Living with Lockdown - 13

The number on the blog title doesn't relate to the number of days in lockdown. Some of them have not been worthy of recording.
The autumn days continue to be spectacular in Cape Town. The softer light after the harsh summer sun brings different hues to the dawn sun on the mountains, and the shadows cast by the valleys and ridges have changed as the sun continues its northward journey. This is the time of year I love best, when hiking is most enjoyable as the heat lessens, the sea breeze starts to come in from the Atlantic with accompanying aromas of kelp and salt air, and we start to look forward to the winter rains.
Easter is often a time of strong southeasters and awe-inspiring photos of waves pounding against the sea wall at Kalk Bay harbour feature prominently, but this year we are looking forward to a westerly wind bringing the first real cold front, and hopefully this will materialise.
Right now the sea off Kommetjie is glassy and calm, the kelp fronds lying flat across the surface at low tide. After the pink supermoon yesterday, when the moon was at perigee, the tidal range will be exceptional, but we won't be down on the rocks, picking black mussels from the safe zone well below the normal low tide mark. We won't be there to see if the otters are playing in the surf or taking food to their midden. There may be snakes sunning themselves on the rocks, getting a last bit of warmth to see them through winter, but no dogs will be there to disturb them. The spiny lizards that so love to lounge must be out in their numbers, enjoying the peace and tranquillity, and birds sing unheard in the coastal shrubs as they flit about their business.
The beauty of nature will always be there, free for us to enjoy. It's having a breather for now.
These are a few of my paintings to remind us of gentle days.

Living with Lockdown - 12

The baboons don't come here for food anymore. They sit on the garage roof next door and watch the strange happenings up the scaffold. The screech of grinders and sanders doesn't frighten them off, and swathes of dust covering the grindees seem more a source of fascination and curiosity. They jump casually onto the roof and stroll over, shinning down the drainpipe and scaling the facebrick of the house next door to get a different view. We have learned to ignore them and let them go about their business - ensuring that there is no visible food and all blinds are closed so they can't peek into the kitchen.
Speaking of the kitchen, the inmates don't want to get into the spirit of lockdown hardship, shunning my offers of tinned meatballs in baked beans, or tinned chicken breyani, or even tinned butterbean curry. They still want three restaurant quality meals a day! I spend most of my time in the kitchen now, staying far away from ladders and dust, only venturing out to put on the washing or hang it out or carry a tray of tea and biscuits up or down the stairs. In a way, this is my 'alone time'. It isn't ideal but allows me to at least get on with a bit of admin on the computer, try my hand at some of the brainteasers going around on WhatsApp (I should try my brain instead of my hand) and especially listen to music. Music is the salvation of the soul in most instances.
Spending a while on the deck every day, watching the birds at the feeder, is also very soothing and entertaining too. The constant competition for the sugar water (no seed balls or fruit because of the baboons) is very revealing of the pecking order amongst the species, and there are plenty of opportunities for fun photography.
A sombre greenbul alighted briefly on a twig right nearby, an unusual thing for this bird that prefers to hide in the canopy of a forest. There have been four of them flying around lately - an exciting sighting for us.
And so the days go by...

Living with Lockdown - 11

The soft swish of brushes against smooth wood was the only noise to break the silence as Sunday saw us rushing to put a few coats of paint on the bare planks before the promised rain. The therapeutic activity made the slaves cheerful and a little whistling and banter could be heard, while HWCFA kept himself busy tidying up the workbench. Round about lunch time a soft, gentle rain began to fall and it was time to tuck in to a warming lamb curry rustled up miraculously between brush strokes by Slave 1. A little lying around ensued, before a few games of Catan (which we thought would be keeping us occupied in lockdown).
On cue, Bobby and Jane Baboon with baby on back arrived with a jar of rice purloined along the way. They scaled the heights up onto the roof where they made enough noise for a whole troop. A few more passed by but didn't share in the feast, and then we heard the familiar sound of the monitors' paintball guns. After a while, silence, and they had moved on. Our newly painted wood now has two blobs of blue paintball paint splattered against it, dripping down towards the pristine white stripe.
The sudden respite from hard labour has left us disoriented, and we almost went outside again when the rain briefly stopped at sunset, but instead we tucked into another marvel from the kitchen, apple crumble and custard.
The dishwasher was put into action for what seems like the 500th time this week, and soon it will be lights out. Hopefully it will rain a little tomorrow so we can have a bit more of a weekend! Today's rainfall has taken a little pressure off the poor garden, still struggling after a long summer and looking forward to Easter when the weather traditionally turns in the Cape.

