively heavy traffic, but today's drive through Sea Point took the cake.

My initial anger and frustration at the taxi drivers' unparalleled lack of consideration for other road users and arrogant assumption that they have right of way in every situation soon faded as it became apparent to me that they are severely handicapped. The vehicles seem to have only two speeds, fast and stop. The wheels appear to be fixed in one direction, straight ahead - they are unable to pull over to the side of the road to let their passengers out and have to just stop in the lane they are in. Sometimes they are in the outer lane and alighting passengers run the risk of being run down by other vehicles, causing them to shout and make wild gesticulations aimed at the taxi driver. It must be emotionally quite traumatic.

There is an inbuilt mechanism - possibly some kind of giant magnet - that drags the taxi forward as you pass it and somehow hurls it towards the front of your car, making you relieved that your car came equipped with brakes and a functioning steering wheel, enabling you to take evasive action to prevent being forced into the oncoming traffic. How difficult it must be to control such a vehicle! And taxis don't come equipped with indicators like most other vehicles (with the notable exception of BMWs), so they have to rely on other drivers being clairvoyant to avoid collisions.

And so we need to have sympathy for and be tolerant of these unfortunates ....

Ha! In your dreams! One can only hope that in their next lives they are their passengers - that should be a suitable payback.

A grey day, with bursts of colour

The past few days have been gloomy in the extreme, with high clouds blocking out the sun, but no rain. I have had to water the garden while wrapped up in winter clothes - it felt quite strange, but the ground and particularly the potplants are bone dry due to the sandy, oily nature of the soil, which is unable to retain moisture. This weather makes me quite unmotivated for some reason and the sea has been flat and quite uninteresting - a reflection of my mood. What I am really complaining about is the lack of contrast in the light - without the sun, there is no drama to be found in the view from my deck!

I have been practising using a real camera, as opposed to just snapping away with the cellphone, and this has opened up a whole new arena of creativity, as I can now take super-macro and zoom shots without losing clarity. The cellphone retains the fantastic capability of taking scenic shots from a moving car, so I will never give that up! The lack of sun has subdued the colours of the flowers, yet they still retain a fascination in their multitudinous variety.

The first baby double-collared sunbird of Spring was hopping unconcernedly in the hibiscus, cheekily chirping at Mango and Biggles who were under the tree and staring transfixed, their hunting instinct on the alert. Father sunbird, his normally brilliantly iridescent finery subdued under the cloud cover, shouted angrily from a dead twig, hoping to detract from his offspring, and eventually the two tiny birds swooped away over the hedge to safety.

The sun, as always, has graced us with its presence as it sinks into the sea, leaving us with a pink afterglow to compensate for the grey day.

Die Murasie

On our recent trip to the daisies in Namaqualand, we spent a half-day in the Skilpad Reserve. These fields used to be farmed, allowing the vast stretches of open veld to become a brilliant carpet of orange in the Spring flowering season, and sheep graze in the off season, keeping shrubs to a minimum. Elsewhere the flowers, although plentiful, are mainly hidden among the natural scrub and do not provide such a feast for the eyes.

The parents have fond memories of the tiny building where the local farmers’ wives cook pancakes under a gazebo, as a way of not only making a little pocket money, but presumably taking advantage of the short tourist season to meet and converse with enough people to see them through the rest of the year out there in the sticks. (This is entirely my viewpoint and may be far off the mark, but it seems feasible!) But on the day we went there, the wind was blowing gale force from inland and any pancake worth its salt would have taken off like a parachute and been deposited among the daisies and so the little hut was closed.

However, all was not lost, as the old ruin on the hill with its accompanying ramshackle but nevertheless habitable cottage next door has lent its name to another venture for the local ladies, Die Murasie. A murasie is a collection of walls i.e. a ruin. The little patch of sand outside the back door was filled with 4x4s and we made our way (or rather, were blasted from the car to the door and into the kitchen which seems to be the entrance) and found ourselves in cosy if a little dark surroundings. A front room, opening onto the porch which was wide and welcoming (on a non-windy day) and had panoramic views of the orange bedecked hills, contained the refreshment area, where a crowd had gathered to partake of a range of tasty homemade cakes and koeksusters . The modus operandi was to take a plate and help yourself. Orders for coffee were taken by the ladies who were reminiscent of those who serve teas at church functions (you get the picture) and when you paid, you just gave a list of what you had eaten. Basically an honesty bar. They must have considered the clientele to be trustworthy. An adjoining room was filled with knitted, crocheted and sewn goods of all description, doubtless another means of income or outlet for their creativity back on the farms.

