What a revolting day. If this was what farm life was supposed to be all about, I was certainly having a rethink! What I didn’t know was that our staff was being collected on a Saturday, to assist the previous owner in the assembling of green house for palm trees in his new home. He would collect them early on a Saturday morning pay them with a ‘kannetjie’ of wine costing R13, and bring them back totally intoxicated. So by Monday they were still so drunk that work was almost impossible. Most went awol within an hour of clocking in for the day’s work. Vince drove around to find them settled neatly between the vineyards snoring happily and loudly.

This was the same farmer with the bloody terrible dog that terrorized my cat and the other two cats that I inherited from said farmer. Upon our purchase of the farm, he’d offered the dog and the two cats, and their herd of cattle. We said no to the dog, but I’d agreed, to take the cats as long as he paid for their sterilization. His immediate response was that he was not paying for that, and then he would just shoot them!! Oh my God, I was horrified. I spat out a stammer of no’s, and he smiled in acceptance.

Vince still had his business in Cape Town and so we would leave on a Monday morning by 8.30 a.m. and return on a Friday afternoon…spend the weekend and the following week on the farm, and then return to Cape Town once again the following Monday morning…So 5 days in Cape Town and 9 days on the farm…in cycles.

We were not aware of the former owner’s visits when we were away, or that he was helping himself to what ever he felt he needed, from slate sections for a paving project he was busy organizing, to taking the staff as and when he needed. In his eyes he still had rights to the land he grew up on, and farmed. The final straw came on a Sunday morning at 7.30 a.m. when we woke to the sound of a bakkie driving up to the store. Kai was barking his displeasure at the intrusion, and made sure we heard him loud and clear. Vine rolled out of bed, wondering who the hell was visiting the farm at such an early hour.

Pulling on his clothes, he unlocked the office door, reassured Kai, and made off toward the main store. He was gone for a short while and returned fuming. The original farmer’s son in law had popped on by, to collect some ‘stuff’ from the store! Vince sent him packing and told he and his family to stay off our farm!

This went unheeded and the workers informed us that he was continuing to help himself whenever we were away.

One weekend my granddaughter and I were there and lo and behold, his Lordship arrived, driving along the road to the labourers’ homes. He loaded two of our staff members onto the back, helped himself to some wood and disappeared.

Enough was enough. Vince contacted the local attorney to arrange for his enforced restraint! That was on Thursday.

The following Tuesday I heard a bakkie arriving with the dreaded imposter again….this time returning the wood…which he had taken without permission. I walked down to the old house to ensure he returned all that he had removed…only to see that he’d brought less than half the load back. He greeted me, as if nothing had happened. Hopefully this would be the last time.

Life is never dull on the farm. Later that afternoon, I received a call from the local school, to inform me that a dog had bitten one of our workers’ children. I needed to collect him and take him to the local doctor for stitches.

Everyday is a learning day! He has a makeshift bandage across the lower section of his leg, and apparently this dog got a meaty bite into the back of his muscle! Limping, but not too uncomfortable he climbed into the Jeep. An older pupil asked if she could come along to support him and off the three of us went.

By now, Henry had gone dumb. Maybe he was in shock. He wasn’t responding at all, while Melony on the other hand, was chatting nineteen to the dozen, about school and the students. She told me quite happily that the poor dog had been tied up and teased and once it had managed to break free, Henry was simply the closes piece of meat the poor thing could latch onto.

That brought forth a lecture from me about teasing animals and the results thereof including a stern reminder that he had received precisely what he deserved. All of which only produced a scowl .

Arriving at the surgery I enquired whether Henry had ever had stitches before. In response to a half hearted shake of his head I explained that he would probably receive 2 injections, one for the anesthetic and the other for tetanus. He showed no reaction.

In short order we were called into the doctor’s room and the bandage was removed. It was a nasty bite. Braam, our local Doc, explained to him what would be happening, and I held him like a good ‘Mom’ reassuring him as they began the work Henry’s eyes were as large as saucers not having been inside a doctor’s office before and yet he took the whole process in his stride. He winced slightly as the doctor injected local anesthetic and then just watched what was happening quite passively. No reaction at all.

