Tag Archives: farm

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: The Bike and the Buck

Sneaking up to a buck on a bicycle shouldn’t be this easy.

An example of a reedbuck common to the region. PHOTO WIKIPEDIA

 

May 10, 2025

It was very loud and quite startling. I was alone on a bike and quite near the edge of the gorge. I had come to find a few vultures but the thermals weren’t playing ball so early yet and I didn’t want to linger, just explore a bit. I like taking detours every now and then and I know the neighbours don’t mind too much if I leave only bike tracks behind.

I had just flicked off a tick trying to crawl up my leg because the grass can be wild here. Sometimes, when you explore, you have to bundu bash a bit. I don’t like cycling on grass that isn’t actually a dirt road, but there isn’t always a choice if you’re going off the beaten track.

The main reason I like to see dirt under the tyres is for visibility. Bike wheels aren’t very high if it’s a mamba you’re meeting all of a sudden. I only imagine this, of course, because I haven’t had that terrifying experience yet and hope never to find out how fast I can ride if one ever sticks its head up out of the grass in front of me!

Anyway, this sound I heard almost made me fall off my bike. I happened to be cycling up a grassy sugar cane contour and making hardly any noise. The large reedbuck in front of me hadn’t noticed me yet. It was casually walking up the same contour in front of me and I think if I was a hunter, it would have been dead already.

I got to about 10m from it. Suddenly, it realized I was coming. Just then, I was concentrating on seeing how fast I could go towards it, so hearing a very loud shriek was an absolute shock. I thought the buck was also scared, as it had bounded further ahead. Then, I heard it again as the buck looked at me, screamed, and started running again.

Did you know that reedbucks make that high-pitched whistling, shrieking sound? I do now. I feel quite bad for sneaking up on it, but I guess both of us benefited from a little adrenaline rush to keep us on our toes. Hopefully, it’ll be wiser now so that I can see it again sometime.

Published here.

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Families Who Fish Together

There’s never a dull moment raising a family in Oribi Gorge.

PHOTO BY PIXABAYMay 1, 2025

There’s been a new thing starting. The tiny boys are growing up into little boys and starting to explore a few aspects of farm life.
Of course, I had some preconceived ideas about it because, when I was a little girl, my daddy took care of a lot of the ‘dirty’ side.

I didn’t like scales and blood on my hands. As an adult, I forgot that part. It felt surprising that this particular pastime involved such a lot of chicken hearts, sticky whiskery practical jokes from my sons, and wading to unhook lines from the reeds. The smell of the clothes afterwards is also quite a sensory challenge.

Still, it’s all part of the smiles that fishing brings to our little sons (and their parents). What I did correctly remember about fishing was the time outside in the sunshine, the quiet, and the birds. There’s something beautiful about glassy dams reflecting the clouds.

The Dam With the Fish Eagles

Our neighbours have a spectacular setting just like this, complete with a pair of fish eagles, a shady spot to sit, and wide open views. I’m aware that this is a bit more luxurious than tramping through muddy, cutting reeds and keeping a beady eye out for slithery things. I can also take the baby to play safely by the water’s edge and even jump into the shallow places if he feels brave enough. It might just be one of my favourite spots in the world, actually. Many happy family memories already and more to come. I think families need those special spots.

I know that this particular fishing spot will be forever seared into my sons’ memories. When they’re all grown up and taking the hooks out for their daughters who don’t want to get their hands bloody, they’ll remember these lazy weekend afternoons. They’ll remember their parents buying rolls and hotdogs and spreading out a picnic blanket, swimming, fish eagle cries, and the cool breeze as we wait for the barbel to bite. We even caught a tiny tilapia, which we threw back, as we do with all the others.

It’s a lesson in patience for energetic little boys, too, which is always good. May they always remember and smile. We’ll have to get one of those ‘Gon’ Fishing’ signs soon.

Published here.

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Crazy Amount of Growth

The author said it’s crazy how quickly things change from season to season when you think about it.

Everything seems to grow quickly in Oribi Gorge.

April 14, 2025

That’s crazy! I was looking at a picture of when we first moved to this little farm. There was a long drive to the little house, absolutely filled with invasive lantana and triffid weed, not to mention the bugweed, wattles, and various kinds of burrs.

The ‘garden’ wasn’t much different and only had a handful of baby trees in it. No shade. Plenty of snakes, birds, and wildlife, though.

Weeds Galore!

I don’t know the right names for all the burrs, except for black jack. There are flat, half-moon shaped ones we call sweethearts. Then, there are very sticky green balls that are almost impossible to get off you whole; it takes some time.