The other front room has been converted to the toilet. It is the size of a bedroom and the toilet and basin are in the middle of one wall with a screen obscuring the view into the tearoom should one open the door at an inopportune moment. The rest of the space was taken up as a storeroom, but the most notable feature was that there was no light in the room – fortunately it was easy to make a safe landing as the porcelain was white.

It must have been a lovely place to live back in the day. 

A scenic drive

Yesterday we took a drive round False Bay along Clarence Drive, the incredibly scenic road that winds from Gordons Bay along the foot of the Hottentots Holland range to the village of Rooi Els. Our destination was Betty's Bay for a family birthday celebration. I always enjoy that drive beneath the towering cliffs of those bare and rugged mountains, where the last of the Cape leopards roam. My eyes constantly scan the scree, hoping to catch a glimpse of these magnificent cats, but of course they are well hidden from the humans who consider them a scourge who kill sheep. Imagine putting the life of a sheep, which is reared to be eaten by man, before that of a leopard.

We returned as the sun was setting, bathing the mountainside in soft orange light, and casting long shadows up the kloofs, from where rich brown waters gushed seaward after a long and wet winter over the catchment area. Across the bay, the Peninsula stretched from Cape Point to Table Mountain, a fading blue as the sun sank behind it, reflecting off high ice clouds.

The mountains behind Somerset West are those which the first Trekboers crossed with their oxwagons when they left the Cape and the British Occupation to seek independence in the interior - they didn't know what lay before them, and the rocks bear the marks of the wagon wheels as they were hauled over a mountain which had no pass.

One can only imagine how strong those women were who made the journey to the hinterland with their possessions in an oxwagon, finding food and water along the way. Would we be able to do such a thing today? I doubt it.

Wave watching

The chill is almost past and the forecast for the weekend is good, with temperatures climbing on Sunday and Monday to unnecessary heights - must be a berg wind that will blow, bringing cooler weather again. The buddleia took a beating from the heavy rain, losing half its blossoms, but many buds are still to open, and the jasmine which trails up the walls and over the old tree outside my window must surely look like snow when the thousands of buds open in the next week or two.

The lumpy sea (the way I have always described it, but I am assured only a custard can be lumpy) has evened out somewhat, and the fishing boats which ply to and fro from Hout Bay are no longer disappearing from sight in the troughs and lurching drunkenly over the peaks. I've been having some fun with the zoom lens and have captured way too many shots of the sea over the last few days - if they were still on celluloid film, I am sure three would have done the job. I have always loved watching a rough sea. It is similar to seeing flames from a fire constantly change shape as they escape from the burning log - I wonder what makes them flee? Are they seeking more oxygen to sustain their life as they reach outwards? What decides how long a flame is before it disappears into thin air?

Having wandered completely off the subject (and if anyone can supply the answers to those questions, please oblige), I will return to the sea. The constant change in the way the light reflects off the surface and the tumbling of snow-white surf ensures an eternal supply of images to feed the senses and delight the soul. But I have to say that I prefer to view it from the stable surface of dry land!

Winter still knocking

We woke up this morning to winter's last fling - strong northwester, intermittent heavy rain and weather report palm trees taking strain. White horses tumble across the sea and dark clouds loom on the horizon, soon to dump their contents on us, followed by a brief spell of bright sunshine and blue skies before the next raincloud makes landfall.

It's a day for tartan coats for doggies, and kitties cuddling on the couch.

 

My thoughts turn to comfort food, perhaps a steaming pot of spicy sweet potato and butternut soup to warm the tummy, or a chunky lamb knuckle stew brimming with every vegetable available - the meat is simply to give a rich flavour to vegetables which are my overwhelming favourite.

