Bumbling along the dirt road, and glancing through the dust streaked window of the car,
I found myself holding my breath, as a vast, elegant emerald carpet of vines, was rudely interrupted by an enormous tract of even deeper green Lucerne. Set against a backdrop of rolling hills and valleys the panorama looked like the almost impossibly perfect ones you see on cake tins! Well ok then, maybe a good puzzle on a rainy day.

Inside the car fingers were pointed, uncertainties questioned, dimensions of the farm confirmed, an excited babble, questions posed with urgent requests for answers. A kilometre from where we had begun the ascent of the hill signaling the neighbour’s farm, our attentiveness was absolute.

A sharp left turn in the road put a driveway square in front of us. Peach pips crunched beneath the tyres bringing us to an immacualte farmhouse and farm.

“Now this is more like it!” my shoulders eased a little in relief.

“Everything is so organized” Vincent nodded appreciatively.

Our uncomplaining negotiators obligingly suggested we alight from the car, and look around. Almost immediately we were met by an enthusiastic welcoming committee complete with handshakes, welcoming gestures, an exchange of names and introductions in an unfamiliar tongue! The response was so genuine, that the language barriers didn’t matter somehow, as they took pains to make sure that we were comfortable. Our lady real estate agent apparently had strong family ties with these farmers too, and I felt a brief if unwelcome twinge of apprehension, wondering if this was to be a remake of the classical movie Deliverance. As they chatted away, the farmer’s wife motioned to me to stroll through her house. Grateful to be left to my own devices, I thanked her and made my way through the sliding door.

The home was every bit as immaculate inside as the exterior with long, wide, passages. The only flaw was the single bathroom near the end of the passage with no en-suite bathroom in the master bedroom. Bummer! Having completed my tour I returned to the chit-chat outside. Already at 5.40 pm the orange African sun was sinking low in the western sky as Vince and I thanked the family, and drove through the lands to gain a sense of the size of the place, as well a firsthand look at the produce, vineyards, peach orchards, and Lucerne.

Bumping up and down like unseasoned horse riders we made our way through the quagmire of terrain in the vineyards up and down drainage furrows. Within a short while I began to wish I had strapped myself to the seat with duct tape. It didn’t help any that my bladder had recently been tampered with and it was beginning to signal its disapproval rather pointedly. It was clear that the surgeon’s instructions to ‘take it easy’ might indeed have had some merit. Ten minutes later I heaved a sigh of relief as the tortuous journey came to an end. I know my face told everybody how I felt, even though I did my best to not be the proverbial pain in the ass, having already bitched about having to see this last farm at the end of a long day of ‘farm viewing’

All four of us concurred that we had certainly seen what had been advertised. Vince and I would go home, and discuss it further. The farm was great but it was just that too far from Cape Town. The furthest we wanted to be was 2 hours max, and this was just on 2 hours. It was time to leave. The last vestiges of daylight were fading as the sun took its place at the back of the Riversonderend Mountains casting a somber ending to a superb day.

I sighed, there was still a long drive ahead of us.

“Karin that is exactly what I had in mind, the gravel road to the farm, not too long, and the vineyards, the land , just everything I would have wanted!” Vince burst forth as soon as we were out of an earshot. “What do you think of the house?”

I inhaled deeply blinking rapidly a few times to gather my thoughts, and then exhaled noisily.

“All I can say, is that it is NOT what I had dreamed of, certainly Not what I would have liked -”

“Well you are not buying the house really but a going concern, the farm” Vince interrupted enthusiastically.

“I know, but shit, it’s so …Afrikaans”, I said frowning.

“We can change all that, but the basic structure is there, and you know you love a challenge! You can do so many things”

“Yes, but it costs money you know, and being the tickey tight arse that you are it will take years to get it to be where I would like it!” ( I was negotiating, already sensing where this was going)

“ Rome wasn’t built in a day”, Vince replied almost sarcastically.

“Crap, and neither will Buitensorg be,” I muttered before my conscience kicked in.
How can you be so negative I took myself in hand firmly, this is what Vince wants. It’s not really my style but to burst his bubble right now would be most unkind. Patting myself on the back, I fixed a smile on my face and let him just babble away, offering an odd ‘uh-huh’, or a nod of the head, silently digesting my own reactions. I suppose upon reflection, I was tired. The first olive farm had been a disappointment, We’d been tossed around in a wannabe 4 x 4, and then taken an extra 30 km’s out of our way…… and that the entire day we’d spoken our version of Afrikaans, not our mother tongue. My enthusiasm had temporarily taken a beating.

I put in a strong effort to be optimistic by adding my favorite features. I agreed that the vineyards were magnificent and the valley in which the farm was situated was picturesque. The vistas were superb, infinite rolling hills staging their moulded profiles ahead of the humungous mountains in the distance. It was certainly hard to resist the miles and miles of striking colors and settings that unveiled their magnificence in a series of Kodak moments. That was what struck me. The problem was that we were supposed to be buying a bloody farm and not the spectacle that I had reminisced about for goodness sake!

The road home via Worcester, and then the Hugeneot Tunnel was dreary, dark, and dismal. I knew that we had rushed through the last two farms yet each seemed to have left a clear enough impression of homeliness to be unsettling.

I telephoned our daughters to cancel a dinner arrangement. It was late, and I desperately wanted a hearty home cooked meal and a hot shower. By the time we reached Paarl, conversation had come to a standstill. I am sure Vince was having difficulty in
shuffling his mental notes in order of financial, logistic and preferential needs.

Approaching the slopes of what had become ‘our mountain’ when we arrived and settled in Constantia, I felt secure once more. It was dark when we pulled into the garage grateful to be home. The first step had been taken.

As the hot, soothing water rushed over my head and down my back, I reflected on the day’s viewing. ‘What on earth are we getting into’ I wondered. The shower door opened and a hand slithered smoothly down my spine.

“I have an ice cold Savanah waiting for you”, Vince announced with more than a usual measure of consideration.

He had me. I’d been salivating at the thought of a satisfying cold drink all day. Hastily toweling down , I pulled on my ‘p.j.’s , shuffled down the passage and collapsed into the armchair. My hand reached out for the glass of liquid gold. It felt like velvet as it slid down my throat quenching my thirst
.
“So what did you think…honestly?” Vincent was far from done with the subject.

“I have a lot to digest,” I resisted weakly, “But I’m pretty sure I want to farm- I think”, “Does that make any sense to you?”

“Absolutely!” Vince was clearly more enthusiastic than I was. “But I think we need to venture into other areas around the Western Cape and just make sure we’ve satisfied all of our needs and wants. ( This was Vince’s attempt to sound practical)

“OK, but we ought to agree on the distance from Cape Town as well as a budget and what we want on the farm.” I couldn’t believe what was coming out of my mouth

“I totally agree.” Vince agreed with what looked like a suspiciously smug look on his face.

And so our course of action began to take shape.

We decided to keep a tight lid on our intentions, not saying a word to close friends or family pending confirmation of the purchase of a property. Our girls were aware of our objectives scoffing at the lack of home comforts I would have to tolerate. I’m pretty sure they believed that this would be a passing fancy and that once our curiosity had been satisfied, life would resume its status quo.

Monday morning arrived with an early call from the agent. After listening to our feedback regarding the properties we’d been to see the day before, she let us know that another farm in the Nuy area had suddenly come on to the market. She had obviously done her homework too and checked if we were serious buyers, or just Sunday afternoon bored city slickers imposing on her valuable time.



A welcome diversion reared its head. Weeks ago I had arranged a ‘Mom and girls’ getaway for this coming weekend. It had required copious amounts of planning to make this possible. I desperately wanted to have all three girls together for an exclusive time out. I had sent them an invitation and a list of what they would need without mentioning the destination.

