Living with Lockdown - 28

Having just missed the warmest and most windless autumn in many years, we are now getting a thorough thrashing from the first cold front which arrived early this morning. Branches are breaking, the dead tree where the birds love to sit and pose for photographs leaned over just now, falling short of completely crashing down, and now propped up by sturdy poles, and the pansies I planted yesterday are battling to keep their bonnets on. The birds are loving it, darting among the branches and bathing in the raindrops clinging to the leaves. Despite a near gale blowing, the Cape white eyes and weavers are determined not to miss a drop of nectar, clinging tight-toed to the perch on the bottle swinging wildly to and fro. The opening aloes are also attracting attention, and it is good to see that they have not come to rely on the feeder and still seek organic food!
One of the best reasons to live in Kommetjie is proximity to the wild and roiling seas of winter, and today was no exception. An early walk to the lighthouse saw me literally leaning into the Atlantic gale and revelling in the blustery conditions. There is something exciting and exhilarating about a winter westerly that makes me want to be outside, even in the rain. Quite the opposite of the Cape Doctor, the summer southeaster that brings out the worst in everybody. A study should be done on what these two winds carry - perhaps one is fresh sea air and the other is allergens.
Within days, we can expect to see a marked change in the garden. Watering keeps plants alive, but rain makes them live! (Yes, Lara, I have noticed that too.) Having survived 9 weeks of scaffolding and ladders, my garden is looking amazingly neat (all excess undergrowth and branches have been removed for mobility of said scaffold) and we managed to place the wheels with minimum loss of life of the smaller shrubs. The balcony has been transformed, with all the potplants removed and troughs placed in brackets are filled with succulents, dianthus, alyssum and pansies. The George lilies will be joining them soon. The bamboo covering (derelict after many baboon capers) has been consigned to the compost and a deck for sundowners is in the planning stage.
Lockdown and the weather must have conspired to create the perfect conditions. Hopefully the two will never meet again.

My Eulogy for Dad - three years crossed the bar

Dad has left us. Shuffled off this mortal coil in what appeared unseemly haste, yet on reflection was a fitting end to the life of a man who was intensely interested in so many things and would have suffered so much more had he been unable to live a full life.



There were two distinct phases of his life; the working years and retirement. As a naval officer, all we knew about his work was that he went off every day in his smart uniform and returned in time for dinner with a kiss for Mom and a smile that said he was happy to see us. He never told us what he did or brought work problems home. Occasionally he would go off to sea for a few weeks and return to tell us that he had been in swells that went 60 feet up and 60 feet down, and that was all.



Dad led by example in the way he lived. He believed that children should be well-mannered and respectful of their elders, and the best way to ensure that was a flick on the ear at the dinner table if we transgressed and his favourite words, “Run along”, when they had company. We had the best childhood ever due to his simple rules and they were proud to have three daughters who could be relied on to not let them down in public. He was a man who served God throughout his long life in this very church, yet never once preached to others on how to live their lives. His gift to his children was accepting that each was different, allowing us to make our own decisions, helping us when they were the wrong ones and loving us equally and unconditionally. We were given freedom in the most real sense of the word. He was an excellent provider, ensuring we were given a safe, secure upbringing with no lack for material needs and no knowledge that the world consisted of anything less.



At the age of 53, he elected to take early retirement rather than move to Pretoria – he always had his priorities right – and from then on his life was filled with activities that were dear to his heart, always including Mother, and thanks to all the years of not buying us ice creams at the beach, they were able to embark on an endless series of holidays. Some were overseas and some were local. Sometimes they came home to have a holiday from holidays. The best times of my life include every holiday spent with them, over the last 60 years, and in fact he and I are booked to go fossil-hunting in the Karoo in August.



He spent many years taking foreign birders on private tours around the country, which allowed him to do the three things he was passionate about: being out in nature, ticking off his bird list and imparting his vast knowledge to interested persons. He was not a man to dominate conversation, preferring to let Mom chat away in her cheerful and engaging manner, and would only enter the fray after careful consideration of his words, which sometimes gave the impression that he hadn’t heard and some patience was required. I don't think there were many who left an encounter with our parents not feeling that their day had been enriched in some way. It was a marriage made in heaven, based on the most important thing: mutual respect: he chose to ignore anything about her that irritated him and she chose to let him believe he was always right. He never discussed politics, money or religion in general conversation - always a winner in my books – and never brought down the tone of the conversation. Negativity, criticism and despair were not on his agenda.