The icy wind blowing in from the Atlantic is whistling through the gaps in the window frames, but as I sit here there is a gap in the clouds and the early morning sun is reflecting off the tall thunderheads out to sea, spreading a soft glow across the landscape, and a bright rainbow appears, arching overhead as the sunlight catches drops of rain falling from the clouds.

A good day to stay warm inside if you can.

Looking back

Spent a few hours this afternoon at the Van Breda family plot in Woltemade Cemetery. Didn’t know it existed, or that everyone was buried there, such is the reticence of the family.  Ma’s ashes, together with a few keepsakes, were interred with those of her parents on either side, in the grave of her grandfather. The immediate family attended and the youngest son, a pastor, gave a talk in accordance with her wishes, which were that no funeral was to be held, and that her last wish was that her family would spend more time together. This is because we all meet up only at weddings and funerals, it seems. I think she would have been happy with this gathering as she hated to be the centre of attention and preferred to mingle in the background - I'm sure she was there.

I read the headstone from 1919, and was interested to see that he was Philip Servaas van Breda, son of Alexander Jacobus van Breda of Boshof, Newlands. It turns out that Philip was the last van Breda to be born on the estate before it was sold and one can only speculate what the circumstances were that caused the family homestead and farm to be sold as there seems to be little knowledge in the family. Ma’s father was the son of Philip, and he passed on in the 1970s having long outlived his parent. It is now a guest house, retaining much of the original charm of the Cape Dutch style and the white pillars of the gates which everyone passes on the way to Cape Town are a national monument and regarded as the finest remaining example. Fancy not knowing that it formed part of our family history!

Another fascinating piece of information I gleaned from an aunt is that the maternal great-grandmother was a De Wet of the Koopmans-De Wet family whose house in Strand Street is also a national monument. Part of the reason why the family tree has not been passed down to the children, grandchildren and cousins is because a De Wet burned the records in a fit of rage when someone married an Englishman!

We are all meeting up again on Saturday, and you can be sure I will be there with notebook in hand and pencil sharpened to gather as much information as possible. After all, we wouldn’t want cousins to meet and marry in ignorance of their ancestry!

So there you have it. Descended from what appears to be good stock, houses are national monuments, and the biggest worry is how to identify exactly who all the relatives are. 

                

Sometimes I sits and thinks and sometimes I just sits

We’ve been having some perfect spring days of late, thanks to the absence of the southeaster. The wind has been westerly and not too noticeable – just keeping temperatures in the comfortable range. Walking and gardening are best undertaken in these conditions, so I took a stroll up to the local coffee shop and sat under the trees in the garden.

Most of my work involves lengthy periods of thoughtful contemplation before I finally come to a conclusion on how I will approach the task at hand. A long gap in the thought process can bring new solutions and the passing of time, with new circumstances arising, can also be fortuitous for decision-making. Some call it procrastination, but I call it fortuitous. Sometimes later can be better than sooner.

The point of all this rambling is that most people think I don’t work and am a lady of leisure, seen regularly partaking of light refreshments at various establishments. Yet nothing could be further from the truth. Being out and about in a stimulating environment is far more beneficial to productivity than stultifying at home, where thoughts sometimes turn to dusting and ironing. Working from home allows for very flexible ‘office hours’ – sometimes 3am is the best time to get on with a project.

So if you spot me daydreaming on a bench at Kirstenbosch or watching the passing parade from under a shady umbrella at a popular Waterfront restaurant, be assured that the cogs are still turning!

Good start to the braai season

Today heralded the onset of the braai season. The South African male is hardwired to respond to fine weather with a shout of: 'Let's braai!' and South African females' hearts sink at the thought of another six months of slogging in the kitchen, making the braai sauce, salads, wrapping potatoes in foil and transforming loaves of sliced bread into sandwiches of cheese, onion and tomato for toasted sarmies on the braai. Vast quantities of boerewors and chops, with perhaps a side of pork rib for nibbles, will have to be on hand - braais involve the eating of an average of five times the normal intake of meat at a meal - and if the man is not the best braaier in the world, could also entail a fair amount of chargrilling - none of which is ideal for the digestive tract.