There are things like devil thorns, which is why our children have always worn gumboots in the garden since they could walk. I might have also had snakes and scorpions in the back of my mind when sending them out onto the rough lawn in boots. I also think gumboots on tiny toddlers are the cutest.

Of course, now they’re way too farm boy-ish and hardy to wear gumboots while they play, run, climb, and dig outside. At least I saved their baby feet a bit from all the scratchy, prickly things we have growing here.

Growth Is Always Happening

The pictures from 2017 seem like a whole other world when I look out over my garden now. There’s still a long, long way to go, to be sure, but the progress is undeniable. There are now actual trees growing, still small, but getting there. There are some flower beds and paths. There are shrubs, hedges, grape vines, and flowers.

When it feels like I’m just not winning against the sweethearts and blackjacks, despite constant weeding, all I need to do is to look back at a photo from a few years ago and see how stark it was before. There’s always growth happening. There’s always progress to see.

It’s crazy how quickly things change from season to season when you think about it – including the growing boys who are fast outgrowing their shoes and their sand pit. Maybe I’ll make that sand pit into another flower bed soon. There’s no rush.

Published here.

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Dirty Footmarks on White Passage Walls

The author said it feels like time is flying by.

PHOTO BY PIXABAY

April 8, 2025

When we renovated our little cottage to join up the next one, it seemed to fit just what we needed. It’s cosy, but it gives us bedrooms that are big enough and an extra bathroom. We went back and forth a bit on how to maximize the space and landed on a long length of cupboards down a long passage. That’s just how the existing foundations all fit together, but it worked out well, I think.

A few years on, the eldest boy has grown daring. He’s now able to shimmy up the passage wall and touch the ceiling. He uses his arms and legs pressed hard on both sides, like some sort of parkour move. Of course, the middle one tries to do everything in the same way. He’s got it right now but stays in the bottom half and isn’t yet moving up. It’s still quite impressive.

The youngest – the two-year-old boy – has had a few near misses as the boys fall, and he runs underneath them, narrowly escaping being as flat as a pancake (or headless). Sometimes, it’s not an escape, and there are tears. He does it again, though, which I’ve given up trying to understand.

The youngest can’t even touch both walls with his short little arms, so it’ll be a while until he can climb up like his brothers. I say that, but there are only two years between the youngest and the middle child, so I expect to see him up there in 2027 or so. Saying it that way makes it sound further than ‘just two short years’! It feels like time is flying when I look at them wrestling, showering by themselves, and tramping off to school every morning. Where did my little babies go?

Maybe when they’re at school, I’ll try the passage wall out myself. I’m not that old, am I? If I fall and break my ankle, that would be quite a lot of explaining to do if the doctor asks what happened, so maybe not. There’s a time for everything under the sun – and my time for climbing walls might be over. It’s okay. Watching my sons get it right brings the same thrill.

Published here.

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Flushing Fan-Tailed Grassbirds in the Proteas and Penny Gums

There’s something special about bird watching.

PHOTO BY PIXABAYFebruary 15, 2025

I’m back in the bird challenge for 2025. I bombed out in the early 30s – in August, maybe – of 2024’s 52-week challenge. That felt like good going for being at home for all except two of those weeks.

I learned a lot about birds right under my nose here, including rarities. Two of these amazing finds were the wintering spotted ground thrush and orange ground thrush, which both just happened to appear in my little slice of forest.

If I hadn’t walked down into the dark gorge below the house in winter, I wouldn’t have found them at all. Now that I know they’re there, that’s two more birds I can potentially list this year when the time comes.

Mostly, it’s just exciting to know that I’m preserving some habitat they can shelter in for the next few decades (let’s hope!).

A Little Trail Running Turned Out To Be a Big Birding Win

While exploring, I also found a wonderful fan-tailed grassbird. It was in the middle of some penny gums when I took a little detour on my usual route.

It’s quite hard to describe that moment. The penny gums are beautiful and smell so good. The king proteas nearby were in full flower on one lonely tree.

In front of this, in the penny gums, the bright yellow Cape longclaws were trying to hide in the longish tufts of grass.

I was sneaking up on them to see how close I could get to those skittish birds that are all along the road in Oribi Gorge. As I came around the bend, I flushed the fan-tailed grassbird instead.

It took me a little while to click.

The gorgeous little bird was in its full spring plumage. Bright and clean, it perched on top of a young penny gum tree and looked quite indignant about my disturbance.

Behind it, there was the view of the brown farm slopes dropping down to the Mzimkhulu.

