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Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom

The “Oribi Mom” Column

Newspaper Column Regularly Featured in the South Coast Herald

Since 2020, this little newspaper column has become a standard feature in the Lind household. It’s an actual newspaper – the kind that rubs off black onto your fingers – publishing our comings and goings here in Oribi Gorge.

Part of the motivation behind it was to give the Lind children something in black and white one day after we get old and don’t remember all the details. The local community here also seems to have enjoyed the offering, which tries to share our story 400 words at a time. A few neighbours and friends have appreciated some of the humour, relatability, family drama, and close encounters with nature. International readers just gasp, wondering why we choose to live in a place where Black Mambas do.

Why Oribi Mom Started

Ambitions to be a journalist in the teen years were short-lived. If you’d asked then whether we’d like to just blog for a local newspaper whenever inspiration hit, it would have seemed inferior to “real” journalism. What a crazy idea.

Fast-forward to about a month before the entire world shut down because of the COVID-19 pandemic, and the need to share our experiences felt overwhelming. At eight months pregnant, South Africa’s hard lockdown had cancelled just about everything. Things got complicated, including the smooth, quick route needed to reach the hospital three hours away.

Instead of calming soundtracks and earphones, we had to remember to pack our eldest child’s birth certificate in the hospital bag — just in case. What if the police stopped us on the highway to ask why we were out of our home when the government had expressly told everyone to stay put. We’d even rehearsed the speech to say in between contractions. “Yes, he’s our son. Yes, we had to bring him with us. No, there’s nobody to look after him at home. No, we couldn’t go to another hospital because the doctor is at the one three hours away (another long story).”

We hadn’t found much online about going through a late-stage pregnancy during a global pandemic. Nobody else crazy enough to try it? So, we wrote one. And we’ve never looked back.

Thanks for reading!

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Yellowed Collars, Old Photos and Time Passing

“Ordering school photos might not be a thing in a few more years. I think I’ll miss it.”

PHOTO BY PIXABAY

May 16, 2024

How do you get sun-cream stains out of white school shirt collars? Tell me you’re a mother without telling me you’re one.

Apparently, a combo of baking soda, vinegar and fairy dust works. Other suggestions that have come up on searches included toothpaste, lemon juice, sunshine and a paste of Vanish. The collars are still yellow.

Maybe it’s the hard water on the farm here. Maybe it’s my woefully lacking knowledge of the types of material and what each needs to stay sparkling white.

Don’t bleach it, say the eco-conscious and the health nuts. (Also, this fades out the school badge!)

So, on photo day, it’s the least yellow collar that went on, alongside a hope and a prayer that Photoshop includes whitening collars in annual photo shoots. Say cheese, but don’t spill any of the yellow onto the collar, please.

These school photos really are something. It’s one day a year, but from my own school career, it was often the only photo.

I came from the era before digital photos. That time when mommies who could attend sports or other events had to bring a tripod or a steady hand and an extra spool to capture one or two good images of us precious darlings. Sports photos? Hopeless.

I have vivid memories of walking into Clicks to collect that little packet of developed photos. It smelled funny. Mom would flip through the photos and laugh or snort at the blurs, missed shots, and fingers in front of the lens. She’d take the good ones and put them into real-life albums with sticky plastic things you lift up.

When they get old, the photos don’t stay behind them anymore and get all mixed up when you take the photo album off the dusty bookshelf. But the images are still there. Immortal, for a while. That eighties hair on my friends’ moms was something else, I tell you. Perms, beehives, and bright colours stand out, even in faraway group photos.

It jogs the memory, even if you have to flip back a few pages to slip the lost photo into its correct place. In the history of things, photos feel like treasure to me. A silent glimpse into what’s come and gone that speaks far louder than many of the stories people tell.

Ordering school photos might not be a thing in a few more years. I think I’ll miss it.

Oh, and the answer is that green sunlight soap bar, of course. That’s the cure for yellow stains and everything else you want to sparkle.

Publish 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.

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Number Three 18 Months and The Next Phase

“I wonder if the next phase is going to be just as eventful?”

Heather Lind.

February 16, 2024

It seems impossible, but here we are. The youngest of the three Oribi farm boys in our house is already eighteen months old. He is running around, navigating steps, imitating the Samango calls and climbing antics, and eating mince by himself. Well, that last one is a ‘sort of’ by himself, because a lot of it still lands up on the floor for the two dogs or the two million ants that apparently live under our home.

Eighteen months ago, we were in NICU and unsure whether we would be going home with or without him. I don’t wish that on any mother or father. Now, here we are, a world away, and trying to keep up with the shoe sizes changing every few weeks. We’ve exchanged time standing still for weeks that fly by and make you wonder how on earth the pantry can be empty again. Didn’t we just go shopping? Weren’t there two full boxes of grapes in the fridge yesterday? Farm boys are hungry boys.

One at primary school, one at playschool, and one in nappies. Three that love tractors, trucks, TLBs, jigaduzas, and crop-spraying helicopters. One that’s allergic to penicillin. Another that’s allergic to being told ‘no’.