Vast quantities of beer are also consumed as the rooikrans logs transform to charcoal - ready to cook when you can hold your hand over them for a count of 10. The beer is also handy to douse any flames which threaten to blacken the wors, although the amount required is carefully measured lest the coals be cooled too quickly or the throat become parched.

Today the meat was cooked to perfection, without a single char, the potatoes and toasted sarmies replaced by garlic bread done with the minimum of fuss in the oven, a minimal amount of green salad was required and the beer was kept to a happy medium. Apart from a minor incident involving Monty escaping and having a good run down to the rocks, and Biggles deciding that our friends' car would be a nice place to sleep and nearly being catnapped, it was a jolly good start to the braai season.

Long may it last!

Long past the Sell By date

Admit it. Behind that half-finished, three-year-old jar of gherkins which you will still use because gherkins don't go off, do they? is an unopened jar of Ouma's Pickled Cauliflower that you bought at the country fair five years ago. Located nearby is a ziploc bag (aren't they supposed to keep everything fresh indefinitely?) with a block of cheese covered in enough penicillin to cure the STD ward at a large hospital. That unopened bottle of Cape Velvet Cream has a date of 2003 on it, but that's got alcohol and will be alright forever, right? Why have you not drunk it yet?

In the back corner of the vegetable crisper is a small chunk of cabbage, its surface wilted and grey and barely fit for a compost heap. Even a porcupine will turn up its nose at such fare. Still in its supermarket clingwrap is a head of broccoli, its florets now a mustard yellow from age. And the leeks you bought in anticipation of a subtle leek and potato soup you saw on the Food Channel have shrivelled and lost their appeal.

As you delve into the bowels of the pantry, you come upon the orange jelly you bought for last summer's carrot mould salad, and a tin of chickpeas you bought when the urge to turn vegetarian struck some years back. On the top shelf of the baking cupboard is a box of custard powder that expired in 1998.

But you will agree that the path to culinary heaven is paved with good intentions, won't you?

Early spring weather

An early spring has brought with it the return of the infamous southeaster, the Cape Doctor, which blows away all the smog and air pollution from Cape Town, dispersing it far away across the ocean. It also tends to bring on hayfever symptoms for those who are usually not sensitive and, in particular, with the spring flowers in bloom and no rain for some time to dampen it, the pollen has become airborne rather than embedded in the soil for next year's blooms.

The icy Arctic air which typifies the southeaster has brought a wind chill factor into the equation, and although the days have been sunny, a jacket is still the order of the day. On the bright side, the days are getting longer and I no longer have to turn on the light to take Susie downstairs at 6 o'clock every morning and I can clearly see my way along the path to the back lawn. The early morning stars are a delight, with Orion overhead and Sirius a bright spot in the sky. Venus is the morning star and the shadows cast by the sunrise on the mountains are forming new patterns as the sun follows its path southwards.

Forecast cold fronts have come to nothing, being pushed south by high pressure systems over the country, and just a little cloud cover and sometimes a rough sea are evidence of their passing.

Soon the migratory birds will be arriving from the north, and summer will be well and truly here!

A visit to the observatory

Went to the observatory in (wait for it) Observatory today to collect the mirror from my 8" telescope. It went to Sutherland for re-aluminising, as over the years it has deteriorated rather badly, presumably from the sea air. Although I keep it covered, the salt air penetrates everywhere and I was pleased to be able to take advantage of this free service from the astronomical world. It had to be put in a special box, as nothing must touch the surface of the mirror, which is based on a piece of glass 4cm thick.

The technical man who did the mirror explained how he had had great difficulty in achieving a perfect aluminisation, as the mirror seems to contain different elements in the aluminium to what they are used to. It is placed in a bath of caustic soda, which completely removes the aluminium in readiness for a new coating. This takes place in a vacuum bath which is a twelve-hour process and the mirror comes out like new. However, the damaged portion of mine would not dissolve and so the aluminising had to take place on a not completely satisfactory surface. He put it through the process three times in the weeks it was in Sutherland, but I told him that I would be embarrassed if he spent any more time on a free service, so he brought it back for me to test. If it is not suitable, and I'm sure it will be, he will take it back and try again. What a great service from SALT.