At that point, everything else was just sprouting tiny, almost transparent leaves. I knew they would grow and darken into full green foliage in a few weeks, but right then, the freshness – new life – was palpable. The ocean further beyond that shone in the sun.

Was I in some lost world? As I heard the nearby quarry machines whirring up, the grassbird flew off. I guess not. But it was still so beautiful.

Published here.

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Well-watered Gardens Don’t Wither

“The boys are growing faster than the trees, but nothing is ever stagnant in this life.”

Farm boy at his waterfall in Oribi Gorge.

September 26, 2024

It’s been a bit of a dry season for us these last few months. While dry, almost hot weather is excellent for my outdoor exercise routine, it’s less desirable for my little macadamia trees, garden, and precious scarp forest.

The birds have been coming daily to ask for more water in the bird bath. The weavers, toppies, and drongos like to splash around in it, chasing any intruders away from their bath time. They cause quite a ruckus sometimes.

The bees have also been manic at the hottest part of the day. For a few weeks, I’ve had to close up the windows at noon to avoid a whole lot of desperate bees buzzing into the lounge or office.

A Not-So-Dry Adventure With Oribi Dad

The boys went down the trail with their cousins (and Dad) to see the waterfall last week. It’s still trickling, but you can now sit under the roots and in the cave behind the waterfall. You don’t even see those when the water levels are higher.

On the way, my seven-year-old had his first brush with a “wag ‘n bietjie” bush. The thorns caught him on the back, and he couldn’t escape until the adults carefully unhooked each barb, trying not to tear his jersey to shreds in the process. They’re nasty thorns when they take over these spaces.

Luckily, that huge storm we had a while back cleared a lot of debris and the annoying weeds from the streambed for us. The wind also relieved us of three smaller garden trees and some huge branches off the bigger ones. We didn’t lose macadamias, but some of that cane up the road is still lying on its side a few months later.

One waterfall jaunt at lunchtime involved skirting around hundreds of bees gathered at a rock pool. I wasn’t on that walk, but I got the lowdown from wide-eyed children who seemed to have grasped the potential danger of disturbing the drinking bees.

All of our children have been stung by bees, wasps, and hornets in their early years, and so far, it’s been okay. I was still glad to hear that they made a wide pass around the stinging honey producers, wisely heeding their father’s warning to leave the thirsty hive alone.

It’s Almost Time For Spring in Oribi Gorge Again

Once-a-week watering is all I could justify for my baby trees in this dry period. They seem to have come through the winter. Hopefully, spring shows up with lots of rain to take over.

The boys are growing faster than the trees, but nothing is ever stagnant in this life.

We only have to do what each day demands, whether that’s closing windows at lunchtime to save disoriented bees from getting trapped or learning how to identify and avoid thorny situations.

Published here.

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Seven Birds a Week Challenge 2024 – Still Twitching

“Seeing a fantastic golden-breasted bunting two weeks in a row on our farm would normally have been amazing, but I can only log it once!”

Little Oribi bird watcher.

June 13, 2024

For about 20 weeks, I’ve been all self-important because my kind brother-in-law invited me into a very exclusive birding challenge. Me?

A committed non-twitcher who doesn’t really have time to devote to such whimsies right now? I said yes without hesitation because, well, I’m a bit competitive.

Enter the Birding Competition

It’s a WhatsApp group. It started with about 29 people from vastly different backgrounds – another mom, PhD students who live in the Kruger, a certain famous ex-weatherman, someone in Holland, stats enthusiasts, and so on.

All of us started together on January 1, united in one goal – find seven new birds every week that you haven’t seen yet this year. That’s one new bird every day. You can’t list the bird a second time in the year. Also, you have to have actually seen the bird in the week that you submit it.

For example, if you happen to see nine cool birds this week, you can only submit seven of them. To use the other two, you’d have to see them again the following week.

Easy, right?

Doesn’t Oribi Gorge have 250+ bird species listed? That’s at least three-quarters of the year I can stay in this challenge.

Wrong.

Stay Alive By Birding, Birding, Birding

The limit of being able to list only seven birds in a week and having no carry-overs makes this a lot harder to do.

Also, January is in South African summer, when there’s an abundance of birds on hand daily. By April or so, those birds have often migrated over to another country.

The group had submitted manually and tried to police themselves with not repeating birds. The integrity has been impressive.

My bird-loving brother-in-law has also committed time to do this admin every week, so he’s keeping things going in spreadsheets and automated bird lists.

