New discoveries

Found out a couple of interesting things today.
1. Praying mantis sheds its skin: This tiny little praying mantis has been living on the lounge window for days and aggressively defending its position every time I try to move it. Today I found its complete exoskeleton lying on the window shelf below it. I coaxed it onto a bougainvillea bract and took it outside for a more exciting life.

2. Increase the tinkling of your fountain by placing a sword-shaped leaf in the groove. Below are the pictures without the leaf and with the leaf, where you will see the more efficient water flow. 

Having a whinge

Technology is driving me round the twist at the moment. From a simple light bulb to the convoluted cabling of the DSTV system, it seems as though everything is giving up at the moment and we remain at the mercy of those who know more than us. Trying to coordinate the three TVs via a dual viewing system just to keep everyone happy seems like more effort than it is worth, particularly as I seldom get to have a chance with the remote anyway. This morning, even the little portable radio went on the blink, with the switch not turning off any more.
But what annoys me most of all about technology is how annoyed it makes us. The stress levels soar when things don't work as they should. We are not meant to live our lives in a constant state of annoyance, anger and stress and it doesn't do our health or heart rate any good. Neither does it provide a solution to any of the technological problems, as they can only be fixed by a person knowledgeable  in that field.
I often feel that our lives would not be disadvantaged in any way if we went back to the simpler things; after all, technology seems to be mainly involved in enabling the spread of communication in the world. But the communication we are subjected to is suspect in many ways and indeed more like brainwashing to accept all that we read, see and hear as being true, when this is far from correct.
The demise of mass communication (and this can happen at the flick of a switch) would take us back to the days when face-to-face conversation was our entertainment, or a day's travel by horse to visit the neighbours, and there would be plenty of time to sit under a tree in quiet contemplation.
In the meantime, I await the return of the technician to fix what he didn't do, will put new batteries for the remote, take the radio apart to fix the switch, put in a new light bulb and post this blog via social media.

Surrounded by beauty

The southeaster is still pumping across the Peninsula this late in March, sending dragons over Chapman's Peak yet again.

Here in Kommetjie, it has not been as windy as other parts of the Peninsula, as I found out when I had reason to travel to Simon's Town via Scarborough and Red Hill, one of my favourite drives. At Witsands, the kiteboarders and windsurfers were out in droves and they were lucky I wasn't among them, as I am quite sure (if I ever attempted such a sport) that I would soon have tangled myself up in all those strings! I wonder if that happens ever - it would certainly ruin anyone's day out. The sea was wild and turquoise and just magnificent - what a place we live in!

Over the hill in Simon's Town, the sea was a mass of white horses galloping towards the shore. Little yachts strained at anchor in the sheltering bay, which wasn't doing such a great job today, while our small flotilla of warships bobbed at the quay on more substantial moorings. Swathes of cloud and sea air obscured the view across the bay, normally so stunning with the late afternoon sun warming the mountains - today one could hardly see them. This in no way detracted from my enjoyment of the view - another great reason why Cape Town is so high on the list of favourite destinations.

Back home, the George lilies continue to delight, bursting into bloom overnight at regular intervals. They are the most rewarding flowers I have ever had, and seem to thrive exactly where they are with the minimum of fuss - long may they last!

The hanging gardens

Having had every attempt over the last 10 years or so at a vegetable garden thwarted by baboons, porcupines, drought, caterpillars, snails, moles and who knows what else, I have embarked on a new strategy.
He Who Can Fix Anything is an obsessive collector of other people's rubbish at the local dump, and when I told him my plan for a new type of vegetable patch, he rushed off to see what could be salvaged. He came back with ten 20-litre containers, sawed off the top third, drilled drainage holes in the bottom and holes for strings in the sides and hung them on the crossbars of the 'roof' of the vegetable patch (all my idea).
Then it was time for a visit to the nursery, where we collected ten bags of potting soil, chicken manure pellets and an assortments of greens.
After filling each hanging pot with soil and fertiliser, the kale, herbs, spinach, cos lettuce and rocket were planted well out of reach of anything except a passing butterfly and watered well. Now time will tell!