Each daughter was responsible for one meal, the first being dinner on the Friday evening, the second, and the third breakfast on Saturday morning, and the third dinner on the Saturday evening. Each had to bring the ingredients, cook, serve, and clean up and there had to be ‘a twist in the tail’ as a theme. I’d bound a map of our proposed travel, including places of interest of the small towns we would be visiting, plus a surprise call to the Caledon Casino! A house in Greyton with room for four adults would be our final destination.

Leaving Cape Town on a Friday afternoon and heading onto the N1 and the 3.00 p.m. traffic is perhaps the closest thing to being insane. However an earlier departure would have been almost impossible with University lecture times, and both older girls employed.

Soon we were caught up in a snarl of motor vehicles all heading in the same direction, bumper to bumper on the outskirts of Somerset West. The girls were handed their envelope with the weekend’s plans in an attempt to forestall any rising impatience.

Ooh’s and aah’s greeted my choice of accommodation, followed by a less enthusiastic hmm about the dinner plans. Our first stop was the casino. Each daughter received R50. The eldest chose to blow it straight away and gamble, the middle one, bought drinks, and the third one tentatively dropped her coins into the slot, losing all of R10, then deciding it was a mugs game, joined the middle one for a drink! My eldest daughter lost her R50 pretty quickly, and so did I, so we attempted to make the big time by going to a R50 chip table! Why we didn’t just write out a cheque in the casino’s name and leave it with them I sure don’t know, because no sooner had we played the first chip than the game was over. Casino R200 Karin and Robyn minus R200!

We walked out of the private club, feet dragging and made our way back to the car park to make the 25 minute drive to our weekend destination.

Canola fields shone with a yellow splendor against the backdrop of the setting sun. Truly magnificent. We arrived at the property, unpacked our bags, and retired to the sitting room as Dayle disappeared to prepare our ‘meal’. Being a qualified chef, it was no biggie for her.

Vincent called to ask if I would make a detour on Sunday and go via Nuy to look at that dairy farm. The girls all agreed that we would link up with their Dad and view the farm together. We would travel to Nuy via Bonnievale on the Sunday.

After an amazing weekend, where we all got inebriated in style on the Saturday evening, and our youngest daughter provided us with breakfast in bed (her duty) of scrambled eggs on toast, sliced smoked trout with cream cheese, and her twist was….. ugh…. A koeksuster!!!! , we headed home via Nuy.

Our journey took longer than expected. The farm was set in an idyllic location right at the slopes of the Langeberg Mountains . Beautiful, but 25 km’s in from the main road! You know when your gut feel says, oh no, too far from civilization! The gravel road contoured, ascended and then just as rapidly descended. The girls were in their high heeled boots and designer jeans giving the impression of a day at the mall, not a bloody farm.

First impressions count. Do not let anybody inform you differently. Not a great entrance, and certainly a dreadful home. Extremely disjointed with a room added on here, and another there. No flow, and certainly in need of serious reparations.
The family were enjoying a braai, and happily allowed our family to traipse through their home. Between the cow shit and the chicken poo sticking to their heels, came muffled yet uneasy sniggering. These embarrassingly urban born and bred girls of mine immediately advised me that dairy farming was not to be considered. Imagine all the cow pats and the threat to their well being.

“Mom this is not you!” was probably more accurately “This is not for us”.

Nevertheless I was intrigued and fell in behind the farmer, the agent, and Vince as they toured the place. The farmer took great pride in informing us that this was an “AI’ farm.
The cows were artificially inseminated.

”So how does that work?”

The words popped out of my mouth before Id thought the question through and I was even less impressed when the farmer suggested I would need a chair and an arm extension to do what needed to be done!

“It costs R160 odd rand per cow and I import all my semen” he added without blinking.
“We don’t keep bulls on this farm.”

“How many cows do you have?” I enquired, trying to look slightly less embarrassed.

“Over 100”, came the flat reply.

There were a few peach trees, and a small vineyard. Water was a big problem, but he was selling because he wanted a bigger farm. This one seemed big enough to me. A motorbike shot past us with his son in control and friend riding pillion and holding a rifle.

“Where are they off to?” ( Again with my foot in my mouth)

“Oh ja, off to shoot some hares,” he quipped with a snide grin.

Vince was engaged in serious conversation with the agent. I had switched off by this stage. I just wanted to head home. I knew, having bought many homes over the years, when ‘it speaks to you’ that’s your home. This one did nothing for me. Thankfully we soon bade them a polite farewell.

The girls and I drove ahead of Vince, as I had to drop them off at their respective homes. At least I knew one thing for sure. Dairy farming was not it. The conversation at the farm had already convinced me of that. Dairy farming was a 365 day a year occupation in addition to milking twice a day. We certainly did not intend to farm as vigorously as that, most importantly we were going to be new kids on the block and throwing ourselves into an unknown which needed such constant attention was beyond absurd. Then there was the fact that it was so far off the beaten track. Strike that one off the list .

Sensing my distress, our delightful farmer proposes we do the return drive through the grove. Relieved I relax my shoulders a bit, sigh quietly to myself and prepare for the final run.

We were both suitably impressed with the olive trees, nodding in union at the vastness of the land. Regrettably we had made up our minds right at the beginning that this was not what we had expected. We trundled back over various loose mounds of soil, over irrigation pipes, and finally arriving at our point of commencement.

I immediately called the Agent we were to be meeting with, allowing us a 15 minute gap to get to the point of rendezvous. Had I kept to my word and telephoned the 15 minutes prior to completing our tour, I would probably have knocked myself or James out in trying to lift the phone to my ear. The latter decision was the best for both parties, I supposed.

After many warm handshakes, and words of guidance from James with regards farming in general, we expressed our sincere thanks and climbed into our jeep ready to tackle the next farm.

Being tossed from side to side down the neat gravel farm road, Vince and I both shook our heads in amazement at the audaciousness of both the advertisement and the owners reaffirmation of what the farm had to offer. One thing we did learn was that we did have a hell of a lot still to learn, and this was only the beginning.

Vince also resolved that this certainly made him want to search even harder for his idyllic farmstead. Bouncing in our seats, both chatting at the same time, me having the odd remark on the quaintness of McGregor Main Street as we passed through town, the agreement was that we had witnessed precisely what we did not want.

Positively we were not going to abandon our search in fact our resolve was to move ahead, and laugh that one off a dam good experience.

What we did learn from James was that all the succulent plant growth underneath the olive trees were in fact good for moisture for the trees but very bad as they actually absorbed most of the water, therefore not such a good idea. Some of the growth had been removed, but there were many more, perhaps hectares which needed cleaning up! I too made a point of asking him what he would do if it were his farm, and he suggested he would certainly diversify. Implying he would cultivate something else, or even create a proper nursery. So yes there were possibilities, but at a major cost, and not worth paying that much for a farm which would need significant capital input.

It was by now 1.15p.m. both feeling a little famished decided not to stop in McGregor, but to continue and maybe have lunch later. Not forgetting we had both not eaten the idea being that we would have a wonderful country lunch during our days outing. With grumbling tummies, another biscuit was munched, followed by a stream of warm bottled water. Ugh! Creeping around the final bend of this small fashionable town we come upon Andries parked waiting for us in his exhausted designer dusted Landrover. Pulling up behind him pushing a cloud of fine particles of sand in his direction, we parked. Vince turned the motor off, waiting for the dust to settle so as to see whose aura was coming into view. Licking my lips, trying to moisten my lipstick a female figure approached my side of the vehicle. “Hello”, she said, “my name is Cinette, and this is my husband Andries”, pointing in his direction.

Once again the now customary handshakes, and warm smiles, we familiarized ourselves with one another.

