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
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
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
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
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.
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