In fact even when they gave him the Tetanus shot which burns like hell he just shut his eyes tightly and muttered quietly. He was given instructions to keep the leg clean and NOT to remove or tamper with the stitches for 10 days, after which I would remove his stitches. Bloody hell! Me remove stitches??? Apparently that’s what farmer’s wives did in these parts. We left shortly after that, him in discomfort, and me shell-shocked. I’m not a nurse, just a regular Mom! Feeling sorry for him I decided an ice cream was in order, and took him to the factory outlet for Parmalat ice cream,in Bonnievale. I told him to choose whatever he wanted and he chose a choc pie ice cream which he ate it with relish….not missing a drip, licking the sweet creamy delight with gusto. Needless to say Melony had an ice cream too!

And so …for a while there was peace. We went back to Cape Town for a week. There were wages to be sorted on Friday morning at Vince’s office, and I would stuff the envelopes on the way home, so that when we arrived back on the farm, we could literally jump out of the car, pay the staff, then unpack!

We arrived back at the farm at ten to five. The traffic from Cape Town had been horrendous and the labourers all finish up at five. That left us ten minutes to chat with the foreman, Klonkies, and find out what had happened during the week. We had been harvesting for the week, so casual wages needed to be included.

Jurie our direct neighbour and Vince had a business arrangement. For the weeks we were in Cape Town, Jurie would ‘run’ our farm, as well as harvesting when necessary and we would pay him to do so.

It was only the beginning of the weekend and already most of the staff had been drinking and we could smell it on their breath. They were overly chatty, another telltale sign.

Fortunately a quiet weekend ensued, for which we both were grateful. Wayne, a friend that farms in Barrydale popped in for visit on Sat to watch rugby and on Sunday we took a drive to Robertson for lunch at Saddles, a steak house. What a disappointment. The food was really awful! Note to self …no return visit.

Then Monday morning rolled around. Faans and Niklaas, turned up for a days work, but were too pissed to even stand without having something to lean on. They were told to go home, and sober up! Two men short during harvesting season was not helpful. Tuesday was a better day and we harvested 40 tons of Colombard and achieved 1st class rating into the bargain…we were thrilled. It was a long hot day, harvesting starting at 6.00am and finishing at 5.30 pm….

At 12.03a.m. I heard Kai bark ferociously, warning us that somebody was on the property and it was not someone he wanted there. We had been sleeping with the curtains open to enjoy the star filled night sky, and I suddenly felt very vulnerable. The nights are particularly dark here so the stars are magnificent. After collecting my thoughts and trying at best to get with the programme, I heard a muffled voice, Steven, the Garden man, was informing me in his loudest whisper that his pregnant daughter was in labour. Crap! Leaping out of bed, I told him I would call the ambulance, and told him to go back home and be with her. The ambulance arrived at 02.10 a.m. two hours after calling them. I held my breath and hoped they were in time.

Wednesday morning when Steven arrived for work, I checked on her progress and was told it had been a false alarm.

Robyn had arrived a two weekends ago with a gift for her dad, a Jack Russell puppy we named Sir George! He was the cutest sweetest little pup, and he and Kai bonded straight away! Our family is growing…I too am counting the days for Enigma to have her litter of kittens.

On the morning of the second day the reality of waking at 5.30 and being ‘on the job’ at 6.00.am began to set in. I’m sure Vince was intimidated at the size of it all…where to start, what to do, and how to do it! All I knew was that we were harvesting our first crops in 14 days, and we had to get organized fast and prepare for the two months of intense heat that lay ahead.

One of the first things we needed to do was check in with the cellar master. We needed to know when our harvest was due in and what variety of grape he would be accepting. We soon learnt that the sauvignon Blanc would ripen earliest and was also the most difficult to pick.

