Monthly Archives: January 2021

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Must Love Birds and the Adventure of the ‘Chase’

I’ve also loved flitting about the South Coast birding community on Facebook bird groups.

January 14, 2021

A pretty white-eye photographed by Heather in Oribi Gorge.

I’ve always loved nature, but since our move to Oribi Gorge, my blood is emerald green, just like ‘Hello Georgie’.

I may actually be obsessed with the feathered friends that fill this beautiful country.

An overseas friend asked if I was a twitcher, and after a quick Google search, I solemnly declared myself a true bird lover instead.

I’m not a tick-off-the-list ‘twitcher’ who loses interest after they’ve seen every one of South Africa’s 850 recorded species once (725 resident species).

No, I sit on my porch for morning coffee and daily appreciate the wine-red firefinches, melodious black-headed orioles, opportunistic Black Sparrowhawk (which hunts our free range chickens), and the soaring vultures high above our Umzimkulu cliffs.

I’ve also loved flitting about the South Coast birding community on Facebook.

Hugo Voigts in Paddock is phenomenally dedicated – he once sat for over four hours in camouflage to capture elusive flufftail chicks (and this wasn’t his only comparable effort).

Lia Steen in Shelly Beach has the most magnificent finds right in her garden. She must have a brilliant camera to capture that much detail, too. I’ve learned a lot about birding habits from her fascinating posts.

The luckiest South Coast birder must be Stan Culley, somewhere near Port Edward maybe? ‘Culley’s Dam’ boasts fantastic bird visitors daily, including the cutest baby white-starred robin I’m yet to find in my patch of paradise.

Why birding? I think it’s the chase.

Some days you see a new one that you have never, ever noticed before. You read about it (maybe you’ll get a Roberts bird app for your birthday like I did) and learn the sound. The next few weeks, you realise that it is a screech or a song that you hear constantly. It wasn’t a new bird in your garden at all, just a hidden gem.

Once you see it, you can’t un-see it and then you start to appreciate the immense beauty of this country.

Birdwatching Is Good for the Soul

Next time coronavirus has you down, sit at your window or put your binoculars next to you on the porch.

Take a breath, laugh at the bobbing wagtails and the fluttering sunbirds and open your eyes.

You might see that martial eagle gliding above the clouds or you might notice the white-browed scrub robin around your fallen leaves for the very first time.

Wonder is the beginning, and from there, joy.

Published here.

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: A Second Wave of Life

Life doesn’t stop. You can’t hug your friends for a while, but you can text, call, video call and tag them.

January 7, 2021

Some of us have got stuck, but the road to recovery beckons as the sun rises on 2021. Photo: Pixabay.

If you are still trying to get through your toilet paper stash before 2025, there is something else you might be ready to consider while you wait for the tide to go out.

Things Haven’t Changed

For some of us, the new year has been a huge dent in a grand wall of expectation. We sent out good wishes and then, BOOM, one million COVID reasons to hide back inside our burrows.

Do you know what hasn’t changed, Mzansi? Desperate situations. Our people are still poor, hurting, and disillusioned. NGOs are still working in suffering communities. Domestic violence has escalated with stress and financial uncertainty.

Sickness and childbirth is now accompanied by anxiety about whether a bed will be offered in overburdened medical establishments.

A second wave of Covid-19 is also a reminder of missing billions, floundering leadership, and much grief.

Things Have Changed

Do you know what has changed in this second wave of death, though? We are now survivors.

Post-coronavirus society knows that there is light on the other side of our blacked-out social calendars. We know that alongside the flashing red death toll is a merciful recovery figure, a shining testament of how many people have walked through the valley and emerged mostly intact.

If you want to “speak life,” it’s time to start moving toward better things. You can’t hug your friends for a while, but you can text, call, video call and tag them. You can’t take your grandparents chocolates or cake, but you can bombard them and their caregivers with videos of your children and emails to be read aloud to them (like the “old school” letters they loved).