Someone also added a stats site so that we can see cool figures, like the number of unique species logged by the group (750+ already).

I like birds. I like stats. I like travellers. I like competing. It’s fun.

But my time is almost up with not being able to travel out to birding sites. I’m too busy at home. Seeing a fantastic golden-breasted bunting two weeks in a row on our farm would normally have been amazing, but I can only log it once!

How long will I last in the 7 Birds a Week group? Stay tuned.

Still, what a way to spend these last five months. I’ve intentionally looked out of my busy life and noticed what’s out there under my nose – daily. It’s rather beautiful.

Published here.

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Dark-backed Weaver Friends Are Everywhere You Know

“They’ve been right there in front of us the whole time, waiting for the sun.”

Dark-backed weaver. Photo Derek Keats/Wikipedia

June 5, 2024

Have you ever heard the dark-backed weaver sing? That’s not a book title. They really have the most melodic singing you can hear for miles. It might be Oribi Dad’s favourite bird sound. Maybe because it took us a good long while to identify what bird it was coming out of when we first moved to the farm.

They’re tricky from far, especially in Echo Valley. You think it’s one tune, but when the bird flits closer, it sounds a bit different. It rises and falls, and then ends in this buzzing sort of noise, like a phone vibrating on a table. You also hardly see them in the thick bushes they sing from or if their backs are turned to you. Yet from the front and in the sun, they’re the brightest yellow – rivalling orioles and African emerald cuckoos. Against the dry winter brush, it’s really quite stunning.

Isn’t that so like some people we know? We meet them, masked in their dark brown coats with faces turned away from us. We hear their names but don’t remember. We wonder what others see in them at all. Then, one day, we hear their song and it makes us pay attention. Where is that coming from? We want to know more.

Sometimes, it takes us a while to figure out how this brown-coated interesting figure can produce such a clear and beautiful sound in the first place. Did we hear wrong? No, we think, as we hear that melody ring out a few more times. There’s something there worth discovering.

One day, we might even hear that voice and catch the owner turning to face us, just as the sun hits from over the gorge cliffs to the east. The sparkling yellow seems to light up the whole valley as the song rings loud and captivating from that tiny black beak. What a sight! What a talented package this is. How could we have missed that mesmerising beauty for so long?

It feels like that’s how friends are made sometimes. We see each other, really see each other. And we hear a song we can’t ignore any longer. Then, once we’ve seen and heard it, we suddenly start to see that person’s influence and worth everywhere we look. How could we possibly have missed it before? They’ve been right there in front of us the whole time, waiting for the sun.

Published here.

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Egg Not on My Face

“As I walked back in from the laundry, my eye caught something unusual on the floor next to the fridge.”

The ‘joys’ of a cracked egg in a home with three small boys. PIXABAY

May 8, 2024

It was a bit of a manic morning at the farm. Three snotty, rowdy boys and a droning weed eater meant slight sensory overstimulation.

The baby spent the morning clinging to my leg because… loud!

The others were playing ‘cheetahs’ and putting on their cheetah power suits with reeds for tails and dry wors for meat.

Finally, after a stinky nappy change, the baby wanted to doo-doo and took me by the hand to the room. He fell asleep quite quickly, and I went back to the lounge. The brothers were watching some Australian cartoon dog family.

Time for some tea.

Surprise! Mom

While I was up and my leg didn’t have a baby clinging to it, I went to check the washing. We’d run out of water. A quick pump from the borehole sorted things out.

The kettle boiled a while ago, but as I walked back in from the laundry, my eye caught something unusual on the floor next to the fridge.

Those cheetahs probably spilled something in their hunt for dry wors. Unfortunately, a closer look tweaked the nose. It was egg. One of my last two in the house for the weekend.

I called the cheetahs for an explanation. The sheepish smaller one said yes, sorry, he’d cracked an egg by mistake. But don’t worry Mama, as ‘he’d put it back in the fridge on top of all the apples’. Great, thanks very much.

Tea would have to wait for the shelves, apples, floor, and containers to be washed and dried and checked and put away again, egg-free. The smell isn’t as easy to get rid of.

On top of this, there was a pear with one bite out of it that was going rotten. Classic Oribi baby (or any baby really). I guess the fridge needed a wipe-down anyway.

Small Wins and Big Wins

I decided to boil the kettle just one more time. The baby was still peacefully asleep, thankfully.

Just yesterday, our entire community here was celebrating the amazing news that the big-city prospectors had decided to withdraw their prospecting rights application to mine minerals on our farms in Oribi Gorge.