We will never again see him sitting in his chair, working on the cryptic crossword, or filling in his charts on the birds he had seen that day, a full weather report, what he had spent on groceries or household bills. This ritual began more than 40 years ago and as with everything he did, was meticulous in its detail and may yet prove to be of interest to statisticians. I can give you the price of peanut butter in April 1982 if you like. The rainfall report in particular shows that we might just be due for an upswing. His interests included stamps, birds, flora and fauna, astronomy and most of all photography. He belonged to all the affiliated clubs and societies as well as attending UCT’s summer school, U3A and Probus. His sport as a young man was hockey and when asked to point out our dad on the field we would say, the one leaning on his hockey stick - he conserved his energy for when the ball actually came in his direction. I suppose you could say that was the way he approached life.  He prepared himself for an event and then waited for it to happen, always trusting that the outcome would be favourable. There was never a Plan B.



He was our go-to for anything we wanted to know, and now we are only left with Google.



When Mom passed away in 2015, he bore his loss with equanimity, but we knew life had lost its lustre without her. He continued to attend all events that they would have anyway, driving very capably to the last, and even in February enjoyed a long trip around the country including the Kruger Park, still ticking off his bird list, and drove to Beaufort West to join the tour, no mean feat for an 88-year-old.



His sudden illness came unexpectedly and was mercifully brief. He reached his last goal, his 89th birthday, and said, ‘It is time. No plan B.’



You are all here because he touched your life in some way, and that is his legacy. He encouraged, mentored and passed on as much knowledge as he could about the things that are important: faith, tolerance and love for this planet and all its creatures.



CROSSING THE BAR = Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Sunset and evening star And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar When I put out to sea
But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam
When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell when I embark.
For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far
I hope to see my Pilot’s face When I have crossed the bar. 

Living with Lockdown - 27

The early morning exercise 'allowance' for us is between 6am and 9am. In Cape Town the sun is coming up at around 7.30, so that shortens the sensible outdoor time by at least an hour. The number of people now walking along the perimeter beachfront route here exceeds anything I have ever experienced at any time of day in the 38 years as a resident. Hordes of small children on bicycles pedal furiously to keep up with mom and dad cruising ahead. Masks are not a fashion item among the majority. It didn't take me long to choose no exercise rather than risk the careless mob, and so I combine a stroll to the local Neighbourhood Farm outlet with my route around Kommetjie. 

The air had a pleasant nip still, while blue skies and sunshine promised a warmer day ahead of tomorrow's expected showers, and the empty pathways allowed me to listen to the silence - something so important in restoring the soul. All over the country we are finding that birdlife seems to be more abundant, and certainly the shorebirds are revelling in a little respite from being chased by dogs and the intrusion of people. Egrets, herons, oystercatchers, sacred ibis and hadedahs abound on the rocks, and I'm sure the Cape clawless otters that live in the area are having a ball.

It's still a little early for the fully glory of the aloes that are a feature of our verges, but splashes of red against blue skies and sea are very photogenic, and the fishing boats plying in and out of Hout Bay complete the scene in our picturesque village. A delightful walk by the sea, and two bags of fresh produce from a local vegetable garden. Who could ask for more?

The path through a very dry Skilpadsvlei

Looking toward Slangkop lighthouse

Home is behind the palm trees

Living with Lockdown - 26

A change of season has come to pass during lockdown. It was still the end of summer when we were summarily confined to barracks, with little time to prepare either gardens or wardrobe for a new look.
There was an extra hour or so of daylight eight weeks ago, and in just another six it will be the winter solstice. We have lost an autumn, my favourite time of year, when the leaves turn red and gold and drop to the ground to decompose in a never-ending renewal of the soil, feeding the roots of the trees in time for spring. Drought has taught us that raking up the leaves is a bad idea, as the natural mulch cannot be bettered and is free from the tree. Any leaves that fall on brick paving can be swept back into the flower beds where bugs can breed in a little paradise and birds can have a constantly renewable source of food. A highly manicured garden never did much good for the cycles of nature. For years we had a gardener who was obsessed with picking up every single leaf in the entire garden and so the earth was barren until he retired and the new man believed in mulching.
The warm autumn days and lack of rain meant that the last of the water had to be sucked from the wellpoint (it is now completely dry) and the remains of the storage tanks simply to keep the garden alive, and as the shadows lengthened with the northward march of the sun the garden remained damp for days. The fiddlewood, bare as a baby's bottom for months and feared to have succumbed at last, burst into bud within days of the first rainfall and is now a mass of greenery. The bougainvillea, starved of water, was a profusion of purple, the best it has ever been, and is now creeping steadily over the bare branches of a dead tree, determined to fulfil its duty of covering it with beauty. The bromeliads, which only need a sip of water in the centre of their tightly bound stems to bloom, are in mass display, and the aloes are on their way to winter wonderland. Along with the abundant birdlife, the garden has survived lockdown much better than we have, thriving, it seems, simply because we have been appreciating it.