Give money to the causes that move you to compassion, and click to share their posts far and wide. Open your heart and your wallet again – the needs are still there even if your mask has obscured your view for the last few months.

You can’t date freely or party into the night, but you can maintain friendships, encourage your neighbours when you see each other, and intentionally support local entrepreneurs.

You can’t eat out much, but you can buy vouchers to keep your favourite establishments afloat. You can support free meal programs and fill up the formula coffers of the many baby places of safety that are on the edge of collapse.

There’s More to Life

If you’re jobless now, you have time to clear out clutter and donate to those less fortunate than yourself (they exist, I promise you).

If you’re anxious, you can offer compassion and words of affirmation to those you love to help you focus on life, not the struggle.

Read books, read scripture, exercise, and use the time well.

South Africa, the second wave is an opportunity to start living again. It is a new world but we still have values and connections as old as time. Don’t waste your life.

“Life is precarious, and life is precious. Don’t presume you will have it tomorrow, and don’t waste it today.” – John Piper

Published here.
Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Good Luck Long-Haired Man

I glanced sideways through my trusty sunglasses and ignored the man (obviously).

Fun in the sun, prior to lockdown Level Three and beach restrictions.

January 1, 2021

The week before Cyril closed the beaches was crazy. After a blistering hot morning at the beach, my little farming family stopped at the big city shops – the South Coast Mall – for bread, milk, and Food Lover’s Market droëwors.

Myself, the toddler, and the seven-month-old stayed in the car with hand sanitizer at the ready. My husband donned his mask and queued with the holidaymakers.

The children had fallen asleep and it was sweltering. So, I left the bakkie running, congratulating myself for having children who slept in the air-conditioning for our 45-minute drive home. I was happily rehydrating from my metal, refillable water bottle when I caught sight of a grumpy long-haired man. He looked sweaty in long sleeves and long pants with slops, and happened to be parked next to us. He was looking at my van with intent.

X-ray vision might have revealed that he was muttering as he paced the steaming tar, but suddenly, he started gesticulating and shouting something unintelligible over my diesel engine. I glanced sideways through my trusty sunglasses and ignored him (obviously). Then, he knocked on the window and slid into his (rusty, dented) bakkie, winding down his passenger window and taking off his mask to shout at me again.

I thought maybe I should respond as an intelligent and calm adult, so I lowered the window (a little) and hoped he wouldn’t wake my babies. Clear as day, he was shouting, “Pollution! This is pollution! Turn off the car.” And on he went. I closed the window with a shrug, and slowly processed what had just happened.

Me? Polluting? I wanted Mother Earth to swallow me right there.

Defending Earth Lovers Everywhere

I wanted to shout back at this long-haired man that he was barking at the wrong tree lover. I use cloth nappies. I compost. I drink water from a JoJo rain tank. I replant butternut seeds. I use the dishwater to hydrate pot plants.

My thoughts raced across my Faithful-2-Nature account and fabric shopping bags. I recalled my eco-friendly (generous) relocation of the night adder that bit me last month, and my lack of chemical intervention in the garden where I’ve planted about fifteen trees in the last two years.

Crunchy Oribi Gorge Mom? Killing the earth with fumes at the Southcoast Mall?

I was, though. He was right. It was just an awful delivery of the message. Instead of making me want to change, I wanted to throw (plastic-free) shampoo bars at his sweaty hair.

Where Is the Love Man?

The point is that compassion is a key ingredient – speak the truth, but do it in love. The irate man didn’t know my context and didn’t care, either. I was a responsible parent keeping my babies safe in the midday sun.

For the record, thank you long-haired man for your concern. You might have made a nature-loving friend had you not showered me in shame instead of inviting me to where the grass was greener (and organically fertilised).

May 2021 be a more compassionate year for all (even when we’re hot and “hangry” in the parking lot).

Published here.