Sitting down at the rocks at the lighthouse hours before lockdown last Thursday

Living with Lockdown - 10

A blanket of fog lay over Kommetjie today. It may have lain elsewhere, too, but I didn't have the opportunity to test it out. It's frequently foggy here while the sun shines 100m away and we are completely unaware that we are the only place not having summer. A feature of the fog is the eerie booming of the foghorns of the ships that pass close by. Despite all of the technology at hand, a ship must still sound a foghorn and have a person on watch on the bridge day and night. A safety net, I suppose.
The cool breeze from the sea brought relief to the slaves sanding and grinding and sweeping - the past two days of over 30 degrees were almost unbearable but for the afternoon shade on the side we are working on. We have turned the corner, so to speak, and are now making a little progress on the north side which gets the full effect of the sea air and sunshine, so damaging to wood over the years. This area has to be sanded to the bare wood and the kids have been superstars in their application to the task at hand.
A few days ago the weather website forecast substantial rain for Sunday and Monday and we were looking forward to a forced break, but as is often the case, the forecast has dwindled to a trickle tomorrow. It is Sunday and supposed to be a day of rest, but HWCFA doesn't subscribe to that idea, and so this lockdown is turning out to be literally a month of Sundays, being the only day we are all at home together usually. Monday has always been my favourite day of the week. Here's hoping for rain.

A splash of colour to brighten the garden

Living with Lockdown - 9

It would be best to not comment on today. Instead, here are some photos of beautiful flowers (and a few birds!) found in our mountains, from the Cederberg in the north to Hermanus in the east - the richest floral kingdom in the world. We will return.

Living with Lockdown - 8

It's just beautiful outside this evening. Balmy, still, only the sound of a tiny shorebreak down at the rocks. Beetles clicking in the milkwoods, a pair of night herons giving their distinctive call as they fly down to the lighthouse for a night of foraging. Bright Venus glowing red on the hazy horizon, flickering like a candle flame before disappearing from view. Orion rampant in the sky, chasing after Taurus the bull, with the Gemini twins following. Satellites criss-cross the darkness, eyes in the sky.
All this a far cry from the business of the day - up and down ladders and scaffolding, sanding, grinding, sawing, painting, moving years of stored wood from one place to another, cleaning, cleaning, cleaning.
We should all come out of lockdown fit and trim (as long as I don't keep on making three meals a day with tea and biscuits in between), as my Fitbit indicates plenty of exercise and we are all asleep by 9pm. Whether we will still be talking to each other remains to be seen. There is already some doubt as to whether the makeover of the exterior will even be completed in the stipulated time. Who knows? Maybe we will just take a holiday and read a book, or paint on a canvas, or just lie on the bricks looking up at the sky through the last remaining leaves on the tree. I hope so.

A late-flowering George lily surprised me today. Mom saying hello.

The sea like a mirror after yesterday's huge waves. Kelp peeking out above surface.

Sunset behind the milkwood

Living with Lockdown - 7

The Cape Doctor blew across our locked-down land today, sending sheets of spray scudding across the sea and horses' manes peeling off the crests of the swells pushing into the bay. Through the tangled trunks of the ancient milkwoods that line the path between me and the bay, I can see the sun sparkling and dancing on the water, and hear the seabirds calling as they roam the rocks unhindered by chasing dogs.
It seems surreal that we cannot simply cross the road and meander along the footpath that leads to the wide open spaces right in front of us, but to do so would be to laugh in the face of those who are enduring this time under unimaginably difficult circumstances and it is almost an obligation to stand together in our restricted freedom. There must be surfers in a cold sweat at the thought of not paddling out to the Outer Kom for a few more weeks.
Ships sail by, their crews or passengers perhaps wondering whether they will be allowed to disembark at the next port and find their way home, or whether the high seas will be home for a while more.
The baboons sat at the top of the cliffs, looking down to see who might have left doors open, and the leader of the troop barked out his call for them to gather and set off down the mountain to forage. To see them leaping across the cliff face at speed, agile and surefooted, was to be reminded again of their silent and swift presence that catches us unawares. At sunset, they will again be basking on the cliffs at their chosen sleeping place overlooking the lighthouse on one side and the white beaches and tumbled boulders of the coastline leading down to Cape Point on the other. They will contemplate the world as the sun sinks into the sea at the end of another day in this beautiful part of the Cape, and we will be confined as animals are in zoos. There must be a lesson in all of this.