Snippets

Odd little occurrences all day.
The house that is being rebuilt nearby and is presumably unoccupied as the entire top storey is missing has an alarm that goes off day and night. You would think it could be disarmed to prevent disturbing the neighbourhood. Just a thought.
The chickens next door are not going to be there much longer. The little bantam rooster has become very aggressive and attacks people and dogs. Who would have thought? Small man syndrome? Tiny rooster?
I'll miss the early morning crowing.
Galeforce southeaster at the top of Table Mountain in the morning and breathless by sunset. Autumn in Cape Town.
Hanging baskets of flowers stolen from local coffee shop in the night. How desperate (or pathetic) can a person be?
Eight black bags of leaves raked up in the garden. I have evergreens. These are leaves that have succumbed to the heat and wind as well as normal attrition.
Phone call from a friend visiting Hermanus asking for the name of the observatory there. Hermanus Magnetic Observatory?
All the high-value tiles of Scrabble came out in the last 10. Despite a record number of 6 and 7 letter words, our lowest-scoring game ever at 223 and 231.
Apart from that, another beautiful autumn day.

Update on the kitties

Mango Kitty and Mr Bigglesworth have now passed their first birthday. It's hard to believe that they used to sit on my shoulder and cuddle into my neck. They haven't grown into particularly big cats and retain a sleek feline outline. I attribute this to their disdain for human food - a roast chicken idly left on the counter will be left untouched as they meow for supper! Plenty of time spent playing together at night (a time when all good cats should be outside, but not ours!), play-fighting, rolling up and down the passage in a tight wrestling hold, fearsome growls and hisses - all this keeps the metabolism going and strengthens the close bond between these siblings.
They like to be close to us, and particularly when we are sitting at the table playing Scrabble during loadshedding - Biggles gets in on the action by rolling on the board, or else the two of them curl up close by to make sure we are all behaving. He is a most affectionate and soppy cat, enjoying a good cuddle at any opportunity - definitely the softest cat we have ever had. Mango is slightly more aloof, but requires immediate attention by way of vigorous stroking when she wakes up. Her favourite position is under a rug, where she thinks no one can see her.
Unfortunately their favourite pastime is catching the local wildlife, most notably sunbirds, lizards and geckos, and today Mango was in bad odour after bringing in a beautiful Cape Robin Chat. Fortunately we managed to catch and release it before too many feathers flew, and it should be none the worse for wear.
The baby sunbird that hatched out in the vicinity this summer was caught twice, each time losing more tail feathers, and I'm pleased to report that it has now matured into a slightly smaller version of its dad and the two of them were gathering nectar in the hibiscus today.
Despite their hunting activities, they remain a delight and we are very happy to have been able to give them a home.

 

The changing scene

Surprisingly, today's weather forecast was correct, and towards the end of a hot day, the clouds moved in from the south as predicted. Although it looks ominous, we are still not expecting precipitation from this cloud bank, but a bit of shade for the garden is more than welcome.
A walk along the boardwalk near the lighthouse was refreshing and the sea a pale milky green in the absence of blue skies. The contrast at the edge of the cloud bank made for interesting light!

I have over the years taken literally thousands of photos of the sea in front of my house, in its many moods, at high and low tide and on almost every day of the year from sunrise to sunset. Ships ply to and fro, whales breach and wave their tails, fishing boats chug by in the early hours, returning hopefully with laden holds a day or two later. There is never a dull moment living next to the sea and I love sharing it all with you.

 

