Colin and I came across a display of cool drink bottles in a shop in dusty little Caledon. And yes, it became a Kodak moment. O, I just have to get a photo of this, Colin said. The drinks on display is a “generic” version of the real thing, but it made me think, of other real things, and generic versions of it. But let me park this thought for a few moments, I will come back to it.

I do feel now as if we are living life in syllables. We have been down here for almost 2 years. The first year, we spent in Botrivier Village. There we met the most eclectic bunch of people and formed some very close relationships. I spend hours exploring Beautiful Beaumont. I would bump into the owner and have casual chats – always so amazed at how very ordinary she was, even though she owned a piece of paradise us mere mortals could only dream about. On my walks, I would pick an apple, or a pear, and stop at the little trickle of water to cool my feet. I would cross over the barrel bridge and make my way up to their dam, from where I could look out to Arch Angeli and across to Wildekrans.

The second year, we lived on this most beautiful farm in Africa. Coming from a city, where the noises never completely went away, this farm has simply been the most therapeutic experience we could ever have asked for. How fortunate I am to cuss at Guinee Fowl, for waking me up? Colin and I would have heated arguments over who spotted the owl first, both refusing to sacrifice the victory for the other. I have gazed at the most spectacular full moons over the mountains and seen a million stars in the sky. No city lights to outshine them. I have been so privileged to have witnessed nature and farming rhythms. I got stuck on farm roads waiting for cows to come home. I closely missed driving into a ditch because I got distracted by a bird. I got hiccups from laughing at lambs getting up to mischief.

I learnt about fynbos and the healing qualities of worm wood. I picked bunches of field flowers and kept it in a vase. I learnt about farm roads and the best way to (try) and keep my car clean. I learnt how to cross shallow streams in a car without fear of washing away. I yelled at bugs and swatted at too many miggies (midges) – this is Africa, after all. I could spot a tick a mile off, and would rather efficiently supervise Colin, making sure he squashed it good, before burial at sea (down the loo!) I saw my very first ever Cicada. So mesmerized was I by the strange sound it makes, that I would sit with the door open, hoping the light would entice him closer. I developed the art of sitting dead still, armed and ready with my tin of Doom, waiting for that blasted mosquito to sit still long enough in one spot. (The door was open for the Cicada, the mosquitoes invited themselves in.)

I learnt to live with small town challenges. You very quickly learn to have some back up Cremora, when the closest shop is 20 minutes away, should the milk turn sour. Your own company becomes your best company. I have learnt to listen to complete silence, and to like it. And when some kind of mishap happens and electricity is knocked out, you are at the very bottom of the list to have services restored. Colin and I developed a sense of humour about being resilient.

But sometimes man plans, and God laughs. So, He sent a natural disaster – because in His wisdom, God knew that it would take something hectic, like a flood, to get me back to civilization. Well, semi civilization. Our wonderful isolation was posing a few logistical challenges, highlighted by the flood, and so we have made the very difficult decision to move closer to Hermanus, while we still ever so patiently finish our build. How is the building going, I hear you ask? Very well, thank you. Yes, it is taking very long. But then, in the end we decided that rather than building bit by bit, to just do the whole thing in one. The process is a bit of a stop-and-go effort. We would make good candidates for Grand Designs; Colin quipped the other day. Again, our sense of humour and resilience often rescue us from a complete melt down over something trivial like a delayed brick delivery or yet another cement invoice.

So then, back to my generic and pixelated moment. In the film “the Sound of Music”, Julie Andrews sang: My Favourite Things.

So, I thought about some of my favourite things, and decided to come up with my generic version of the song. Make sure you sing to the original tune, and when the words do not quite fit the beat, you may improvise with a couple of LaLa’s.

And here it is.

My Favourite Things, According to Sjarlene

White gabled houses against mountain back drops

Sad little buildings that once housed the long drop

Rusty red tractors and a big yellow barn

Everything you would need on a farm!

Brown dairy milk cows and old railway bridges

Paddocks and windmills beyond mountain ridges

Woolly fat sheep and playful young lambs

Ducks in a dam and a very old tram!

Roses and lilies growing in old red wine barrels.

Lavender bushels and winter worm wood poultices

Fields of canola and valleys of wheat

Oats grown for the nation to eat!

When the flood came

All was not the same.

With no one to blame.

I simply looked at the road washed away.

And then I felt so sad ☹

Farm dogs and rabbits and big scary spiders

Very long snakes and majestic fish eagles

Bees buzzing softly to gold misty dawns.

Mushrooms that grow out of the lawn!

Red dust and dirt roads and gates for unlocking

A spot on a map with no GPS tracking

Just follow the road and we will wait at the gate.

It’s not so hard to find!

(wait a moment for the music to slowly fade away…..)