Tag Archives: farm life

Baa baa black sheep…..


Writing a blog is a healthy thing, but it can also become me-centred.  That’s why I  left it for a week. Everybody knows that if you’re speaking to me and I’m bored in the first sentence, I switch off and I don’t hear you. I think my droning on of late started to bore me. Hence the time off to live life.

Here is a shearing collage of 2012. Yesterday the wool was baled and today we transport our wool to the auction.

Happy Thursday all.


A bargain for the hormonal horror…….


I’m so hormonal today that I could easily have side swiped a few dumb asses on the side of the head…a number of times.

Breathe in and breathe out.

Koek! Vrek! “Jy is die domste drol….fok off!”

On a good note, I bought a darling little dress today for R400. When I got to the till, the cashier must have seen ,my limp hair, my wrinkled tired looking face and thought “shame, let me cheer this bag lady up”.

Guess what? She told me the dress was marked down to 250 good South African Rond! So, of course I did what any girl worth her salt would do….I bought this beautiful summer-ry, yellow and white striped scarf with the balance of the money.

What does it mean? I got the scarf for free! Of COURSE I did!

That cheered me up a little. Still…doesn’t vapourise the daily dimwits I deal with periodically.

Anyway, off to a Stud sale tomorrow. Stud, as in cattle and sheep, and not Stud, as in Earings!

laters baby…..

Another birth story from the farm….


I forgot to mention that this past Monday I made another labour run to the local Hospital.

My Ironing lady runs breathlessly into my framing room, “We have a problem”.

“Yes”, I reply annoyed at the interruption.

“My sister’s about to have a baby and the ambulance hasn’t arrived yet. Please take her into town.”

So off I dashed, pregnant fairy groaning on the backseat. I arrived at the hospital at 9-30am. When I arrived home, Noza walked into my framing room at about 10am and told me the baby had just been born and it was a little girl. We arrived in the nick of time. Don’t think I could have coped with a birth on my back seat.

But I have vowed to my staff that when we get back from Jozi, I’m organising a sex talk on the farm to re-educate and remind everyone to  u-condomize .We’re having a baby a week on this farm. Born to unwed young mothers.

I’ll organise the talk but the rest is up to them.

Giving birth on the farm road and other stories…..


Living in a busy farming community means you are busy most weekends and sometimes during the week too.

This last Sunday John and I had nothing on and we braaied with the kids.We sat in the sun drinking our white wine spritzers and had a right old  jolly good time. What bliss..to just stare at a point over my standard roses and not make small talk. Actually while I was staring blankly something did register in my brain to plant some more shrubs in the one flower bed. Am I good at gardening? I dunno? But I enjoy it and Zizile does a mighty fine job of listening to my instructions.

Yesterday I got a frantic phone call while I was in town from Thembisa. She phoned to tell me that she had to run up the farm road as her sister had gone into labour and was busy giving birth. So there this young girl was, lying on the gravel, grass and stones giving birth to her 3rd child. No help or drugs. Anyway John sent a truck straight away and she was whisked through to the local hospital. I’m presuming with baby and umbilical chord in hand…. They are both fine and the baby was a girl. The mother is not married and this is her third child in about 5 years. Hopefully the labour might cause her to think twice before allowing a man entry again!

It worries me so much when I see these kids running around sans a  father.  Every time a baby is born it puts such financial pressure on the rest of the family. The irony is, that this woman has never worked and she manages to bring up 3 kids with help from her family. She isn’t the only one that’s done that. The sense of family among Xhosa people is phenomenal and so strong.

The joys of farm life.