Getting drier

So they lied about the rain. Desertification is setting in. In the last week, despite watering from the wellpoint, I have lost a bed of dianthus, most of the spinach, some struggling coprosma seedlings, a much-loved confetti bush, a restio, two lavenders and a few patches of lawn. And now I am very concerned about the two leucadendrons that have flourished so over the last few years, growing taller than me in two seasons - the leaves are turning brown from the bottom of the stems and it looks like they have succumbed to the heat and wind, despite those in the wild not seeming to mind those conditions. I have a theory on that - the soil on the mountains is weathered sandstone and almost white in colour, which would maybe keep the roots cooler than in a garden where we are obsessed with adding compost and topsoil to enrich it and thus making the ground darker and more likely to retain the heat. As I say, just my theory.
If they die, then the only alternative as our summers get hotter and our winters drier is to go for the aloe family. This is already very popular in Kommetjie and the verges are magnificent when the aloes are in bloom. With so many varieties, there is a long season of colour ranging from palest yellow to fiery reds and oranges, and of course the added bonus is the birdlife that comes with it. They also make great barriers along fences to deter idle intruders, including porcupines. When not in bloom, the spiny leaves provide interest through shapes and markings that are pleasing to the eye. Best of all, they can be grown from a leaf or simply breaking off a branch of certain varieties and can be shared with all your friends and neighbours at no cost - water-wise and money-wise plants indeed!

Letting in the light

The weekend went by in a froth of activity. Friday saw the view disappear; although we had only had it briefly during the last week, you don't miss it if you never had it, so perhaps we should have averted our gaze when it was there. Oh well. There is still a bit of the gap and we can always take a 3-minute walk down to the rocks, which is far more beneficial for the soul.

Cooler weather brought renewed enthusiasm for gardening, and Robert was soon up in the trees sawing away at thick branches that have smothered other trees and caused the neighbours to have to use their lights during the day. (As I write this, a bird has taken advantage of the extra light and space to smash beak first into my window, leaving an imprint of beak, one eye, chest and outspread wings - fortunately it survived and has disappeared into the blue yonder.)

While he sawed away, I lopped smaller branches off the hibiscus, bay tree and buddleia, and soon the garden was a heap of off-cuts waiting to be taken off to the dump for shredding and composting. We are now ready to plant for winter and spring in a much lighter, brighter and enticing space!

Next door, the rooster continues to crow at dawn and sometimes before, but I must have got used to it, as I no longer wake up! This is one feisty rooster, possibly because he is a bantam and short of stature. They have a new Labrador puppy and I heard it yelping and whining for some time down near the bottom of the garden. No one seemed to be going to investigate, so off I went and found this poor puppy a little way up a tree and jammed against my fence, trembling. The rooster (half its size) was pecking away at the puppy! I managed to alert the owner of the menagerie who said the rooster was giving her puppy a hard time. Judging by first impressions, that little dog is not going to be much use as security one day. So cute, though. 

A frightened francolin

I was sitting at my desk on the balcony (indoors) this afternoon when a large bird came flying past my head in a panic, chased by Mango Kitty! It was a francolin (Cape spur fowl) - about the size of a chicken - and a panicked francolin in a confined space is quite something. It battered itself against the windows, flying from room to room. The only way to catch it was  to pin it against the window. It was difficult to get control of those powerful wings and fortunately its large beak was facing away from me. Eventually - I suppose in seconds but it felt like a long time - I had a grip and managed to get it outside without the dogs and cats having a second chance. But the amount of feathers that fell out was alarming. I hope it recovers and doesn't die of heart failure after such a panic.

I have no idea how it got into the house as there is no way the cat could have held such a large bird in her mouth. I can only imagine that Mango was stalking it on the front lawn and it flew up to escape, but the chances of it coming into the house are so small as to be impossible. We often have doves that fly in through the open sliding windows and the occasional small bird brought in by the cats, but this was an experience I hope not to have again. Luckily nothing was broken, but it could have ended very badly if I hadn't been around to catch it.

A delightful find

I chanced upon a lucky find today - the Weskus Padstal at the turnoff to Yzerfontein. Who would have thought that an unprepossessing assortment of buildings would yield such a fascinating interior? The most marvellous assortment of goodies awaits the tourist and local alike inside the large shop - locally made clothing, hand-knitted jerseys and things you just don't see in too many other places are there for the picking. The usual homemade preserves and jams are supplemented by olive oils, salad dressings and other delectable delights from the Winelands and vicinity.