Apparently, the operation would be environmentally unfeasible. What a surprise, right? The oribi, ground hornbills, and Cape vulture colonies are safe for now.

A little bit of egg cleanup seems like a very small price to pay for a farm that’s still ours and still so beautiful.

Published here.

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Live Each Day To Its Fullest

SCH Local News | “You have the right to stay in bed even if you don’t exercise it.”

Another bright and beautiful morning in Oribi Gorge. PHOTO BY HEATHER LIND

April 14, 2024 

‘Storms to persist’ the headlines said for Human Rights Day 2024. I looked outside and confirmed that the weatherman was indeed correct about the bleak outlook for today.

The first day of the school holidays was just a normal workday for me as a freelancer. There had been a lot of questions about my rights floating around my brain that week.

The Right To Just Be Left Alone?

A potential prospector has been scuttling around our beloved part of Oribi Gorge. The notice cited lithium, and a few other things, that a big yellow demarcated area on the map is assuming might be under the ground. As if we needed yet another hard thing in our lives after losing a beloved brother recently. Grief must wait apparently for community objections to said prospectors and lots of research about the area that we don’t have time to fit into already full schedules.

Three noisy boys running around and asking for food isn’t a great environment to be reading complicated 158-page documents about mining and laws and stuff is it?

“Pay attention to the details, brain.”

If I missed something about a loophole or water use license, would we lose our home in a few years’ time? What about the animals and birds and plants? What about the endangered oribi I admired in our little field of baby macadamia trees last month? Will those trees bear fruit in five years as they should, or will the dust from an open-cast lithium mine have ended their prospects?

It’s dramatic, I know. But that’s how it feels. Storms persist. They leave for a while, but there’s always another one. That’s life.

The Right To Continue to Live Freely? Maybe

What a privilege seven years in Oribi Gorge has been. I pray there will be 70 more, with children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren too.

We are born and we die, but in between is so much life to live and so much wonder to experience. Right then, on the rainy day during which our country was celebrating human rights, it felt hard to get on board with hope and freedom. Still, the Samangos were calling in the forest just 50 metres away to remind me that I didn’t get to feel sorry for myself in bed that day or any other day that would come after it.

Miners may come. Precious species may go extinct. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. But today is the day to get up and be human about it and to hope.

It’s our right and our joy to live each day to its fullest.

Published here.

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Rose Bush Is Free of Triumphant Vine

“The vine branches are the same colour and thickness as the rose branches, minus the spiny thorns that go right into tender fingers or arms.”

PHOTO BY PIXABAY

March 2, 2024 

That vine has come up again. The one with big leaves that grow right over my rambling rose. It twists and clings, dropping new roots as it goes. If I leave it any longer, it’s going to get those seed pods again, which is the reason it came up again this year, I’m sure.

Today, when I looked out of the kitchen window for the umpteenth time to admire my little pink roses, I couldn’t even see the bush! The vine looked triumphant. So, I left the housework, the children, the paid work, and the tea and marched outside to collect my boots, slasher and gloves. I’d had enough of that old vine.

Don the Gloves and Go For It

The gloves are an essential feature for me in this thorny, hand-slicing garden of mine. There are all sorts of stinging things, too. One day I felt something tickle my leg and swiped a bit. As I looked down there was just blood. I thought I’d squashed the fly, but it was my own blood that the nasty fly was apparently having for lunch [insert horrified emoji here]. The scar stuck around for two weeks.

The boots look ridiculous, but they’re for the night adders. Rather, I like to think of them for the night adders and not think about all the other, much worse, slithery things my feet might step on while I’m knee-deep in grass or blackjacks.

Watch Out For the Spikes and Fangs

Careful of what you grab onto. Vine snakes look like branches, and so do female boomslangs. Actually, a lot of snakes look just like branches, or leaves, or the pesky weeds that grow long tendrils over everything and push my poor plants flat down on the ground. I’m constantly pulling those out. They get little white flowers with a purple centre that are actually quite pretty, but don’t let them fool you; they take over in a matter of weeks.

With my trusty boots and gloves on, I dealt with the vine. My rose is free, though it didn’t thank me. The vine branches are the same colour and thickness as the rose branches, minus the spiny thorns that go right into tender fingers or arms. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you. At least I can see the pink blooms again.

Summer is almost over already, and the green beauty will soon disappear for a few months. Next season, hopefully, I’ll be a little more proactive about that vine earlier in the season so that I don’t have to spend an hour in the rain getting eaten by horseflies. Or maybe I’ll just have tea on the porch instead.

Published here.