We lived in our house in Pretoria for almost 25 years. I always said that I will NEVER move, simply because the thought of packing up, scared and horrified me more than one could imagine. Somewhere between being ridiculously sentimental and overwhelmingly stationery mad, I knew that coupled with the garage, those three areas alone would be a packing nightmare of imperceptible size. Then my hubby got a job offer in the Cape, and all that planning to never move, disappeared like mist before the sun.
We lived right at the beach for the first 6 years. My love of the ocean, a permanent forever sea view, heart achingly magnificent sunsets, the opportunity to pop down for a swim at any time, was something I fell deeply in love with. Then in July the owners of the house decided that they wanted to sell (great) and we (and our merry assorted band of dogs), had to move. Trying to find a rental when you have dogs, as exemplary tenants whose dogs never damaged anything in those years, is more difficult than trying to qualify for the Two Oceans Race. Which I will never qualify for, ever. Which you would know, if you ever see me run. Which never happens.
It took a village of friends, mountains of tears, anxiety meds, searching and more searching, more tears, unbelievable stress, hubby going to Pretoria for 10 days before our son’s wedding in the house hunting time, an accidental dog bite in that time of course and me driving my bleeding self to the casualty at 10pm one night, and some very very good hearted and compassionate friends, before we found, just 8 days before we had to move out, a rental. One month before our son’s wedding. There are several Whatsapp groups in the Helderberg area with good tenants begging for rentals that take dogs bigger than the size of a teacup.
Now off we went on 1 Aug, not to a regular suburb, to which we were accustomed to our whole lives, but out to a large farm area, wonderfully close to work. Now yes, someone did say “well you don’t live on a farm, it’s not really living on a farm” - not sure why they are a land expert, but since it has been a farm since 1795, I am pretty sure the owners know what their land is. And yes, a small part of it has been an “Estate” for a long time, but where we live on a part of what is an astronomically massive farm, is heavenly. Good old farmland - good old haphazardely placed white little cottages, each one a slighty different style, surrounded by low mesh fences seperating us from each other. Within shouting distance like something in an Afrikaans movie on a farm. On the other side of the river are the “fancy” places, but man we have fallen in love with the old “hout vloere”, the long stoep with good old red paint on it, the rickety washline, the creaking floor, the fireplace (first time ever we have one), and then - the biggest backyard of the greenest and lushest grass we have EVER had. The dogs think we have moved to paradise. It is cute here. The neighbour knocked one day to find out if we eat sweet potatoes and subsequently gave a bag full of them - each twenty times the size of shop bought ones.
We were right on top of the beach, now we live in the arms of the most beautiful mountains, there are trees and forest all around us. At night we clearly hear the river nearby, in the absolute all encompassing silence permeated only by crickets, owls or no sound at all. We have the most ridiculous height pine tree in our garden, and since we always before had to go and look for pine cones for our labrador (she is obsessed), she looks with disbelief as they fall down “from heaven” on the back lawn. The wind? We thought Gordons Bay had insane wind. Here it is insane on steroids. Did it take trial and error to find wifi as the big players don’t get signal here - yes. Does the power go out - the infrastructure is old we know. We just had a 5 day no power stint in the area.
But I watch the ladies caring for and picking the marog opposite us. The scarecrow on that field. Are we falling over each other in this small place? Oh my word, yes. Yes. Yes. Do we still have 11 sealed large boxes because there is nowhere to pack the stuff out. Also yes. But then I look out the cottage windows, or sit on the stoep (this can never be called a patio) and I see God’s paintbrush everywhere. No cars, no voices, no passers by, so nothing blocking out the constant and unrestrained chatter of the birds, the wind in the trees and yes, the occasional barking - from all cottages, but so seldom.
And in that all, I thank God for the heartache and massive stress of the struggle to find a home. I thank Him for those closest to me who prayed and searched and mopped up tears and made sure I eat and watched me implode at the time. I thank Him for a friend who raced to the Casualty so late at night to drive me home. To those who held my hand to get this lease.
He knows best. Even when I question Him and argue with Him. He knows best.
till soon
c’est la vie xxx