We would have to pick grapes at various sections of our ‘block’, mush them into juice, and take the sample to the cellar for testing. They would be subjected to a number of tests such as sugar type and content, ph balance and acidity. Each of these has to be within an acceptable range, and if they fall into that …well then harvesting begins.

This task would involve my colander of 35 years and my potato masher over the next few seasons! Eventually Vince resorted to a large piece of wood to mulch the juice filled grapes, and restored my kitchen gadgets to their rightful places.

Tensions would always run high around this time as we waited to see if our crops met the requirements altering all the variables to give us the best chance at success. For example, should you then add water to the vine, feed the vine, or once again rely on Mother Nature to wave her magic wand? This didn’t necessarily guarantee success. If for instance the sugar levels had not reached their guided balanced figure, it could affect the Class of grape your crop produced and the class of crop determined the payment structure.

Technically this is not something you learn overnight…and yet Vince tackled this highly skilled wine farming with aplomb! As if he had been a wine farmer all his life. During the early stages we hired one or two experienced farm hands to check the vineyards once a week, and advise accordingly. That also helped to whip our Afrikaans into shape and bonded us with the local farming community.

Deon would come every afternoon on a Tues at 2pm. He would assist Vince to make crucial decisions. Most of the men had been farmers who had now had taken up a ‘town’ job. They were happy to pass on their years of experience, as well as the product range they were representing.

Dayle and Jason stayed with us for a few days, Dayle had just fallen pregnant with her first baby …our second grandchild. Although she was of no use in the carrying of boxes, or furniture, she was great at providing liquid refreshments, and much needed meals…Jason was a great help, his muscles certainly were called upon many a time….

Before I knew it I was inundated with all the problems peculiar to farming and the community. This was an eye opener. Staff issues were overwhelming. Sadly alcohol was a major role player, and created a dysfunctional mess. Weekends were horrific. I had never experienced behaviour like this ever. I gritted my teeth, dug in my heels persuaded myself that I could handle any situation and decided that I would not allow anything to put a dampener on our new adventure.

February 4th, 2005. The first day of our very first harvest. At 5.30 we hurriedly swallowed cups of tea and took several deep breaths. Already hot as hell, anxious perspiration formed on my brow as I made my way to the vineyard. The heavy rumbling of tractors and their empty wagons over the gravel roads announced start time as they drew up ready to be filled. Our neighbour Jurie was waiting. He had offered to help us harvest which meant we had extra man power (and women too!). They had brought along their own tractors and wagons…..as well as their seasonal workers. The vineyard was soon buzzing with action.

Sauvignon Blanc is difficult to harvest. The leaves cover the grapes and reaching them takes time. I was as keen as mustard, with my peak cap, shorts, and light t-shirt. Heading to the first line of vines there was a lot of mumbling around me as works grudgingly made way for me. After about an hour of me bumping into the pickers, getting in their way, and getting sticky from head to toe…I thought it best to hang back a bit and listen to the comments were and why.

It became obvious almost immediately that there was a system in place and I was more harm than help, causing confusion and plenty of irritation. The pickers knew what they were doing, and I was causing mayhem. Once I stepped out of the conveyer belt of action, I was not given much invitation to rejoin the industrious line of reapers. Embarrassed, I took note, and slunk to the end of a row where I could look and learn. We were back to full steam ahead, with me having learnt a lesson. This was a back breaking task. As well as having gnarled hands from the clippers, and gluey grape sap coated fingers, I was buggered after 3 hours of harvesting!

At 9.30 a.m. we stopped cutting and made our way to the cellar, taking an hour for breakfast. I was dying of thirst, but was attached to my cutters with the juice of the grape liquid. As I made my way home, wiping my brow, with a well earned sweat, I pried the scissor out of my hand with force. Oops…a tiny blister was forming on my skin on my inner hand. Soft hands are obviously not meant for such physical punishment. I learnt that you can only harvest the sauvignon blanc from early morning up until 9.30 a.m. as the sugar levels then become too high.

These were be long days, with a guaranteed rest or sleep from 12.15 until 1.30 with everybody taking their phones off the hook, and settling in to a complete time-out, necessary to recharge our batteries.