Time Waits For Nobody, So Enjoy It

We’re two-and-a-half years down the line from the rioting that had night watch duty, and four years on from the start of the global pandemic. Did we really wear masks and avoid malls and deplete the toilet paper stocks of every shop everywhere? What a crazy few years it’s been for these particular parents of very small children. It seems like the world has not only turned on its axis but also flipped upside down a few times. I suspect that many of you can relate, even if stinky nappies haven’t been part of your recent experience.

And life goes on. It is going on.
It feels a little overwhelming to speculate what a few more years could bring when the last seven for our family have been, well, let’s call it surprising. God isn’t surprised, no doubt. For the rest of us, it’s all a bit of a rollercoaster.

I wonder if the next phase is going to be just as eventful here in Oribi Gorge. Adventure awaits, I’m sure.

Published here.

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Nice Neighbourhood for Nature’s Best

“Hopefully, I’ll still be running when my boys are big enough to join me in our beautiful part of the world here in Oribi Gorge.”

PHOTO BY PIXABAY 

October 11, 2023

I finally got back to managing a 10-kilometre jog the other day. My last one was about four years ago. That’s two babies ago, depending on how you look at it.

It’s amazing being able to run in my home neighbourhood with almost nothing but farmland, birds, and wildlife.
The occasional tractor and friendly farm worker pops up, too. But mostly, it’s just me and the sky, dotted with cane fire ash and gliding vultures.

The clouds sometimes blow way over my head faster than I’m jogging, which isn’t very fast. I even saw flying guineafowls this time after a taxi scared them out of the grass. Like the hadeda, they like to scratch around by the water catchments on the side of the road. I love their distinctive sounds and comical waddling.

Lots To See in This Wild Kind of Neighborhood

On a previous run, I’d seen about six hadeda ibises fly down from a pole and chase away a water mongoose. It ran off into the cane before I could get closer. They’re really huge, at least a metre long.

My quiet runs on the tar are quite different to the crunchy farm roads I usually use. You can actually feel the vehicles coming before you see them. There are vibrations, then a kind of whining sound, and then a whoosh as it zooms past.

The UGU bus is the scariest vehicle to have coming up behind you. It’s very loud. Though, the huge cane trucks can be, too. I always hope for the best as I try to jump to the side, praying that me stepping into the long grass isn’t going to be me stepping onto a puff adder. You never know, even in winter.

Jogging Alone? That’s Perfect for Now

My baby son is not at all interested in spending time with me out there in his pram. I’ve tried a few times. All I got as a thank you for the adventure was a screaming child.

At least running alone means not having to push the big pram up the steep parts. Maybe, when he’s big, he will run with me and try to catch the water mongoose and laugh at the doves giving the jackal buzzard the beady eye.

I’ll show him the monkeys stealing cane and the pairs of stone chats guarding their perches every few metres. Hopefully, I’ll still be running when my boys are big enough to join me in our beautiful part of the world here in Oribi Gorge.

Published here.

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Trying To See the Light During Loadshedding

“Just another day in paradise.”

PHOTO BY PIXABAY

October 7, 2023 

It was just one of those days today. Work ran late, spanning through three loadshedding sessions. I crawled into bed at about 11.15pm after showering in the dark. My baby woke up for the third time, his snotty nose making the feeding difficult for him. I could see his grazed eye and face by the moonlight, where he had launched himself onto the concrete earlier. Learning to walk is hazardous.

Down the passage, one brother was snoring like an elephant and the other was coughing again. It was so loud it just about drowned out the Scops owls and nightjars that have been calling so loudly since spring came around. The annoying roof rats are even louder at the moment.

Sleep Isn’t Easy When the Kids Are Sick

I slept on and off, but the baby was restless and the brothers were too. Then, at 1am, the baby’s cough got a bit worse. He vomited all over himself and my feather duvet.

I was so tired at this point that I just stripped him, threw the duvet on the floor, and found a blanket to crawl under with him. I would have chucked everything into the washing machine, but what good would that have done without power for the next two hours.

Only, it wasn’t two hours, or the regular four hours we’ve been having; it never came on. We woke up still in the dark three hours later with the whole area without power. No morning rooibos. No explanation.

There’s Power and Comfort in Community Life

A few residents managed to log a call before 7am, which was when the next four hours of load shedding was due to start. That puke duvet was still on the floor with the clothes and the normal pile of washing.

The fridges were off. The cellphones were almost flat. And the work day had started with laptops and Wi-Fi routers that couldn’t charge.

The baby and his brothers are still snotty. And the baking we did for school (between load shedding stints) was left behind in the confusion of the morning. That meant a turnaround and a little person very late for school.

But we did get him to school.

The dogs and kids are fed.

The sun is out.

And a certain van for electricity repairs has been spotted in the area.

There are also a few baked goods left to reward us for enduring all our challenges this week. We’ll make it to the weekend.