We then had tea with the staff of the observatory and heard a bit about the background. It is built on a slight hill which, in the old days, provided a clear view of Table Bay and the ships in the bay would ask for time signals to set their clocks. A hand pistol would be fired and the ship's captain or navigator, I presume, would look out for the smoke from the gun and set the clock for the arranged time. In those days the few seconds time lapse would not have been a problem. If they wanted a signal at night, they would look for the flash of the powder igniting. Today, the noon gun which is fired every day on Signal Hill is controlled from a machine in one of the rooms at the observatory, a rather inconspicuous bit of paraphernalia almost lost among the multitude of technology which is today's astronomy environment.

There are still a few small telescopes being used there and the photo below shows one of the housings. For those who watched Dr Who in the 60s, you will be forgiven for thinking it is an outsized dalek, a fearsome robot bent on exterminating everyone!

The end of an era

Today my mother-in-law passed into the realm of peace and love, a welcome release from the trials of an infirm old age. Our relationship of 42 years was always easy but not close, and we seldom saw each other. When we visited her on Sunday, I took my laptop and showed her a selection of photos of the place she longed to be, Kommetjie. She saw the spring daisies, the lighthouse (immediately asked me why I hadn't given her my painting of the lighthouse she had asked for years ago), the Kom with its peaceful surroundings, and other photos of the children, our pets and other memories. I would like to think that she enjoyed a last visit, even if only via a screen.

She asked me if she had been a good mother-in-law, never interfering, and I assured her there were no complaints. Then she thanked me for looking after her son, and made her last wishes known.

I am posting photos of the flowers in my garden in remembrance of her.

Fools on the road

I believe I may have mentioned once or twice what shockingly bad drivers we have in South Africa. I can put it down to a few things:

1.              You don’t have to be all that bright to drive a car.

Once you have a basic understanding of what the steering wheel is for and have learnt to change gear by the occasional use of the clutch, you are ready for the road. This can lead to erratic lane-changing, slow driving in the fast lane and occasional use of the verge.

2.       It is very easy to buy a licence without passing any form of test, as corruption is rife.

          This is self-explanatory. Obviously the person who has bought the licence then has no idea of what indicators are for, what the different colours on a traffic light mean, what a four-way stop implies or where you are allowed to stop, for instance to allow passengers to alight. The relevance of the imposition of various speed limits and the basic rule of only overtaking on the right are also outside the bounds of the known.

3.      Speed is just a number that appears on a speedometer.

         Little is understood about the effect of speed on braking distance, control of the vehicle in the event of a blowout or, more frequently, an axle snapping due to overloading. There is thus little forethought as drivers hurtle along at whatever speed takes their fancy, and anything that gets in the way is ridden over with impunity.

4.       There is little in the way of law enforcement due to apathy, poor pay and just plain fear.

          You are not likely to see a patrol vehicle chasing after an offender. You are likely to see it hidden in the bushes with a camera, taking photos of speedsters from the safety of a hiding place and sending fines out in the post, usually just before December to boost the party fund coffers.

Those who have come by the privilege of being allowed out in public behind the wheel of a vehicle by dint of swotting up the rules of the road and many lessons with a driving school have simply to watch all this happen and take the route of least resistance. It is best to never assume that a green light is a signal to go – look in all directions and let the maniacs go by on the way to their accident. Let them overtake at every opportunity – you only want to see the back number plate, not the front. Wherever possible, get a passenger to take a photo and post it on social media and send a copy to the traffic department – particularly those who park in disabled parking spots.

It doesn’t help to get upset – steer clear and make sure you get home safely. We can only hope that seated next to each of these fools is a woman giving him hell for reckless driving!

The circle of life

I haven’t written a blog for a few days; it has been a rather strange time, subdued, saying goodbye to a lot of people whose time here has come to an end, and yet everywhere nature is full of new life. This is the circle of life and we have to accept everything that comes our way as being exactly as it should be. It certainly makes for easy living if you can adopt this philosophy.

I have been knuckling down to some important work matters – ending a cycle of procrastination – and initiating action on others – starting a new journey. Once again, the circle of life applies to all aspects of everything in this world.