I took this photo on Sunday in front of the peach blossoms to celebrate Spring:

Town vs Country


The difference with living on a farm and living in town…

Living on a farm:

  • guests have to entertain themselves with nature, ambience, walks, drinking wine, taking it all in
  • homestyle cooking
  • the local pub with loads of interesting people
  • slower pace
  • more of a routine
  • old bathrooms
  • toilets that block from the lime scale in the water
  • murky water
  • darkness at night
  • seeing the stars
  • braai’s with Thornwood from the farm
  • jeans and sneakers, warm jackets and scarves

Living in town:

  • taking your guests out to eat at every meal
  • taking your guests to all the local haunts
  • movies
  • theatre
  • Woolies food
  • up to date bathrooms
  • chlorine in the water
  • traffic
  • street lights
  • urban living
  • Dress up and wear make up
  • getting your “City Game face” and Hairstyle on
  • sense of movement and “up to dateness”

Life on the farm…and other stories…


Blogging began as a way for me to just speak. Nothing else. A little platform to voice a thought, opinion or record something.

I enjoy reading other blogs. I don’t always have the time to read other blogs. I admittedly always make time to read the Reluctant Mom’s Blog though. She has a refreshing way at looking at things. She’s not scared to have an opinion. Her world in the suburbs of Cape Town is a world apart from mine here on the farm. But intrinsically we have lots of things in common. Like loving the husband, kids and most things a thirty-something South African woman, would find important. I do admire most, her zero tolerance for bullshit. A most commendable trait in anybody.  http://reluctantmom.wordpress.com/

So, as I mentioned earlier, blogging became a way for voicing and recording. Life on a farm in post Apartheid South Africa has changed greatly from life on a farm during Apartheid. With fundamental things, like housing and salaries. But fundamentally, on our farm, the respect is still there.

My matric class was the last only white matric class in our school. They had started integrating all kids that year. I’m writing this matter of  factly, because how do you begin to apologise for a whole body of ignoramuses that made descisions before I was born. I’m envious of our kids. They have the opportunity to go to school with all colour groups and become colour blind. In our part of the world it is disrespectful to not respect the different cultures. If someone is black, they’re black, and they have a heap of traditions that go with it. Like amakweta’s. Like circumcision. A huge deal for a Xhosa boy. So it’s not a simple case of not seeing colour but rather respecting the package that comes with it.

People look at my magnificent view from my verandah and comment that I must really appreciate this. I do. I really do. I appreciate it every day. It’s just that sometimes it’s difficult to stop and smell the roses when you’re in a rush in the mornings with the school run, bags to pack, framing, admin and books to do and staff to organise. It’s not that slow-paced, methodical life you may think we have on the farm. Well not for us. Not for John and I and the kids. There’s always something going on, something to do and somewhere to be. In fact it’s sometimes downright hectic. 

I like it like that. He who seeks rest finds boredom. He who seeks work finds rest. Dylan Thomas. and all that……..

Snakes on the farm……..


Last night we had friends for dinner. I was a bit highly strung. Not about the dinner but more like a spillover from the very busy week I’ve had. It was nice to see them and just chill.

I know I keep harping on about this, but it’s hectic in my life. The lifting. My framing, John, Molly, Aidan, the books. Trying to diet. Trying to excercise. Fok it…. and still having to “you know”…. when all you want is a kiss and a cuddle and 300 thread count white percale pillow slip beneath your cheek. Cheerio ’til the morning dude.

Being Thursday morning, my morning to lift kids from the Boom-gate to the school, the kids happily filled me in on their snake story of two days ago. Apparently Aidan while on top of the jungle gym, spotted a Ringhals (Cobra) in the corner of the sand pit. He alerted the kids and teacher and they all ran for safety. The snake got away though.

That’s the thing about living in these parts. The snakes. We have puffadders, ringhals, Cape Cobra’s (very aggressive snakes), and night adders and the not so harmful skaap stekers.

My kids don’t play outside without some form of supervision. Be it me, John or a nanny.

In fact, last week, Molls and the nanny were sitting on the trampoline when I heard shouting. I ran outside to find Seko pointing at a snake, not 2 m from my child! We shouted for Lizzie, who is a ruthless snake killer of note, and she sorted the snake out. I know you shouldn’t kill snakes, but really, I have to, for my kids’ sakes.

So all’s well that ended well.

Here is a picture of the snake. Which was a night adder. Thank goodness not a puff adder!