Published here.

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Up Close and Personal With Nature

“How wonderful that we get to see these creatures right here at home, sharing this space with us.”

PHOTO BY PIXABAY

 

September 18, 2023

How close have you stood to a buck? Could you see the roughness of its coat shimmering in the sun as it twitched its nose at you? Could you see the concern in its bright black eyes at your proximity? I’m always surprised at how big some of them are.

The other day, I was running through the macadamias. I was on a little detour from my usual route, just on a whim. Why not? The sun was out.

A Surprise Encounter Could Have Gone Either Way

A few kilometres further, I was following the fire break’s very uneven path. It made it hard to run fast, but at least the cliffs and river made for gorgeous views. I was trying to find my way back to the main farm road to head home. I knew the general direction but it’s not easy to see over hills and around big trees for grass tracks.

Going up one steep, I had my head down. Admittedly, I was puffing and panting a bit at that point. So, I didn’t see the huge reedbuck in the bracken right next to me. It must have been lying down. And suddenly, about two metres from me, it jumped up and charged, thankfully in the other direction.

As its hooves thundered, all I could think of was how grateful I was that it wasn’t a bushbuck. Those charge at you – ask one of our neighbours who landed up in hospital!

The Antelope’s Size Up Close Is Breathtaking

I remember being in the Drakensberg as a child and suddenly finding myself at very close range to a few eland grazing by a little stream. The beasts were absolutely gigantic. I was standing near enough to see their ears flicking the flies away and the ticks on their rumps.

As an adult, I’d be standing quite a bit further away I think. Those horns and heavy bodies aren’t worth a selfie. But they’re so beautiful. I see them down the road here every now and again, but always at a distance on this game reserve’s hills.

How wonderful that we get to see these creatures right here at home, sharing this space with us. I think it might be a good idea to stick to the main roads on most other days, though. ‘Trampled’ isn’t something I hoped to have on my tombstone.

Published here.

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Family Menagerie Might Not Be Done Yet

“Our little farm seems to be becoming a haven for these beautiful creatures.”

PHOTO BY PIXABAYJuly 25, 2023

It seems like an awfully long time ago that we had chickens and rabbits in the garden. That season was such a sweet time, watching the boys grow up with pecking, cackling hens, collecting eggs, and then cuddling sweet white rabbits whenever they could catch them.
The baby rabbits were really adorable; fluffy and soft and warm.

But the mamba these pets attracted wasn’t adorable. And we didn’t venture to replace the pets after the season had reached a natural end. Recently, though, we were very happy to add Marley, I mean Ranger, to our family. He has slotted right in like he’d always belonged here. He’s brought such laughter and antics to every day spent with his beloved farm boys.

He lets the youngest climb on him and pull his floppy lips, so patient and gentle as he helps us teach them the meaning of ‘gentle’ in such practical ways. He entertains the three year old, playing with toys and running together in the garden. And he’s a great watch dog too, even letting us know when the eagle owls have come to play with the lawn crickets at night.

So, of course, when another person was moving overseas and looking for a home for their two snoops, they came to us, too. And since we’re already taking care of Ranger and he’s taking care of us, it seemed only natural to say yes without hesitation. Hopefully, it’s a great decision. We’ll let our Ranger decide when his two new companions arrive soon.

Do you need a home for your beautiful aging Labrador? Our little farm seems to be becoming a haven for these beautiful creatures. And we wouldn’t have it any other way.

Published here.

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Daddies Deserve Their Silver

“They give him grey hair rather than gratitude, but that’s a vice the young sometimes only acknowledge when they’re no longer young.”

PHOTO BY PIXABAY

June 22, 2023

“Can you say Mama?”

“Dada.”

And that’s how it’s been for all three of our munchkins. They really love their Dad, and that’s never something to take lightly in this crazy, mixed-up world of ours.

Fathers are so important in children’s lives. Where else would they learn how to play practical jokes on their mothers or their future wives? How else will they learn how to braai the perfect steak or spot a forward-pass when the ref misses it?

Everyone needs a father figure, even if there isn’t a biological Dad in the house. Our home is blessed to have a mommy and a daddy present, and still, it’s a challenge to be the role models these little people need.

Life gets busy. Tasks take the place of time. Housework steals moments for reading books together or watching a bird in the garden. But we do our best because we recognise that it’s an utter privilege to have these small ones in our care.

I’m not sure our boys are old enough yet to realise what a treasure they have in their Daddy. They give him grey hair rather than gratitude, but that’s a vice the young sometimes only acknowledge when they’re no longer young. When they’re suddenly less young, and they need to become responsible for someone else’s well-being, they might see it.

The grey hairs were tokens earned, a priceless collection of all the moments of love.

I hope that our boys see that value invested in their lives as soon as they are able because it might just change the way they see the world.

To all the Dads and Dad-fill-ins out there, I hope you collect many grey hairs and that the young see their worth. Keep sowing love. You’re storing up treasure that won’t rust or fade.

Published here.