Living with Lockdown - 25

Another aspect of the busy birds in the garden is that many appear to be chasing the ladies. I thought that was a Spring affair, but perhaps they are taking advantage of the good weather and peaceful surroundings to increase their chances of the species surviving.
We have been treated to some incredible displays of the courtship dance of the male Malachite sunbird while his female counterpart sits on a twig seemingly unimpressed. I'm sure she's just playing hard to get, as who could fail to fall for that shimmering blue and green plumage, fluttering wings like a hummingbird and exaggeratedly long tail feathers held proudly aloft! I expect to see young malachites soon, to add to the existing family of three.
The bulbuls are fanning their tail feathers to increase their chances of being spotted by one of the many females frequenting the feeder, and they are also increasing in numbers by the day. I can't say we need any more, as they gulp down the nectar faster than I can fill the bottles - in the last few days consumption has doubled.
The ever ebullient Southern Double-collared sunbirds, who start their twittering before sunrise, have always been a strong presence and are the most tame of the sunbirds. With a cat who often brings one into the house to be rescued, we have had many opportunities to hold these tiny birds, and they tend to linger on a finger before flying off, almost as a 'thank you'. There is currently a male who is giving us a remarkable display of his yellow 'epaulettes' at the moment, and the females are doubtless queueing for his attentions.
A gorgeous pair of Cape White-eyes were preening each other on a branch just outside the window yesterday, nestled close to each other in a most endearing display of birdy affection. Today's rain had them all of a twitter, fluffing out their feathers and shaking raindrops and dust off themselves in little blurs of green and grey. Always entertaining and heart-warming to watch.

Living with Lockdown - 24

The biggest advantage of being up a scaffold on the outside of the house every day is that you literally get a bird's eye view of the garden and your surroundings. Since lockdown, the birdlife in our garden has increased both in numbers of existing visitors and also new sightings. The disadvantage of being up the scaffold is that the camera is inside the house and all attempts to climb through windows or rush around the building and up the stairs to retrieve same before the flighty birds flee are usually in vain.
Today we were exceptionally lucky. As my son perched on the plank under the gable and I stood holding his pants as a safety measure, two sombre greenbuls alighted in the tree right next to us. After observing us for a moment, they flew from tree to tree, remarkably landing on the dead branch that now forms a feature in the aloe garden next to the feeder, and eventually flying off after we managed to get a few hurried snaps. Such excitement meant a tea break and a seat down in the garden near the feeder, where the last few days have seen such incredible avian activity - literally 20 - 30 birds constantly moving among the trees and between the two feeders. Bulbuls, Cape sparrows, weavers, Cape white eyes, Southern double-collared sunbirds, Malachite sunbirds, Southern boubous, Common fiscal, a pair of very tame Fiscal flycatchers, Cape robin-chat.
Suddenly a bird swooped in and landed on the feeder - an Amethyst sunbird, first time sighted anywhere and top of our list of lifers. And in the centre of the lens. What excitement! Iridescent green crown, purple throat and chest and a burnished gold on the wing. Such beauty on such a small scale. Sombre greenbuls and an Amethyst sunbird. And then a pair of Blacksmith lapwings flew overhead. Who could ask for more?
Lockdown has been very good for the wildlife and we are lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time!

Living with Lockdown - 23

There have been many changes on our property since lockdown began. The most evident is the transformation of a neglected wooden home that has not seen a paintbrush or varnish for years - we estimate 20, as time certainly flies. We aren't going to point any fingers as to the neglector, but suffice to say it wasn't me. I am not a housepainter, carpenter, tiler, or labourer by trade, nor do I consider it my duty to climb a ladder to clean an upstairs window. A hose will do, at least when there are no water restrictions, and staying next to the sea makes window cleaning a thankless task anyway. 