Out with the old and in with the new – I have a new cookbook (Cooking with Jenny Morris) and what an inspiring one it is! Just about everything is already in my cupboard or easily accessible, the author has a delightfully chatty way of imparting her vast knowledge of how to make food the exciting item it should be, as though she were speaking to a circle of friends. I no longer need the old cookbooks from 30 years ago and will pass them on to the charities that collect these, even if they only use them for recycling!

Changed my look – only slightly – had a haircut – cutting off the old growth and getting a new look. Will try to be more proactive in that arena, as I tend to go for months and months looking like the wreck of the Hesperus.

The weather is also changing – not so cold and more warmth – goodbye to the old winter season and hello to the new spring.

So the circle of life continues…

Fresh from the garden

My spinach is looking magnificent - large leaves, smooth (easier to rinse) and growing abundantly. The last time I mentioned this, yonder porcupine picked up the news on the airwaves and scuttled under the neighbour's gate, biting its way through my wire fencing and feasting on every last leaf. So I have taken no chances and cut as many leaves as I can. It is absolutely delicious, delicate and tender, unlike some of the rather mature specimens we find in plastic bags at the supermarket.

Looking around the garden, I can see that it is already time to start watering, as the pot plants are wilting and the sandy, oily soil is bone dry to the length of a trowel. I have never been successful with enriching the soil, as any compost just rises to the surface and blows away in the wind, so it's a boon to have a plentiful supply of underground water, fed by a well and 3 wellpoints which pump all day throughout summer.

Mango and Biggles have done almost as much damage to the garden as the porcupine, with their manic careering around, chasing each other. The bromeliads have been uprooted (not that they have any to speak of) and a young strelitzia has had a few stems snapped. There is also much evidence of enthusiastic digging, but at least they no longer use a litter tray. The scabious, which covers a big area, has suffered the most from their cavorting, with plants being crushed and flowers hanging forlornly from bent stems. But new growth is bursting forth everywhere, and nature will restore itself as the kitties become more sedate with adulthood.

It's only two weeks to the spring equinox and the sun is moving rapidly south, its passage marked by the undulations of the line of milkwood trees along the bay. Spring is definitely here.

Back in the groove

Mango and Biggles were happy to see me and have visibly grown in one week. They are now jumping easily over the walls and I caught them sitting on top of the spiked fence watching the pigeons pecking at their seed in the driveway. The spikes are viciously sharp for obvious reasons and it was never imagined that our cats would use the fence to jump outside. Biggles tried to descend onto the driveway and impaled himself on a spike. Fortunately I was there to see him struggling and could only just reach high enough to pull him off, but had to drag him a bit and he got quite a cut. If I had not had him neutered recently, it would have been done for free. You win some, you lose some!

The lobostemom is flowering beautifully and I am thrilled to see that the hoya I bought in January and which hasn't grown a centimetre since then, has started vigorous new growth. The clivias have yet to reach their prime and the parrot plant is just beginning its mass display of dark orange and yellow 'parrot beaks'. I don't want to mention the spinach in case the porcupine hears about it.

Today was a day of spoiling for me, with a superb breakfast with a dear friend in Cape Town, followed by pampering and a long overdue haircut. After that, I attended to some vital but not too stressful business (always best to take the bull by the horns and get it done), so felt justified in having more me time. 

Back in Kommetjie, it turned into a simply beautiful spring day, without a cloud in the sky or a wave breaking on the shore. The light southeaster carried the sounds of the sea away over the horizon, leaving a peaceful atmosphere to end a busy day.

Last day at the daisies

Had a much smaller dinner last night, but still woke up at 2. However, I had a much better non-sleep than the night before, as the mattress didn't feel quite so lumpy! Must have been the electric blanket that I left on. Another beautiful day dawned and we got up early and packed for Cape Town. Our first port of call would be Vredendal, where we would buy a new spare tyre and feel a little happier about the trip home. It wasn't long before the air temperature started to rise from 8 degrees and soon it was 25 degrees. The tyre place in Vredendal had less than salubrious facilities for us to wait in, and looked more like a depository for ruined office chairs than a place to sit. Mother took it all in her stride and pronounced the dirty seats to only look dusty, they weren't actually going to impart it to the seat of your pants. She knitted while Dad and I hovered in the carpark waiting to be attended to. We simultaneously had the idea that we would just have the new tyre put on the rim and back in the boot rather than fit it and have the whole lot balanced. That would have meant a wait of 30 - 40 minutes which we didn't relish. So five minutes later I had repacked the boot with all our luggage and we were off.

