The seasons down here are turning. The mornings happen a little slower, and the evening ends a little bit too soon. Already I got spoiled here with longer days, and I feel justified to complain! At the same time, I am a winter person, and I look forward to my first Cape winter. One of the neighbours pointed out to me which of the mountains around us should have snow on them later in winter, and I can’t wait.

Sadly though, Beaumont Farm (my favourite walking spot), is also changing season. All those rolling vineyards that once were vibrant green and full of grapes, now look rather depressed. The grapes are off somewhere fermenting into a 2022 vintage. The farm resembles Grape Graveyard, the leaves have turned colour and, in some places, have been cut back, ready to sprout next year. The pears have all been picked, and apple harvest will happen the end of April, I was told last night. Fat pig has gone to ground and even my 3 walking companions are less energetic. If anything, I get a tail wag, and that is it. I wonder if Beaumont will have any winter surprises for me, or will I have to impatiently wait for Spring?

And just when I was starting to think what a sad place this has become, an invite arrived to a birthday party! On Saturday, Colin and I set of to the southern suburbs of Cape Town, in search of Chart Farm. We Googled Chart Farm and their website did not inspire. In fact, we thought: what a funny name for a farm. We have standards now. We are used to farms with foreign names. But none the less, an adventure, is an adventure. We left home early, opting to do a scenic drive all along the coast, occasionally popping down side roads to see where it would take us. Only once we passed Muizenberg did we get onto the main road for a short hop. Party was set to start at 12H30, and we arrived at 12H00. We parked and as the venue was still being set up (so we could not go in), we decided to take a stroll, hoping to find something to do on the farm with a deceptive name.

The farm must be a very busy place, as the parking area is huge. And at the end of the long parking strip, we found the attraction. At first glance, the farm stall really does not have much. We did however see people walking off with buckets collected from the stall, and so we followed them. The pathway took us to a branch of Ludwig’s Roses (for those who do not know, Ludwig’s is a renowned rose grower, well known and respected for his beautiful roses and good, healthy plants.) This however was Ludwig’s with a difference. You see it works like this: Collect your bucket, walk down the garden path, and go find as many of the 6 000 (really!) rose bushes as you want to and pick your own bunch. Once you have picked your roses, back to the stall you go, and you pay per stem. Still in the mood for picking? Hand your roses in for safe keeping and take another bucket down to the vineyards and pick your own grapes. They suggest you taste before you pick, and once done, your grapes are weighed, and you pay per kilo. And you can guess what happened? Yes. By the time I had looked at the roses and made sure the grapes were the real deal, we were last to arrive at the party. On this occasion I did not pick roses nor grapes (I was concerned with it sitting in a hot car for too long), but you can imagine where I will be very soon. On the return trip, we will take the shortest, quickest route (which is bound to include some scary mountain pass) so I can beat everyone else to the grapes. Do not judge a farm by its name.

To get to Chart Farm, once on the main road, we travelled past the well-known landmark of Bishop’s Court, with the Kirstenbosch Botanical Garden in the far distance. The streets are beautifully tree lined, the houses solid and dignified and I am sure oh so expensive. It does make Houghton and Saxonwold (which I always thought so beautiful in Johannesburg) look like the poor cousins. As much as I absolutely had feel-good-pheromones pumping through my body, looking at all these magnificent houses, I could not shake off the feeling of: “surely there is something wrong in this world”. Just a few kilometres away, we drove past very poor areas and shanty houses too close to sand dunes. And yes, we were not all created equal. Clearly some are more equal than others. Such as Bishop’s Court and Saxonwold. The one housed Desmond Tutu, the other had the Guptas. Poor Saxonwold. I guess you can’t always choose your community.

Friday evening, we kept it local and again travelled to Hermanus for the art walk. This time, it was a lot busier than the previous one, and came with a completely different “vibe”. It definitely was more festive, with more people like us, and fewer that felt that they had to dress in sarongs. (Why do artists feel they have to dress “arty”? I do not see many doctors going shopping in white coats and have yet to see a pole dancer swinging about the supermarket.) So, with fewer sarongs and more browsers, we again had a lovely evening finished off with a meal in one of the restaurants. We made it back to Botrivier before curfew. (Small town curfew, that is!)

Not only have I noticed the changes in the seasons. I am also noticing changes in myself. I never liked Proteas as a younger person, now I not only stop to pick them, but I am also finding out what their floral pedigree is (a neighbour lent me her book, so I can look them up, and get to know the different species.) I also did not like roses. After Saturday, and Chart Farm, I have been converted, and I will be back to pick and pick my own bunch! I meticulously look after my tree nursery which we will be planting on our mountain once we live there. I have some Yellowwoods and Avo saplings growing. I am nursing all my propagated succulents. Thanks to my neighbours I am also growing ground orchards and “spek boompies.” Not bad for someone that filled her space with evergreen, always flowering artificial plants not so long ago. I am looking forward to getting my culinary studio going, I am absolutely itching to experiment with all the flavours around me. Just as a gardener itches to get soil on her hands, I am itching to get flour on mine. I hope it comes soon, before I turn into too much of a gardener.