However, suffice to say the house was in a shocking condition and we were pressganged by the owner (He Who Can Fix Anything) from the first day of lockdown. With no means of escape, despite three vehicles waiting in the driveway, we removed garage doors, erected scaffolds, used angle grinders and sanders on every plank and window frame to remove years of peeling varnish and reveal bare wood, replaced split planks and rotten frames, and then varnished (three coats) and painted the white trim (two undercoats and two paint), doing one side of the house at a time. None of this was fun and took place under duress, but hysteria sometimes took over and the three of us (me and the kids) would laugh into our paint pots and wobble on the scaffold as we discussed various accidents that might befall HWCFA. 
Our fitness levels soared as we scaled the scaffold, agile as an artiste from Cirque de Soleil, but without the ribbons to safeguard us from a fall. We discovered aching muscles and tendons we never knew existed, and by 9pm were fast asleep. We wore the same paint-spattered clothes for days, nobody needed makeup or hairdos. The neighbours must have gone crazy from the noise but, hey, they all renovated their homes over the space of a year and at least they weren't the ones up the ladder grinding six days a week with a concession of only the soft swish of brushstrokes on a Sunday.
All of this required me to provide three meals and two teas and cake every day, combined with normal household duties as well as my share of the painting. To say that our sense of humour evaporated at times is putting it mildly and I often tested the weight of a frying pan in my hand.
Six weeks on, and Level 4 arrived. HWCFA and daughter went back to work. The remaining slaves continue the final touches, the fiddly bits, the parts that are unreachable. Today my son perched on a plank on the double storey scaffold and I held on to his pants while he sanded the gable. He told me that my grip was what separated him from life and death. Such confidence he has in me. Yet all went well, the house is looking brand new, and we have nobody watching our every move. There is time to sit quietly in the garden and watch the birds, the clouds, and the magnificent sunsets that characterise this part of the world in May. 

Plant your fields with the future that you want

Oh, woe is the world! If ever there was compelling evidence for more intelligent life in all parts of the universe, this must be it. With social media giving voices to trolls, morons, hate-spreaders, bigots and other forms of low life, it is inconceivable that we could be considered an intelligent life form or even civilised. With electioneering and governments around the world demonstrating just how low we can go, it is without doubt time to give serious thought to how we got into this situation and how we can get out of it. There is more than enough literature on solutions, but how to persuade the sheep to stop going 'baaaa' and look for a new field?
A field of all possibilities, which is what the universe is. Pure potential waiting to be turned into a reality of your choosing!
The reality I am currently choosing is to sit outside in the warm autumn sunshine, where blue skies stretch endlessly overhead and birds float by on thermals, taking them silently home to roost. The sea ebbs and flows nearby in ceaseless motion, constantly lapping at the shores of this great continent, where land first emerged from the seas to establish the environment for life, culminating in our current species, which must surely be a work in progress. A short way up the coastline, a huge excavation of dinosaur and other animal bones may be seen, the result of a massive and catastrophic wash-away in the distant past that swept them down to the coast and dumped them in a delta in a tangled mass of bodies. In the Karoo we can see scrapes from a glacier on the rocks, evidence of a once much colder climate in this now barren and extreme land.
This should surely be enough evidence that everything changes and nothing stays the same. What are the chances that we, the human race, are also just part of the cycle of life on this planet and we, too, will cease to exist? Pretty good, I would say. So why not take advantage of the natural beauty, herbs and plants and animal produce we have been given for our very survival and enjoy our time here, living in peace with each other and sharing Nature's bounty rather than joining the bandwagon of the power-hungry who rule by fear and loathing? Let them also reap what they sow.
Plant your fields with the future that you want.

Living with Lockdown - 22

While lockdown continues across the globe, with varying measures of success, and here at home we are all beginning to wonder about the heavy-handed manner of dealing with those who transgress the 'rules' in the most innocent of ways, and economic doom and gloom hangs heavy over heads, the only solution (for me, anyway) for a little peace of mind continues to be our natural world. Humans have indeed proven to be a curse on this planet, with technology forced upon us without care for its effect on the very beings that make life possible - bees, birds and other animals that ensure pollination of the plants that form the basis of our foodstuffs. Without them, humans will be spending most of their time with little brushes in hand, pollinating every plant on the planet. In no time there will be another mass extinction.
The spate of satellites being launched to enable 5G technology to connect the world is causing trouble in the astronomical sector and already a plan is being made to reduce their 'shine' and those of us who witnessed low orbit passes may be the last to have experienced their surreal path across the sky.  But still nobody can confirm the effects on bees, birds and small animals. This is what the fuss is about - not whether it will affect human health. Humans have no respect for their health anyway. One only has to look at the supermarket shelves to see that many aisles are filled with goods bearing no nutritional value whatsoever, and in fact are a direct cause of ill health. The soft drinks section is what I call 'poison alley'.
There are petitions to ask the government to ban the roll-out of 5G (it has been made available in 3 South African cities specially for lockdown) and it is unlikely that these will be effective, although every effort should be made to retain some kind of voice, albeit a squeak.
As I stand under the stars on my newly painted deck, just before dawn on another quietly magnificent autumn day, it is easy to discard the cares of the world. If only world 'leaders' and captains of industry spent more time looking up and recognising their true insignificance in the bigger picture, maybe we would see a shift in attitude towards our real reason for being here. We live in hope.