Monthly Archives: May 2022

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: 24 Things I Survived in 24 Months of Lockdown

Two years in lockdown included a male boomslang in the laundry that was not happy hiding in a watering can.

The male boomslang in Oribi Mom’s watering can. PHOTO BY HEATHER LIND

May 27, 2022

Has it really been that long? Here are 24 things I’ve come through as I find myself standing in 2022 and feeling grateful to be alive.

#1 Giving birth after standing at the emergency entrance answering COVID questions between contractions.

#2 Renovations – so that we didn’t have four people sleeping in one room anymore.

#3 Sending my child to play school for the first time and hoping it wouldn’t mean bringing COVID home.

#5 A riot that sent us into extra lockdown, food rations, night watch, and prayer.

#6 350mm of rain in one week that destroyed roads, cancelled school, and sent giant boulders sliding down into the gorge roads.

#7 A male boomslang in the laundry that was not happy hiding in a watering can.

#8 Two years of cancelled birthday parties.

#9 Several lengthy power failures, including one recent stretch of EIGHT days with two sick children (on the farm, no electricity also means no water).

#10 Two years of missed church services, Sunday School, and face-to-face conversations with our community.

#11 Another pregnancy, but also having to choose a new OB/GYN as my beloved stalwart retired!

#12 A Christmas and New Year’s disaster where a certain virus I am tired of naming scattered the family back into isolation.

#13 At least 20 months without a haircut from a professional.

#14 More than 24 months of missed Mom’s Group teas that used to be a weekly time to catch up and let the children play with friends.

#15 Losing at least one freelance client due to the pandemic, which forced their company to shut down.

#16 Postponing holiday bookings for a third year running.

#17 Two years of masks, sprays, wipes, looks of suspicion, and a widespread fear of coughs and sneezes.

#18 Two years wondering how long coffee-stained teeth and a lost filling can go without dental work.

#19 Four remaining chickens and three bunnies still managing to eat pumpkins flowers, chew welcome mats, poo on the porch, and scratch out flower seedlings whenever they have the chance.

#20 Yet another season of relentless lantana, bugweed, blackjacks, and burrs.

#21 Finally deactivating Facebook, deleting Twitter, and cleaning up diminishing Gmail storage.

#22 Losing three grandparents and friends, and saying goodbye behind a screen.

#23 Two years without weddings, dates, parties, public events, theatre, international travel, movies, or Saturday night braais with friends.

#24 Over two years without a Zest lolly. Only kidding, we would never have survived that! In fact, those sweet frozen treats might be the top reason we moved to the South Coast!

Two Years and the Tide Is Turning

It’s only been 24 months. We can carry on surviving if we need to, but it does feel like there might be a change in the air. There is always hope.

Published here.
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Oribi Mom: More of a Garden and Fewer Snakes

“As I did, I saw the slender scaled body with its classic rhombic kaleidoscope.”

CJ at 18 months in Oribi Mom’s trusty gumboots.

May 2, 2022

It’s been over 18 months since I was bitten by a night adder in our garden. My baby was strapped to my chest, asleep, as I admired the snake lily just pushing up its first glossy leaves from a bare patch of soil. My toddler was standing next to me, chatting away about something that Bob the Builder had done.

I moved my foot and felt a sharp prick that was sore enough to make me jump. I lifted my foot to peer round the side of my baby in the carrier. As I did, I saw the slender scaled body with its classic rhombic kaleidoscope. An indignant adder slithered into the nearby groundcover as it puffed up and down to show its disapproval at being stepped on.

I couldn’t believe it.

But the hole just above my ankle proved that takkies are useless against snakes, even smallish ones.

One Year On and No More Bites

Rhombic night adder, also known as causus rhombeatus. Photo for illustration purposes only. (Wikipedia)

 

So much has changed, but I still stood in front of this year’s blooms in wonder. As I looked at the bloom in that very spot a year later, I could hear my now one-year-old and his brother playing happily somewhere in the same garden.

The snake lily had sprung its first ever flower, the magnificent paint brush that comes up a few weeks before any leaves start to appear. It was exquisite. The tree it was underneath was finally tall enough for me to stand under. Our home was now a three-room farmhouse instead of the one-room cottage it had been just the year before.

In a way it feels like I’ve run a marathon in that time of transition.

Keep Going – Just One Day at a Time

A slow race to escape a coronavirus. A sprint to ration food as insane riots shut down all safe access to town. A slog uphill through load shedding and another year of cancelled birthday parties. It’s been like holding up an elephant while interval training through a growing sense of isolation.

If there was ever a doubt that digital connections aren’t enough, the pandemic has been living proof. We need face-to-face school, church, and friends. We need someone to call when pain sinks its teeth into our vulnerable moments. It is almost time now to move on.

Who do you call on? Neighbours? Family? God?

There will always be night adders in the garden, but we don’t have to let them take us by surprise. Oh, and we can choose to wear gum boots the next time.

Published here.