Within a few kilometres, we came to the first stop/go - extensive roadworks are happening all the way from Klawer to Citrusdal - and we added another hour of waiting time to travelling time. All the while, the temperature was rising and it was soon 32 degrees - rather a change from the slashing rain and freezing temperatures of a week before. Waiting in the queue for up to 15 minutes at a time meant we couldn't have the airconditioner running in the car and had to have the windows open, and the mirror tells me that I caught quite a suntan during the day! If we had gone up in my Golf, there would have been no airconditioner at all, so we were nonetheless grateful for the intermittent cool air.

The variety of geological features in South Africa is an endless source of interest and entertainment, and we moved from granite mounds to dolerite to sprawling plains with the wide and slow flowing Olifants River providing irrigation water for the intensive farming activities. The Cederberg range offered a jagged skyline and the Groot Winterhoek had an impressive amount of snow on the peaks despite the high temperatures in the valley.

A fortunately uneventful drive saw us arriving home at tea time, and driving into Kommetjie reminded me that I do, after all, still live in a most beautiful part of the world.

Day 6 at the daisies

We dined sumptuously at Die Nedersetting last night – a buffet of soups, meat, fish and various vegetable dishes and salad assortments, followed by baked pudding and custard. The atmosphere in the restaurant was convivial, with a roaring central fire to keep away the night air’s chill. There were mostly tour groups, and a few tables of locals like us. There was a corner display of various crafts (knitted tea cosies with crocheted flowers) and homemade delicacies (quince jelly, apricot and fig jams and the usual array of biscuits) which no doubt is what the women in these towns make to occupy their time – there seems to be little else happening out here in the platteland. They were the cooks and servers at the restaurant – it was a little like attending an evening church bazaar.

Having eaten far too much, it was early to bed, but the mattress was not what I am used to at home, with lumpy springs and pillows either too thick or too thin, and it became very cold during the night, which didn’t contribute to a good night’s sleep. Tonight I will leave the electric blanket on.

Today we visited Nieuwoudtville waterfall, a most spectacular and unexpected phenomenon. Although it has controlled, paid access today, Mom and Dad discovered it by chance many years ago in 1981 when roaming the veld on a holiday. If they had chosen another area to go birdwatching, they would never have come across it, so they were fortunate to have seen it before commercialisation struck. The recent heavy rains ensured a gushing torrent well worth visiting.

Then it was on to the Kokerboomwoud (Quiver Tree Forest) where the largest number of these trees occur in a relatively small area. By the time we were clambering up the slopes of the kopje, the sun was scorching and it was amazing to find tiny flowers growing everywhere in the dry and rocky soil.

On the way back, we turned up a gravel road to an area where there were said to be good flowers, although without a spare tyre, there was some trepidation and occasional squeaks from Mother, but there were no rocks, only corrugations and we took it very slowly. There weren’t vast expanses but little patches of interest, and we came to a pond in a meadow where there were plenty of birds – spoonbill, coots, Blacksmith’s lapwing, cormorant and Red Bishops. We lunched royally on crackers and tuna mayonnaise with olives and avocado (the avocados all ripened together, so we are munching our way through them as quickly as possible), washed down by the remains of the mountain spring water from Kamieskroon (we were given 20 litres fresh from the spring at Arkoep, as they said the tap water wasn’t good to drink – it was the best water we have ever had).

The afternoon saw us at the Nieuwoudtville Nature Reserve, where we saw orange bulbinella, hesperantha, homeria, lapeirousia and sparaxis in very distinct but small areas. Such is the nature of our floral kingdom.

And then it was tea and afternoon nap time back at the cottage. A stroll along the dusty roads of a small Bokkeveld town, admiring the masses of flowers in every garden (none of them are cultivated and most houses were closed up), made a delightful end to a varied day.