Andries and Cinette own an Estate Agency in Robertson, they are both from farming stock, and in fact Andries originally farmed in the Robertson area, and Cinette grew up in the Bonnievale area. I immediately liked their attitude, their friendly disposition, and above all their integrity. We filled them in on our introduction to farming, and how disappointed we were, and what our expectations were. They listened attentively, passing no comment, only concurring on our observations.

Of course we were now is serious discussions in Afrikaans, both of them having a slight ‘bray’ to their accents, which took a bit of earnest listening skills to comprehend. Really warm affable couple, I thought. Feel a hell of a lot more comfortable in their knowledge of ‘farms’.

“ok follow me”, Andries gestured swinging his arm forwards. Cinnette pulling herself upwards and into the Landover, remarking something about, ‘you have so much to learn!’

Reflecting on being a bit more upbeat about the next farm both Vince and I happily followed the cylindrical trail of dust ahead. Ensuring our traveling distance from the vehicle ahead along the dry gravel road keeping an eye on the landscape our mood certainly turned more positive.

For a few kilometers all was going well, and then a further few kilometers, I began turning the reality of going to the shops for a loaf of bread, sugar etc, and to travel 11 km’s was not going to be my idea of fun!

Andries indicated we pull over, and once again waiting for the dirt to settle around us and envelop our entire bodies we alighted from the jeep. Horror of horrors, their son, aged about 12 jumped from the backseat of their vehicle brandishing a pellet gun, happily assembling the mechanism all set to eliminate one of God’s creatures!

Both his parents were oblivious to his imminent deed rather discussing the farmland set out in front of us, and the details thereof. This seemed to be a better prospect, however, rather too isolated from a town being 11 kilometres away. ‘Pop’ we all turn our heads to the left. The youngster has had his first shot at whatever, and fortunately missed. I decided that actually it was not worth getting my knickers in a knot for, and concentrated on the matter at hand. The farmer was wanting to retire ad the area had been proven to fast becoming a great 4x 4 adventure trail. The infrastructure had been set up, and basically a very reasonable price could be paid for a going concern.

We all then trooped to the main farmhouse, and also to view the farmlands.

This felt a hell of a lot more like what we had envisaged. Large old house, with the most outstanding view across the vineyards which were set below the house. Truly an amazing sight. On going around the back of the house, past the barn, there were 9 sheep in an enclosure grazing away at their normal pace, oblivious to our presence. To the left of us bantam chickens were scrounging for tidbits in an enclosed pen.

This was our visualization of what we sought. A warm feeling rushed through me, both Vince and I said loudly, “yes. This is more like what we want”

Much chatting about the farm and what crops were being cultivated between Andries Vince and Cinette. Scanning my eyes across the vast vineyards, sadly no leaves at this time of year, I imagined what it must look like once in full fruit, totally awesome I am sure, I reckoned.

Falling back in line with the conversation, it was agreed that we should take the cars around the farm , and get a better idea of the vineyards, and orchards. Dusting off the fine dry powder now deeply engrained in my shoes, I swung myself into the front seat of the jeep, with a feeling of comfort that this was sure a lot more similar to what we had both wanted.

Up and over bumps, deep-rooted in the solid earth, we climbed toward the boundaries of the farm. Stopping occasionally to view the vines, or the brown spear like branches of the apricot trees yet to sprout their sumptuous blossoms.

Our interest certainly intensified each metre we traveled across the pathed gravel strips of road surrounding the various prepared fields. General discussions once again, corroborate our needs versus our sad lack of knowledge! Oh so often we would chirp an oddity about what we had expected, only to be corrected on our misinformation, hopelessly incorrect at our assumptions, of which we had many a loud laugh.

This farm apparently had very old vines according to the agent, and would need replacing, plus the fact that it was situated 11 km’s from a tar road…..in fact it was in the middle of nowhere…. So all agreed to move onto the next farm, which was outside of Robertson, a short drive through the township, and onto the slopes of the Langeberg Mountains to a protea farm. Enthusiastically we followed a fair distance behind the landrover, allowing the delicate dust to settle silently ahead of our vehicle.

Much talk now between us the air slightly electric with excitement of the impending prospect ahead. Whew, we hit the tar road with a thud as the residue behind us settles once more. Gaining on Andries now, we commented on the condition of our black jeep now a shade of brown, something we would have to get used to with the gravel roads. Always having cleanly washed and polished cars, which was a weekend job for Vince, this was sure going to be a testing situation. I absently thought aloud “what the hell made us choose a black car?” I knew the answer to that one even before I had uttered. It was the only colour available at the time for the model we had wanted, although we had always disliked dark coloured vehicles, citing dust as the main culprit for a dirty looking car! Well that was sure to bite us in the bum first off now wasn’t it! This certainly seemed to be the year for making drastic decisions I noted.

Trailing the vehicle ahead through Robertson to the back yards of its being we fell upon the poorer classes in their suburb. The street was a comic strip of colour, with washing hanging for all and sundry to view, soccer action in the road, plastic containers of various sizes scattered on the sides of the road, and the assortment of ‘pavement specials’ either chained or just running free was a picture to behold. This was Sunday afternoon, and many an adult was lazing about lapping up the rays of sunshine as it baked on their brown skin. Either peeled over a broken white plastic chair, or just slumped over the front gate conversing with a passerby, all was generally peaceful. Vince remarked he was not too happy about driving through this area to gain access to the farm, so already a ‘No-no’ was being observed. Damn, this emotional yo-yo was really beginning to tire me. I mentioned that perhaps we were to at least see what ‘lay around the corner’. So we continued to follow compliantly. Around another corner, and again another, and then some more, we eventually came upon a security gate. “Oh dear, this means there must be problems here” I mutter.

Andries alights from his car, and goes over to the buzzer. Filling in the blanks he apparently knows the code, we wait for his nod to go further. But the stuffing gate will not open!

“Is this Murphy’s law,” Cinette comments.

Turning towards her looking a bit bashful Andries gestures his failed attempt at trying to open the imposing gateway. Cinette taking her cue jumped from her seat shot around the back of the car and selected the encoded numbers. All in vain, no response. Feeling embarrassed by now at the lack of reaction from the steel structure Andries took off through a pedestrian gate along the gravel road and toward a farmhouse on the left. Once again small talk was induced about the fragility of computerized mechanisms, and their lack of functioning when called upon to do so.

Here we go once again I contemplated, is this a forewarning of what is to come.

Looking in the distance my attention was sparked by the sound of a barking dog I noticed it was a Border Collie. Being my favourite dog, my interest was fully upon his bulk moving rapidly toward our direction. Fortunately his tail was wagging, and his barking slowed to a friendlier pace as he quickly approached the gate. I went forward to pat him on his head and he responded by turning to the side, so as to gain my full concentration on his well being. Sniffing my proffered hand, but keeping his eye on me, our reassurance to one another of non threat was obvious.

A car approached from behind the gate, and in the front seat was Andries and another man. Apologizing for the situation, he scrambled out of the car motioning us to come through the gate and join him and the other man in the vehicle. Once in the car we were introduced to the gentleman whose farm we were on our way to view, and once again apologies for the circumstances we found ourselves in. En route to the farmhouse, the man suggested as he was English speaking and not too au fait with the Afrikaans language, and as English is our mother tongue, it was best to guide us over his farm in English. What a nice change, I thought at least now we can understand, and be understood!

That was where we made our first mistake there too! Being on his soap box, and wanting to make the most of his time, and evidently it was considered necessary to enlighten us on his superb residence and the 4 x 4 trail leading up to the top of the plateau of the Langeberg Mountain. Pretty much cramped into a mediocre 4 x 4 vehicle (which for 2 persons is adequate) 5 adults packed themselves into the cramped space not realizing the length of time it would take to reach our destination, and then do a return trip just to really piss me off! Passing the only orchard proudly cultivated, and entering the beautiful ‘fynbos’ (of which the Cape is noted for,) being tossed from side to side our grand entrance to ‘his’ farm was unquestionable!