 

 
 Once you have browsed and bought, you can then go further into the building and find yourself in the indoor eating area, and then the outdoor area, where everything from old army dixies to glass fishing buoys adorned the walls. Artistic use has been made of the huge wooden cable reels that hold the cables laid along the sides of our roads, and tables, umbrellas, fencing and gates have magically appeared from these rather utilitarian items. Four enormous pink marble lions guard the garden and an old tree stump, very skilfully carved,
dominate the area.
A nursery is accommodated, but the plants are laid out along winding paths in small areas and so it is not immediately apparent until you see the labels. But the piece de resistance is the section with the aviaries, where you can admire everything from a budgie to a macaw. Although I am not enamoured of caged birds, these do have companions and are evidently very well looked after - a hobby of the owner, not for sale.
The coffee was excellent and the meatballs were egte boerekos. There is an extensive menu of light meals and takeaways are available for travellers on their way further afield. An added bonus is the friendly and efficient staff! I consider the drive up from Cape Town to be worth it for a half day outing for something a little different, and there is always the magnificent beach a little further down the road to go walking along should you have overindulged in the cake section!

Bromeliads - a must for any garden

The most successful plant that I grow in my garden is the bromeliad, which exactly suits the type of gardening I am good at - not much digging, feeding at long intervals, occasional watering and general neglect. In other words, if it can grow without me, it can stay! The best thing about these plants is that they don't actually need soil and exist on air and the moisture they gather in the base of their attractive leaves. These tropical plants are as happy in the fork of tree as on a hook in your bathroom and their stunning inflorescences sometimes last for months without fading.
The bromeliads are native to Latin and South America and were first introduced to Europe in 1690 by way of the pineapple - one of the few utilitarian examples of a bromeliad. It was some time before people began to grow interested in the plant rather than the fruit although the non-fruiting varieties were spectacular in their colours and bizarre forms. There are about 2 000 species of bromeliad and it is a very rewarding plant to make a hobby of collecting, due to the aforegoing and the fact that they flower at different times, ensuring that there is always something exciting to look at!

In the wild there are varieties that are 1m in diameter and 7m tall, and these are obviously not suitable for suburban gardens - they also grow high up in the Andes at around 4 000m. Many varieties are home to large colonies of ants, which the early botanists who collected specimens found out to their cost! Although they are described as tropical plants, this relates to their geographical situation, as the climate in Central and South America ranges from the driest desert to rainforest and between altitudes of 0m - 6 700m above sea level. So not every bromeliad requires the same conditions to flourish.
One of the ways in which the bromeliad propagates itself is through 'pupping', which is the growth of a side shoot after flowering. This pup takes over as the new plant and the old one dies, and in this way a relatively sparse patch of bromeliads can soon become overcrowded. It is then time to separate them and give a few away to your friends, or start a new patch elsewhere in the garden. (This information comes from The Bromeliad Lexicon by Werner Rauh)
The propagation and growth of these plants is very easy and you will be richly rewarded with fascinating and colourful inflorescences at almost no cost. I can highly recommend it. A word of warning - some have leaves with viciously serrated edges and chainmail should be worn when removing snails and dead vegetation, otherwise you will look like this:

New life after the fire

Took a drive down to Cape Point this morning to see the damage done by the lightning strike which caused such devastation and loss of life. The fire started near Platboom and the lightning strike was witnessed by a friend who was beachcombing that day. Strong winds fanned the blaze and over some days, an 11-kilometre swathe burned up the western side of the Reserve, leaving very little in its wake. A walk across the grey sand revealed the sad remains of many, many tortoises; it was strange to note that most of them were near the edge of the road and facing into what had been bushes - how could they have known that the road might have been the safer place?
And yet new life is already making an appearance. A fire lily has burst through the crusted soil in defiance, despite no rains as yet. A tiny tortoise crossed the road in search of a green leaf - its shell was shiny and undamaged and I removed it from danger in the road and placed it next to a sparse patch of greenery that had miraculously escaped the flames. On a rock nearby, a spiny lizard sunned itself. The centres of very densely packed plants remained green despite blackened outer leaves and will doubtless return to former glory. The fynbos will be rejuvenated with new growth and seed germination. It will take time, but it will happen.

Moonscape

Future fynbos?

Rocks shattered by the heat

A sad casualty

Fire lily

Just over the road...

