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!