Seated in the middle of the bench seat at the rear, Vince on my right, and Cinette on my left, when leaning to the right was acceptable, but boy to the left was incontestable. Keeping my body taut was in itself mission impossible on the undergrowth beneath the car. Holy crap, being thrown from one side to another for half an hour was actually not pleasant. At last we reached our summit! Yippee! We could place our flag and be forever patriotic to our country… like bloody hell. I almost had a feeling of euphoria at our conquest but by this stage if I had seen another ‘protea with a straight stalk’ I might have shoved it into … well I was hard pressed for another idea at that stage! Vince and I must have grimaced at each other for most of the return leg. Enthusing over his ranch and settling on a monosybllic conversation all to himself the gentleman considered us certainly keen by his tone of voice! How odd we had not mentioned much, in fact we had been extremely quiet by all standards. Boredom was settling in noticeably by our agents whom suggested that we then take a look through the main house. In hindsight I really believe we should have done the whole ‘band aid’ trick and literally pulled the plaster off! But being decent folk we considered the visit incomplete for the man, so once again forcing a smile we approached his home.

Did I mention he was selling as his wife was very ill, and he needed to move back to a larger town for hospitals etc. Also that this farm had been his sanctuary from the world now for 10 years. We concluded that we did not want to buy a stuffing view, but rather a ‘working’ farm. So up the stairs we went. Entering a typical English style lounge, following through to a rather large kitchen.

“Please do not go into the main bedroom (the door was closed)”, he cautioned, “my wife is in there”. ( Have recently found out that his wife was in fact mentally ill, and could not face seeing people, how sad).

Oh bugger, I saw the loo and that was me…. An urgent call had to be made. By now my bladder was particularly uncomfortable with all the bouncing around, plus having recently had a procedure, it certainly felt tender. Requesting permission to have the use of his lavatorial facility, (I reckon he must have really thought we were pretty keen by now, as when you are really interested in buying property, one of the golden rules is to try out the toilets), I shut myself in wishing like hell that this outing was soon coming to an end.

Nope not to be, “have you seen my workshop?” he asked.

Obediently we scampered up an incline into a large workshop, which was abominable to say the least. I would hate to have to move his stuff, I pondered. Yippee we were making our way down toward our hosts vehicle, to be brought back safely to the gate which would not have guests enter through it initially.

Fair to say I was pretty pissed off by this stage. Why were we been taken to farms we had absolutely no interest in? Why were we wasting our time? What misinformation were we giving the agents. Questions begging some answers.

Once back in the landrover, I of course did not spare a moment and jumped right into the comment of “this is definitely NOT what we ar looking for”, “I agree”, came the response from Vince. Once again looking back, perhaps a good idea, as we could then get an idea of what protea farming was all about, and also exactly what we did not want. So perhaps did have some merit in that.

By now it was 17.20 on the Sunday afternoon, I had luckily taken a litre bottle of water from home when we left, fully intending to have lunch somewhere ‘in the country’. We were both starving. Driving back to the offices of the agent, the two of them now deep in conversation about the days excursion, Vince and I were more interested in where our next meal was coming from. I recollected that there was a take-out outlet in the main road, and suggested we grab a quick bite. Excitedly Cinette proposed that we head out back to Bonnievale, which was a further 20 minutes drive from Robertson itself, as there were in fact two adjacent farms which she considered would be precisely what would meet our needs. I sighed very deeply, looked over at Vince, and we both resigned ourselves to the fact that seeing we were ‘here’ might as well just bloody well go and have a look.

I truly was not in any space to consider another ‘farm’. I was done and dusted, in fact we were both very tired, and wanting to travel back to Cape Town. Once again we humoured the agents, and followed them on the trail to THE farms, as they put it.

The road from Robertson to Bonnievale, must be one of the most beautiful. The various world famous vineyards, with their colourful landscapes of varying hues of brown were stunning. The rose bushes alongside the road not in bloom as yet, but none the less a pretty site.

Here is an interesting fact. One of the comments made by myself to a farmer whilst we were ‘farm hunting’ was that I always noticed superb roses at the beginning of each row of vines or fruit trees, and thought the farmers were seeking more of an aesthetic look to their farms! Laughing at my unintelligent remark, I was very quickly put on the right track. In fact, roses are the first to develop any form of disease, so this will enlighten the farmer of the condition of his future crop. Rather fascinating once I knew only to inform anybody who would listen to my ramblings of my new found knowledge!

Onward we traveled, a further 20 kilometres, then took the Stormsvlei turnoff, following the route alongside some majestic farms. Once again a turnoff toward McGregor. Oh crap, hope this is not what we have been to see earlier I presume with a huge frown streaked across my brow. I did not venture a comment at this stage as I did not think it fair to prejudice Vince’s thoughts. A further couple of kilometers, and then suddenly Andries pulled over to the right, off onto the gravel curb. Signaling for us to get out of the car, we once again submissively obeyed. Raising his brow and stretching his right arm pointing to some vacant strip of land Andries began his selling spiel of the area and of the farm “Buitensorg”.

Cinette chirped her tidbits every now and again, but our interest had been realized!

I was not paying too much attention by this stage just drinking in all my surrounding beauty, the rekindling of new shoots on the vines, and the apricot blossoms were a sight to behold! This soft pink blanket swathed over an enormous field of blossoms. Wow! A couple of hectares of apricots certainly caught my attention, and then scanning my eyes across where the agents were interpreting the actual boundaries of the farm I was now wide awake and taking in all I could. Vince with folded arms and nodding head too was tracking Andries in his explanation of the various vineyards and lucerne meadows in the distance. Clarifying the neighbouring borders with the farm, Andries too suggested that both farms were in fact for sale! And basically if interested we could buy both for a mere 4 million. ‘This would be the bargain of the year” he enthused! “Basically you would be getting two farms for the price of one!”

Frowning Vince queried as to why both were on the market. Muttering something about one farmer having no sons to the other wanting to retire, Cinette gesture we best move ahead as it was by now getting rather late and the sun had begun to set.

With a bit more eagerness both Vince and I tagged along willfully behind the Landover making its way toward the entrance to the two farms. Vince and I were still trying to understand the parameters of the Buitensorg farm, and before we knew it we had to stop, and were at the top of the road of the access to the agricultural farmstead.

“Oh yes,” smiled Vincent, “this is just what I wanted, a long driveway, and a house set off from the road”. “I agree, this looks a hell of a lot more like what we want!”

“Maybe this is what we were meant to view first”, Vince grinned at the thought of maybe this is what we were looking for!

Once again we alighted from our vehicles to gaze upon the sheer magnificence of what lay ahead of us. Various particulars regarding each farm literally from their lands, to their labourer cottages, to dams, to the main houses were being pointed out. I was trying to listen and digest the information, but at the same time glimpse at all that was before me, not really understanding the enormity of the terrain. I really believe that Vince was almost overwhelmed by what he was observing in front of him. He had a static smile wrapped around his face stretching literally from ear to ear! Had he found his dream farm? I grinned to myself allowing a hint of my glee to show. We were shown where the vineyards lay, the lucerne fields, the Bushmans River straddling surreptitiously through the land. Upon Vincent’s instruction to view more closely what we were enjoying we all trundled along in our cars in anticipation of the buildings ahead. A dusty winding road almost 1 km from the tarred road. There was conversation from both of us at the same time, confirming and concurring our possible new business and home to be. The failing light did nothing to dampen our spirits, as we came to a stop outside the gate to ‘Buitensorg”

As I type this right now we have been on the farm for a period of 6 weeks today at 14.08 p.m. literally at the same time we had arrived on the 15 January 2005! Also a very muggy overcast day… with little drizzle not dampening our spirits at all. It seems so odd reading back…..how the hell did we make this decision… and why!