Platboom - the fire started on the right

Possible site of lightning strike

Waiting for rain

The sea is like a mirror today, after yesterday's grit-swirling black southeaster - almost unheard of at this time of year when our thoughts are turning to a change of wind direction and some rain to soothe the dessicated lawns and yellowing leaves. Forecasts of rain for this week have diminished to cloudy conditions, and we can only hope that it is not going to be one of those dry winters that keep us looking anxiously at the levels of the dams.

I remember a particularly bad year way back in the late 60s when water levels were so low that water restrictions were introduced for the first time. Bathwater had to be shared in the family and a hose used to empty the final product out through the window and into the garden. Not a drop was to be wasted and watering of gardens from a primary source was strictly controlled. Many plants didn't survive that summer and waterwise became the name of the game, something which remains uppermost in our minds when planning our gardens to this day.
If I weren't fortunate enough to have a plentiful supply of underground water, I doubt whether there would be lawns in my landscaping (I use that word loosely, as I pretty much let anything that can gain a foothold in this poor soil grow unfettered!). As it is, flowerbeds are non-existent and colour is restricted to a few potted petunias. I rely heavily on the easy-to-manage clivias, bromeliads and agapanthus and just have to make sure the trees provide sufficient shade through judicious pruning.
This last week's record-breaking temperatures put paid to the spinach, and the worms ate the last of the kale, so I will be reserving their water for the newly planted bougainvillea. I trust it will become a thing of beauty to enjoy forever!

Out of touch

There are few times in today’s life when we feel more disconnected from the world than when our internet connection is down. We have become so accustomed to being in constant contact with those we follow on social media that any break in communication is akin to being cast away on a desert island. How can we share our innermost thoughts? By the time the connection is reinstated, we have forgotten those deep emotions and are left with only a photo of our morning cup of coffee to share and a mention of whether we slept well or not.

I was unable to send out my morning weather photo, not in itself a global crisis, but something I enjoy as part of my comfortable morning routine. I feel I can get on with my day after I have shared the glorious view with those who might be interested. I couldn’t tap out a quick message to let people know that the flamingos are in the Kom right now and give them an opportunity to go down there and enjoy their amusing antics as they scuffle and squabble in the shallows.

Those eagerly awaited messages from friends near and far remain locked in cyberspace – they don’t know they have not been received, and all will be old news by the time connectivity is restored. It will be like receiving a message in Morse code as each new one pings its notification!

So while I am disconnected from the social world, I think I’ll reconnect with those flamingos. See you later!

A moonless night

It's 1am and sleep eludes me.
Darkness sharpens the senses, compensating for the lack of light on a moonless night. The sound of the sea tumbling in the bay is crisp, a rhythmic rumble unmasked by the hum of daytime activities or diverted by the wind that inevitably sweeps the land. The tinkling of the fountain below my window is like the running of a tap left on by a careless hand, accentuated by the falling level of the water in the bowl after another long, hot day.
The buzzing of a mosquito, bent on a bloody feast, zeros in beside my ear. A slap on the side of my head, and silence. The telltale lumps on my shoulders are evidence that I was too late.
Earlier this evening, I stood outside under the vine-draped pergolas of Steenberg golf club, at the foot of mountains devastated by fires and breathed in the harsh, acrid smell of recent burning hanging heavy on the air of the verdant valley, the shrilling of cicadas in the shrubbery a reminder that life carries on regardless of surrounding events.
The stars are bright against the firmament tonight - the moon is not yet risen. They twinkle silently as they move from east to west with the turning of the Earth in a gentle arc, a constant guide to travellers of old. Satellites criss-cross the darkness to guide travellers of today, silent too as they hurtle round and round and round on an almost endless orbit, until they grow old and tired and, unlike the stars they imitate, crash ignobly to Earth in a ball of fire.
A little fleet of fishing boats is passing by on the way to seek the bounty of the sea, their navigation lights strung out like jewels across the smooth sea. In the far distance, I can see the lights of a large cargo vessel as it slips around the Cape in fair weather.
These are the things of a warm, still night at the end of summer.
And so to sleep, perchance to dream...

Taking a walk

With the onset of cooler weather, respite from the punishing southeasters and soft light of early autumn, I took a most unusual step and walked along Long Beach. The heavy seas of the weekend had flattened to an almost pond-like surface - the board-snapping giants of Sunset were nowhere to be seen.

It must be some years since I walked there - I'm not a beach person, for some reason, maybe I don't like hot sun, sticky sand or howling winds, but today was a delight as I paddled in the shallows, occasionally getting my jeans legs wet by a sudden unexpected surge that splashed up my legs at such a rate that only a sprint up the beach would have avoided it. The water wasn't all that cold, although admittedly the feet are a little more forgiving than the soft flesh of an exposed belly, and a woman in a bikini was spotted at the beginning of our walk, heading for the shoreline. I didn't look back to see if she actually went in.
In all the years I have lived here, I recall only going into the sea twice and never beyond knee level. It's a discomfort level I have no need to experience, not being directly related to any mermaid that I know of. On the hottest of days, I remember the swims I had at Fish Hoek beach way back in the 60s and 70s and yearn slightly for those times, but a dip of the toe on this side of the Peninsula just doesn't bring back that same experience! And of course Jaws didn't help - I have had a very healthy respect for the sea since I saw that mechanical shark way back when!
We live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. It is time I went out into it and walked the wet sand and scorched mountains and breathed the unpolluted air fed in from the icy South Atlantic. It is free and the very best way to restore one's soul and equilibrium.

Living too close to nature?

As the sun peeps over the peaks of the Hottentots Holland mountains, spreading golden rays across the waters of False Bay and lighting up the Peninsula in gentle autumnal hues, even the fire-blackened hillsides reflect a warm glow. Heavy seas brought to our shores by a cold front deep in the South Atlantic obscure the coastline in a fine mist, and here in Kommetjie the crashing of the breakers on the rocky shoreline is deafening.
The hadedahs arrived early this morning, their cacophonous call adding to the overall din, while the sacred ibis winged their silent way overhead. Swallows are gathering in ever-larger flocks to snatch the last insects from our skies in preparation for the long flight northwards, and soon they will be gone. The garden birds chirp in the shrubbery and welcome the new day, no matter what it brings.
Nature continues unfazed by events that touch it. The world continues to turn and the sun rises and sets in the usual way. Green shoots have already risen from the ashes and soon it will be only the blackened trunks and branches of trees that remain as evidence of the fires that have taken lives and destroyed dwellings in the last week.
Perhaps we need to re-examine our relationship with the earth by taking more care over where we settle, being mindful of the need for a barrier of safety between us and the elements. History teaches us that the greatest loss occurs when we live in inappropriate places - the foot of a volcano, low-lying land where tsunamis are a risk, steep hillsides in heavy rainfall regions. People still live in the tornado belt of the USA, rebuilding time after time.
As I write this, I listen to the sea not 100 metres from my house and not too many feet above the high tide mark and wonder about giant waves.

Surfer's paradise

A southwest wind developed overnight, bringing with it a huge swell along the Atlantic seaboard, spreading into False Bay and providing great conditions for surfing. Sunset reef at Kommetjie was board-breaking, and the breakers at Outer and Inner Kom and Baby Pipes provided plenty of practice for keen and fearless surfers and body boarders, many of whom were young girls, I am pleased to say, showing their mettle among the finest.

One brave or foolhardy gent was without a wetsuit - I believe that is his modus operandi - and I shouldn't think the water was much above 10 degrees. Different strokes for different folks!
The photos don't do justice to the strength or size of the waves, as all the action was happening between the lowering sun and me - tricky when just using a cell phone. There was also a fine mist caused by the turmoil of the sea, but this was a welcome change from the smoky haze of the last week. Much cooler temperatures are being experienced now as autumn creeps closer and the mornings are darker - forecasts for the next three months say the mean temperatures over the Western Cape will be lower than normal - perhaps the winter woollies will come out sooner! But with autumn comes the big seas that bring invigorating air to our coastline and our very own 'smoke that thunders' - my favourite time of year.