On the painted white brick wall was a plaque, ‘Buitensorg’, proudly white lettered beckoning our entry. Over a cow grate and into the brick paved approach. Not too much of the house was exposed, but the garden was stunning… the fusion of colours outstanding. Afterall it was spring. The Agents alighted from their vehicle, probable sensing our taste buds had been whet, as their smiles gave much of their mused attitude. I remember thinking that the entrance to the farm, the dirt road, the floral bouquet of colour set in a vineyard of green vines was truly breathtaking. This is exactly what we were looking for. Vince had become a bit more forthcoming, also realizing that this is what we had been trying to elucidate to our tolerant purveyors all day. Much conversation between the four of us ensued, not really concentrating on each others comments we strolled to the front gate. An enormous wooden paneled gate met us with the same white brickwork embracing the doorway. The gate must be at least 20 foot tall I thought. A friendly voice from within the confines of the walled area called out that she was on her way.

We were introduced to the lady of the house, Joyce, and then to her husband, hard on her heels, stepping off the wooden stairs and offering his hand in greeting. All in Afrikaans we were welcomed, the usual apologies attended to for the condition of their home, as it was unannounced our arrival, plus it was a Sunday afternoon, well at least late afternoon. It was I think after 5.30 .

No entrance hall, just walk straight on onto the lounge! A superb log fire was sputtering in the hearth appealing for attention for additional firewood What caught my eye immediately was the revolting fabric covered pelmit, a sky blue to match the cornicing which had been painted to match exactly. Forgivingly I chastised myself, as to understand the culture of the people whose home/farm we were looking at, plus the lack of importance placed on their home as opposed to the farm in itself. Oh boy did I have so much more to see, and choke on. This house was at least 30 years old, with very little having been done to modify the property during this time. My heart sank as I got further into the dwelling. Vince I could see was smiling, almost accepting that this is where he wanted to be. I knew too that I was grumpy due to the long day driving around the area, and being so disillusioned about the farms. The lady of the house was all too syrupy, with her patronizing attitude and determination to dominate the discussion with her opinions. She duly escorted me through her home, stopping where and when she felt it important for her to substantiate her surrounds. I was becoming extremely irritated, and literally rushed through the house to get her off my back. Of course her being a family friend of the agent’s did not help as they too then discussed some function which had been held the previous evening in Bonnievale to amass funds for a student to study opera singing in Germany! I took that opportunity to then wander about on my own, but no madam was right behind me in her whining voice giving me unsolicited detail of her abode and how superb it was! I refrained from any comments, best nothing said I mused to myself, perhaps it is only a coat of paint, my furniture, and all will be fine. My dream farm house had to have three features, one being a wrap around stoep, two being a fireplace in the diningroom, which had to be large, and the third thing was a ‘farmhouse’ kitchen, with plenty of room, and welcomingly homely. This had none of the above! Rule Number 1…. Stick with your first instincts…..this was actually not going to be suitable I contemplated. Fortunately time was running out, and we wanted to see the adjacent farm too, which apparently too was for sale. We offered our thanks to the family, wished them well, and made our departure. Continuing along the dirt road now all in Andries’s Landover, Vince was pretty upbeat about the farm, and had been further impressed with the house. I was ruminating deeply to a great extent about the lack of and the fact that although the house gave the impression of being clean and neat, it definitely required some serious overhauling in the bathroom and kitchen stakes. The main-en-suite was a disaster…. The best of all being the ‘swing doors’ which were half bar doors, allowing zilch privacy, and even less allure in its invitation! I shook my head, then laughed out loudly, commenting on the magnificent indoor garden and hanging ferns aka. 'the atrium’ set in large boulders tempting arachnids of all descriptions to party on at their leisure. Crap, that was awful! Perhaps I have left the final honour to the loo…..set behind a wall, offering some form of solitude with a disgusting cracked seat, and a ceramic fitted tile ashtray, yes full….what an inducement to want to piddle, poo and smoke all at the same time, sans a closed door. Did I mention the colour of the tiles, bath and toilet, yes it was puke green. This would have to be the first modification without a doubt.

After enjoying a few glasses of cold wine, once again seated in my customary chair ready to attend to my patient, I previewed the open page in the magazine of the proposed olive farm we were going to be the proud new owners of! I have always had an optimistic view on life, and how the ‘game’ should be played. So for me to not have a positive outlook on major changes in my life was an unreasonable contemplation. After all we had been moved around South Africa for a period of 15 years during my husbands employment with an Oil company. Furniture, 3 small children and family pets en masse we schlepped around without any contemplation or expectation of anything but all good comings from our most recent transfer. So moving to the unknown was not foreign to either of us. BUT we would be moving to a new city, where all was pretty much common knowledge, and getting used to the area was really a matter of time and practice. But shit, this was going to be a whole new ball game.

So many questions needed to be answered as we are extremely inexperienced with any matters concerning farming. I kept getting this silly voice creeping into my head saying “what the hell are you thinking?”

Before we knew it Sunday morning had arrived.

Our arrangement to meet with the resident farmer on the olive farm was for 11.00 a.m. Bounding out of bed, with intense anticipation and heading for a sobering hot shower, my thoughts were seriously bemused. As the hot jets of water bounced off my body, I closed my eyes, and thought “what the hell am I letting myself in for, this could a life changing decision”!

Rinsing off the residue soapy suds, I grasped the bath sheet wrapping it around my entire body, making sure my head was well concealed into the fluffy cotton expanse.

The comfort of having my eyes concealed, gave me a moments security within the deep conscious of my mind. Sliding the now damp fabric away from my face, I gently rubbed my body dry, exposing the vulnerability of our forthcoming exercise, the bareness of my soul. We were both extremely quiet that morning, obviously both with our own thoughts seeking resolve from deep within. “What is all the uncertainty”, I thought, and “what are we starting”….. only time would tell. What the most amazing thing was that Vince and I had not even mentioned what our personal needs or wants were pertaining to a ‘farm’ What our expectations were, or even what we had wanted to farm! So yes we were ‘running’ so to speak, but my motto has always been “you will never know unless you have tried it!”, which really says, I take incredible chances, and hope for the best and Vince has always been the cautious one. So for him to literally be going blindly into this really did not make sense. Apprehension on my part was starting to set in. We left home agreeing to stop somewhere in the country to have breakfast, after all this was going to be a splendid opportunity to enjoy the day in the country. Sans ‘padkos’, as we are all so akin to do when traveling a mere hours drive from home, I packed in some biscuits, and my ever present 2 litre bottled water. Without any promise or obligation we settled that this was to be a fun idea, and to enjoy the day. I was reasonably excited to see what had been indicated in the magazine to be the most fabulous olive farm in the area of McGregor with all the extra trimmings, and actually smiled to myself looking forward to stepping on the unknown terrain within two hours .

During our drive along the N1, through the winelands of Paarl and Stellenbosch, we chatted liberally about the farms we were driving past, and only then did we comment on what we had liked and wanted ,and what we really did not want. So the romantics of farming were pushed to the fore for the first time. Vince wanted animals, meaning sheep, cattle etc, and of course the regular country chicken scratching the ground for some worthwhile nibble, leaving a trace of chicken shit behind for some unsuspecting walker to trample. He wanted a ‘real’ farm! What he meant was that he wanted the livestock, the tractors purring as they ploughed the fields, water being pumped in a heartbeat to the quenched lands, the smell of the mother earth as she received her first morning moisture, as the sun beckoned its first release of warmth. The satisfaction of watching his crops yield an exceptional harvest as he worked side by side with the joyful chanting of the workforce now in steady progress of picking his golden produce. I watched him as he spoke, his eyes peeled on the road ahead, but his mind was elsewhere. Nodding his head and reaffirming with himself what he had expected, and wanted a slight satisfied grin appeared at the corners of his mouth and eyes. I was shaking my head up and down too, substantiating his confidence and determination as to our requirements. I waited till he had completed verbalizing his farming aspirations, agreeing to all, and then turning my head toward the open farmlands to my left, I dropped my gaze toward the magnificent vast expanse spreading way and beyond one’s eye view, until I was squinting imagining what an outstanding landscape was spread out before me.

“This is where I would love to farm”, I said, “just look at the blanket of bright yellow spread across acres and acres of land”, I enthused, casting my eyes across the bulging undulating hills, rising up to meet with the magnificence of the Langeberg Mountains.

I knew I had wanted to have a fairly flat piece of ground and certainly be ‘under the mountains’. Coming from Cape Town, and living below the Constantiaberg Mountains for 17 years, I owned that mountain, and my intention was to once again be the proud title-holder of an enormous piece of granite shielding me in its shadows.

I too wanted to have the animals, with extra domestic pets obviously, and my most important feature had to be the main farmhouse. “I cannot wait to see the main house, I have always loved a thatched homestead” I added, “but it has to have a wrap around verandah, an enormous kitchen, and not forgetting a fireplace in the lounge and diningroom”.

“You are asking for a bit much don’t you think?” asked Vince, ‘the farm in my opinion is the most important, we could always work on getting the house renovated

to our taste at a later stage”, he finished.

“Apparently this house has 5 bedrooms, and looks pretty big, also there is a guest house, plus the farm managers property”, I announced. “Not forgetting the restaurant where olive tasting is done!”

I called the farm manager confirming our arrival shortly, by this time the adrenalin was beginning to pump! Not too long now and my imagination is to become a reality.

By now my appetite was wholly whetted. We both then realized that what we had wanted was approximately what the other had singled out. Quite amazingly, it was strange not to have even discussed this at length. We had chatted about farming, in depth, and what the possibilities had been with regards finance, and the objectives we had both wanted to achieve. But never spoke about what we actually expected and what our ideals were. I had a painting in my mind of the setting and its surroundings, which I then sketched verbally for Vince’s consideration. Keeping his eyes focused on his duty at hand, he nodded in assent endeavoring to compose the picture in his mind.

“Can you believe it, as you speak, I can see exactly what you have in mind, which is exactly what I have in mind!” “The only difference is that I want the house to be set amongst large trees, set back from a dusty windy road, with chickens, ducks, and dogs doing what they do”. By now we were both speaking at the same time, just babbling on about our expectations, and the whole quixotic aura of farm life.

Before we knew it, we were on the outskirts of Robertson, fast approaching the main town and our turnoff to McGregor. Passing the ‘plaas winkels’ and the local co-op in town, I reached for the map with the directions to our initial sanguine sanctuary.

Almost a kilometer through the main road of Robertson, is a turning to the right, for McGregor. This sleepy little hollow had been much advertised as a weekend getaway for some time now, and many a local Capetonian had trekked out for their ‘chill time’ in the country. It has also fast become the local hideaway kept under wraps because of the ‘cottage’ appeal of the town. So the area was alluring in more ways than one for us! Turning right we proceeded up and over the bridge turning a sharp left continuing along the well travelled tar surface.

Both Vince and I were now immersed in our own expectations, so little conversation was taking place. Constantly checking the map, were we on the right road. Out of nowhere a dusty unpretentious village loomed ahead.

“There’s McGregor”, I yelled. “OK I saw it too!” Vince calmly said.

At first our impressions were of the local community, the farm labourers, and the ordinary folk going about their daily Sunday lunchtime routine. Working off large hangovers, sitting outside their inadequate homes with neighbours visiting one another discussing the well being of another, whilst children bounced vigorously on an unbalanced tyre, all seemed so normal. Slowing right down to a comfortable speed, our first opinions were taken in by image most favorably. Vince and I commented on what a ‘cute little town’. Our plan was that we were to drive through the main road, and at the end of the road, a gravel road would begin and literally the first turn to the left would be the farm. Pretty straight forward, we lapped up the habits of small town folk get pleasure from their slow pace lifestyle.

“Oh look,” I shouted, “is that not quaint?” “See the old Cape style of building, just what we like”, adding “I hope the house is just like that”.

“Karin, you might be very disappointed, so don’t expect too much” came the wise crack from the driver.

I knew that it was Vince’s way of making me feel less disappointed should the farm not be what we had hoped for. I knew him all too well, also reassuring himself at the same time.

There was the name! WOW, we had arrived. Checking our watches, confirming the time we had traveled, and both agreeing that it was far enough, and that actually McGregor was really a nice place to start all over again!

Turning down the sandy thoroughfare toward the farm, we remained silent in awe at the magnificence of the area. The house was unsighted, until we reached the main entrance. As we turned into the farm, the farm manager was making his way toward us smiling welcomingly. Taking quick stock of my surroundings, I was reasonably impressed. Leaping out of the car, I walked over to shake hands with our prospective resourceful manager. Exchanging names together with welcoming annotations, we were led towards the front of the main house.

James gestured us to follow him as he led the way, I turned toward Vince both he and I had a broad grin which we proudly exchanged fleetingly with one another

Passing a large dam of water adjacent to the main building, the information was that it fed various watering needs on the farm. Two small dogs energetically yapped our appearance onto the property announcing to their masters that there were strangers.

To describe my first impression would probably be like I had just woken from a really nasty dream! I actually battled to speak, my mouth ajar. I could not look at Vince, I meekly followed James towards the front door, keeping my head low, for fear of anybody seeing the tears welling up in my eyes. Stuff it! I thought. This is where I turn and walk away. The gut feel of ‘this is so wrong’, was resounding in my head.

Opening the front door, James smiled and motioned us to enter. It got worse, the state of disorder was widespread. I cast a glance at Vince. Sensing my discomfort immediately he reiterated the fact that we could always do various alterations to suit our lifestyle. Oh my God, I thought, it would mean literally re-building! I had by now unequivocally decided that there was no way I could have lived in there. Passing through the rest of the rooms, I heard in the distance from James that in fact this was the ‘guest flat’, crap, I would not dream of putting anybody in there I confirmed to myself. Not wanting to prejudice Vince’s thoughts, I remained quiet, following James apathetically out and into the courtyard. Thankfully my head hung low, so playing hopscotch with the dog shit, mercifully kept my attention focused on the deed at hand. Vince and he were in serious banter about farming procedures and were basically doing the dutiful parade of the house for my benefit. If I had it in my heart I would have been kind enough and said a huge NO, right then but did not want to deter Vince or offend James, he was so enthusiastic.

We were then introduced to the Lessor of the house and his family. We apologized for interrupting their Sunday, shook hands making the acquaintance of one another and were welcomed into their home. I was asked to enter first, hesitatingly I stepped into a humble interior guided by the tenant. He explained his position and that he was renting the property, only the house, and had nothing to do with the daily running of the farm. I made a pact with myself to endure the tour through the house and not to cloud my thoughts too much, as Vince had suggested we could make changes, and for him to get the pleasure from his expectations too. Perking up a tad we were shown a house that needed so much money to be spent on reparations, including the thatch roof, which had not been attended to in 10 years! Also was told that the owner did not believe in insurance, therefore there were no sprinklers in case of fire! Most consoling I commented! Exiting the main house we strolled onto an expanse of lawn, and down toward the swimming pool! A huge pool, in fact 15m in length, but was only a metre deep from one end to the other! It appears that the owner was of the opinion that he needed to swim a couple of lengths a day, and if he tired he could just stand up at any time! However my gaze fell upon the most amazing olive grove set against a backdrop of large ‘koppies’ in an orchard set just below the paving area of the swimming pool. What a magnificent view, almost breathtaking. So this is what the picture conjured upon my mind in the glossy periodical. It was truly spectacular.

By this time Vince was in animated conversation with the men about farming, what was good, what was bad, and basically what was needed for this particular farm.

Wanting to move along quickly now, I suggested we continue around the remainder of the farm. James happily obliged, bidding our farewell to the tenant and family, thanking them we made our move. Our next viewing was the second house, or farm managers house. Extremely neat, compact, but certainly habitable. Met with his family, all about to enjoy their Sunday lunch, smelling invitingly of roast meat and vegetables. Moving swiftly along, noticing various stages of decay and dampness, and general disrepair, my hopes were now truly dashed. From there we were shown the olive press, and the various stages the olives undergo from picking, to processing, to final selling in the wholesale market. This was actually impressive. Neat organized and in reasonable condition, it certainly warmed Vince’s heart. We read too that the farm had its own olive oil label. When I questioned this I got a surprised look, and an answer of “well I do not know of one”, from James.

At this point Vince asked James “I believe according to the advertisement, the production of the farm was X this year, is that true?”

“No not as far as I know” he responded, “in fact it was actually X”

Not being a rocket scientist myself I worked out very quickly what the total sums were, and was gob smacked at the actual versus the overstated. By this stage it was all going horribly wrong, but to humour James I agreed to now go and see the ‘olive tasting restaurant’. I should have guessed. Yes the building was sort of new. Never been used for anything as yet, just full of old furniture and effects. A double story, with a large area under tiled floor, a small kitchen and separate bathroom facility, and then my personal best, you had to exit the building to climb some wooden stairs to a 3 bedroom 2 bathroom accommodation area. I muttered to Vince that I could stay in the 3 bedrooms if necessary, and connect the downstairs in some way to the upstairs, to sort of resemble a home, but honestly….. I suggested I would have needed to have a full lobotomy before considering my situation.

My darling husband realizing once again my disheartened demeanor wrapped his arms around my shoulders and mumbled “it’s alright, I am also extremely disappointed”.

James’s dog by now feeling very frustrated barked his disapproval at our intrusion in his space, but was rebuked quietly and firmly by James as we ambled past his territory. “We can now go and see the implements, and the 'bakkies' if you like?” questioned James. General discussion ensued with Vince keeping up most of the questioning, I fell into step behind them. My thoughts were confused to say the least, I was so angry that we had been mislead by the classified advert, yet James was encouraging and passionate about his role and what he would do to uplift the farm and bring it back to its original condition.

Passing the labourers houses, which were fairly impressive, all locked up and quiet except for the incessant barking of the cross bred mongrel angrily displaying his annoyance at our disturbing him I absorbed the tranquility surrounding us. Once again the tractor was motor less, being supported on a large wooden block, with its entire guts missing, including the front tyres. What a sad sight, the mechanical backbone of the workforce straddled idly waiting to be recoupled and put back into life to do what it did best. Reassuring us, James explained that the tractor would be repaired and sold with the farm! How comforting was my sarcastic thought. All I wanted to do was just bugger off, get away as far as possible, my dream had been shattered. Obligingly we all trooped off to the ‘nursery’, oh did I not mention that in the bloody ad there too was a nursery! So much had been promised and very little had been fulfilled. So to the hydro phonic plastic dome shaped construction on the outskirts of the dwellings of the farm. The synthetic mass was in a state of disrepair, and what more could we have expected than a dismal attempt by James to propagate some olives twigs and hope to God that something would come of them. He was enthusiastic about his endeavors, and suggested that a lady farmer had contacted him and placed an order for olive saplings. I was wondering if and when she would be the proud possessor of her eagerly awaited purchases. Being musty, humid, and confining with droplets of water descending upon my head, signaled my impatient departure from the boundaries of huge expectation. Shaking my head, I could not actually come to terms with the bullshit of the advert! I too had called the owner (spoke with his lady friend, who assured me she had full knowledge of the running of the farm) and was cajoled into making the effort to view the ‘fantastic opportunity’, as she so gleefully described it! By now Vince and I had possibly determined without dialogue that it was best to ignore eye contact with one another, as I knew that not being too inhibited I would no doubt verbalize my precise opinion, which was disgust on the whole. Knowing too the James would be the brunt of my anger, I concurred best to remain silent. Time was also moving ahead rather rapidly, as we had also made contact with an Agent, to view other available farms in the adjacent area, and as suggested we would call him, within 15 minutes of our possible departure from the olive farm.

I presumed our guided tour was now completed, and was about to offer my hand of gratitude to James, when he recommended we have a brief drive through the olive orchard. My heart sank, how much more do we need to really pis us off. By now this whole farm idea was becoming a futile exercise for which I was planning the trip back home by now. Vince glanced over his shoulder with a despairing expression mentioning that we had little time, but would oblige James, as he had been a trooper in ensuring our viewing of the entire farm would be as comprehensive as he could

accomplish for us. Once again, extremely apathetic to our final lap of the farm we dragged ourselves to the ‘bakkie’ in the garage/workshop. Of course I had to berth my ample backside between the seats, split my legs apart, allowing James ease of access to change gears, with second gear being conveniently necessary for most of the journey. My sense of humour was fast becoming non existent, with each bump, thud and continual chitchat between the men (all in Afrikaans). Did I mention my athletic acrobatic abilities were a perfect 10/10! I could hold onto the smallest component within the cab to avert any likelihood of my coming into contact with James in any way. Finally after a 1km 4 x 4 determination of boulder surface we happened upon a dry river bed. Pointing into the distance a ‘pump’ was identified as the main water source, amidst the vociferous resonance of baboon chatter. Echoing through the kloof I caught myself reacting nervously to their forewarning of presence.

“They keep to themselves”, James warned, “we don’t go into their territory, lets hope they stay out of ours”. “I have only been on the farm a couple of months, and would say the snakes are the ones you need to be scared of”.

“We have lost 2 dogs in 6 months, did not save them in time”, he confessed.

Well by now I am shaken, I cannot even begin to respond. Crap, snakes!

“So what type of snakes?” I question him cautiously.

“Mostly very poisonous”, he suggests.

My ears start blocking, there must be an automatic button in my brain, somehow pushed and now I am now totally unable to hear his subsequent words.

Now would be a good time to leave I reckon, I am truly satisfied that this idea is all wrong, I am a city girl, and hell no, this is not what I am wanting to see or hear.

Casting my eyes left, Vince now uncomfortably resettling himself into his corner spot in the cab, I enlarge my eyeballs gesticulating the urgent need to leave now!

Friday 30 July 2004, 3.30 p.m.

“You know I could so live there”, I nonchalantly uttered tossing the magazine onto the bed….. never realizing that many a true word was spoken in jest. We were in fact paging through the glossy pictures looking for new ideas for the upgrading of our bathroom en suite. Little did I realize that the bathroom was about to become an enormous tract of land some 2 hours from our uterus of confinement in suburbia known always as ‘home’……
I was recuperating after a gynaecological procedure which had recently been concluded and my darling husband was miraculously pulling through from a bout of influenza. I had just come off duty from doing the “Florence Nightingale” run ensuring that my darling husband had his measured amounts of ‘mootie’, tender loving care, and not to mention the company he so enjoyed having in the bedroom, when feeling as lousy as he was, filled the long boring hours! Vince picked up the magazine and paged through trying not to show too much interest. After not finding the

Pointing out the page, which was an outstanding full page advertisement, with superb photographs, and of course the information was certainly eye catching to say the least. Realizing this was a good time to take a much needed break from the confines of our bedroom, I quietly slipped out muttering something about having various things to attend to, and would return shortly. Not actually thinking any further on the subject, I slid down the passage gleefully patted myself on my back with the thought that he would be kept occupied for at least 10 minutes, by which time, I could make a run for the back door and sneak off to have a little peace and quiet on my own. After a good hour I heard the little voice coming from our bedroom, calling me, but rather enthusiastically this time. I actually cheered myself up thinking, wow, a miracle recuperative moment, 1 hour and he is almost back to normal. My delight was short lived, a enormous shout, a blast of saliva sprayed across the bedding and the sound of him emptying his nasal passages confirmed my hopes had been dashed. After a massive sigh of irritation his proboscis swollen and throbbing from the pressure I heard Vince utter something sounding like ‘given this some serious thought after your comment’…

And so the story of immense change begins.

It had been a very stressful time the last 6 months, our eldest daughter was having serious marital problems, we had sadly said a final goodbye to two elderly family members in a short space of time, and unbeknown to us our new life was about to take shape. How life turns you upside down, after death comes life!
I once again reposed myself in the now well warmed bedroom chair, I had being keeping a vigil now for 3 days ensuring my patient had his every need attended to, and bobbed my head up and down, inviting Vince to explain what his thoughts had been. Smiling now, he suggested that he had given this a bit of thought considering he had so much time on his hands…. idle minds too I reflected…and came up with what he thought might be a possibility.
“Ok, so as you know we have often discussed the opportunity of owning a farm, and this certainly sounds very much like what we would want”, he said matter of factly. “It is not too far from Cape Town, farms olive trees, and looks absolutely superb. Also attached to the farm is an olive tasting facility, and of course a restaurant, and then a couple of cottages, which as you know you would love to run as a guest house”. “So for both of us sounds like a good option, what do you think?”
“Well that is what actually got my attention” I interjected. “I would be very happy to tackle that I need a new challenge”.

“Obviously we would have to take a drive out to the country and have a look around, and just for the hell of it after all we have nothing to lose, “ he quipped.
“Suppose you did see the asking price,” Vince raised his ample bushy eyebrows, rather introspectively “Not too cheap, huh?”
“Mmm,” I said, adding “R7,9 million, bloody hell, that’s almost R8 million”
“We will have to get some investors interested, not prepared to put all my eggs into one basket, literally”, he replied.
“Tell you what, lets see what I feel like tomorrow, and if I am up to it why don’t we take a drive out, and have a look, just for the hell of it”.

Now it was my turn to raise my manicured eyebrows, cock my head sideways, and almost unbelievingly agree too quickly. This was not a decision Vince would ever make on the spur of the moment. He was always too careful, and conditioned within the confines of the corporate world to make any snappy assessments. My knee jerk reaction to his suggestion was ‘yes, absolutely lets do it, what the hell it would be nice to bugger off into the country for a day”.
Of course we then started justifying the reasons why each one of us was interested in the farming idea, and to what extent financially we could or would extend ourselves. We must have babbled on for at least an hour most times interrupting each other with a pre determined “I definitely will not…” or cutting the other one short “and don’t expect me to…” adding “Wow to breathe in the fresh country air, and to be living in a peaceful environment”, and so the beginning of our dream was being realized.

One comment led to another, until we both unanimously agreed that we would not live farther away than a 2 hour drive from Cape Town. That was a definite, also that we would want farm animals and that the farm had to be situated within a 15/20km proximity of good hospitals, shops, and restaurants! The wants and needs of city people sure were having a say in our final decision as to where we would farm.
Excitedly we communicated with the necessary contacts made available, and set up an appointment for the Sunday, allowing Vince a further day to recuperate.

Of course we too decided that not mentioning any of our folly to friends or family would excuse us any embarrassment should the enquiry come to nothing. However we too had to consider we had our last daughter still living at home almost completing her first year at university. She too had to be considered. So came in plan ‘B’. we have a two bed roomed apartment fairly close by, which she could live in, and we would commute from the farm, and have a base in Cape Town too. Obviously Vince would not be selling his business in Cape Town, but was at the stage where he could arrange for it to be managed during his absence, and he could then have the best of both worlds! Our planning was undoubtedly falling into place.

Friday evening was all consuming discussions about our expectations regarding farming, moving away from the nucleus of our lives, our children, having 2 married daughters, and a grand daughter close by, made our options extremely complicated in that we are a close family benefiting from the fact that we live within 5 kms of each other. Balancing our lives and trying to satisfy each others needs was a pay off we had to chat about as this was going to be a life changing experience for all.

Collapsing into bed that evening, my mind raced with the emotional romanticism of farming life, to the fear of spiders, and more terrified of snakes. The only farm experience I ever had, had been a daily excursion on one or two occasions to a friends farm as a teenager. Much later just after we were married to Vince’s sister’s farm in Alexandria near Port Elizabeth, where we played “glassy -glassy”, and crapped ourselves as the enormous grand father clock chimed forlornly in the dining room, as we inspired the spirits to enter our realm! I did not sleep very well, and in fact Vince was only too happy to share a shapeless single bed with me for the two nights we endured ‘on the farm’. I kept running through my mind the concept of having a rambling home, to having wide open spaces, animals aplenty, and then wrapping my brain around the realities of loneliness, ‘brak water’, non delivery to the door of the morning newspaper, to mention a few comparisons. Sleep did not come easy that evening, and the dreams were confusing to say the least. I actually was half excited, and at the same time crapping myself for the unknown. We both tossed and turned, muttering about ‘not being able to sleep,’ and ‘so much to think about’, etc.

Vince had always had this desire to own his own farm. We had often during our travels by road to and from Port Elizabeth discussed the idea, and after arriving back home, would dismiss it as a notion, a whim, or even just vacillating travel chat.
Reflecting now on my earliest thoughts I must honestly say I had always had a very idealistic notion that farming was an inherent family affair, and that I would basically never be involved in the day to day of running a farm. I come from a middle income regular family who lived in a city, worked at an average job, from 8 till 5, and spent your weekends socializing to the extreme! To work on a farm was the furtherest intention from my mind. So what the hell has happened here?? What has made me want to surrender my life as a whole from the confines of a wonderful family, surrounded and supported by close friends, all that I am familiar with to start a new life, in a strange environment, with unfamiliar equipment and people. I questioned myself long and hard, and kept coming back to the one aspect of being lonely. So how would I change that. I could not literally go ‘balls to the wall’ here, which is what I would be so inclined to do, but rather take a prudent perspective and let events pan out themselves, and in their own time.

Saturday morning woke up to a whole new excitement in my life. I had put most things out of my mind and all that had to do with farming conjured up the most naïve imagination possible to run amok in my mind. All Vince and I did was discuss at length various aspects of farming, the entire Saturday, allowing ourselves time out to watch the rugby in the afternoon, and then once again thinking caps were donned and concepts were put into place which we were resolute we could accomplish. I obviously spent the entire day on the internet too, checking up farms in various areas, prices, what we were looking for, also not too sure on whether we wanted to farm with any stock as in animals, or just vineyards, or even just citrus, with extra fruit trees, like plums and apricots. The combinations were endless. What we did manage to do was to ascertain an Agent in the area we were looking in, and sent him an SMS asking him to contact us, so that we could meet with him on the Sunday afternoon, and perhaps see other available farms in the area. I too kept getting the ‘invalid’ out of his warm bed to view some of the prospective farms I had earmarked. When viewing the areas, the farms for sale I made notes of what we liked, what we wanted to farm, and which best suited us financially too. Within an hour of my SMS, I was contacted, by a very kind Afrikaans gentleman, with a slight “bray” in his accent, confirming a time for the next day, and that he would prepare a list of viewing possibilities. Suddenly I felt as if the ball had rolled too far away from me, and that I needed to run like hell if I was going to catch it!