After two days in the vineyards, I had to accept defeat. Yes, my hands just could not cut, or even bend any further then a half attempted clenched fist. I have to admit that secretly I was pleased. I had battled the intense heat, I had a rash from the long grass, was terrified of an unwelcome visit from snakes. On average a person picks a ton of grapes a day! I had definitely done my bit for the team.

Now the laborious task of removing the grapes from their stems began in earnest. Our sampling was within range and so the picking could continue. And it did…for almost two months. I swapped my harvesting for collecting the seasonal pickers in town, which is about 16 km’s one-way. So at 5.30 a.m. I left the farm with an empty bakkie and returned with the sides bulging with keen workers. Once their day was complete, I would return the exhausted bunch to the confines of their homes and families, only to repeat the process the following morning.

Then the poo hit the fan…..

Vince had taken up golf at the local golf course, in Bonnievale as well as in Robertson, so every Saturday, he left early and enjoyed his day off, with his mates. I was grateful for the serenity of no activity on the farm. Just the twittering birds, the lowing of the cows, and the quiet demeanor of farm life. But that all changed abruptly.

On Friday, February 26 at about 8.30 p.m. Janetta arrived with her baby Pietertjie. He had horrendous gastro. I gave him some anti gastro moetie, and of course re hydration moetie in a bottle that he gulped down with gusto. But as it hit his belly, it literally shot out the other end….it was ghastly. Poor little boy, he cried, he was uncomfortable, and he needed to get to hospital immediately. His mother decided to wait ‘til morning to see how he was doing. I could smell alcohol on both parents, and decided not to intervene, as this would just upset them all the more. Did I mention they both arrived in tears…yes alcohol does strange things! I was extremely uncomfortable at their distress and ...I was truly concerned for this little boy but they insisted that they would address his health issue in the morning.

Saturday morning I was woken early as the family arrived on the doorstep. Pieter had taken a turn for the worse. I called our local doctor who suggested that he be taken to hospital. We called for an ambulance that arrived after about three hours and removed both mother and son, for professional treatment. I breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully the problem was now out of my hands. They remained in hospital, with Pieter on a drip for 24 hours, and then I got a call on the Monday morning, to collect them from Robertson Hospital ! Between collecting staff for harvesting, I made a detour to collect the family and bring them home.

To get back to Saturday, the afternoon, was about to outdo Saturday morning. I was finally chilling in the family room, our dog Kai, warned me that there was another uninvited guest. Piet, an elderly farm worker was totally incoherent, his jaw was hanging to the far left of his face and there was blood all over his shirt. That he had a broken jaw, was obvious, and secondly he was as drunk as a skunk! Tagging alongside him was a very young girl perhaps 5 years old, sheepishly hiding behind him as he spoke. His son Davy had hit him with a blunt section of iron…..and then he’d fallen into a large hole, somewhere!

I was so angry at his being there in his state of intoxication with this little person bearing witness to his beating. I called the ambulance for the second time in one day, retreating to the comfort of peace and serenity…my home…thanking God for all that I had.

But Saturday was still not done! Vince returned to find the police in our driveway and me, seriously pissed off by the day’s happenings. Then Steven arrived at about 6pm to inform us that there was mayhem at the housing area for the staff. Windows were being broken and doors smashed, apparently a common occurrence over weekends. He had been stabbed in his leg by his Mother….yes his own mother….everybody was now totally inebriated and in short, there was a free for all! Best for the police to handle it. And as far as Steven was concerned…well the ambulance was summoned for the third time in one day.

Monday morning rolled around the same way it had done for the last 30 years. Shower, breakfast and work…same old same old. Who the hell would be crazy enough to rock what had been a comfortable existence all to indulge a crazy whim. A mild panic threatened to escalate into full blown panic as I rolled out of bed wishing I did not have to consider selling of our home. Maybe the decision would be taken out of my hands. How come you can really get excited about something and then when you almost have it in your grasp want to drop the idea and run as fast and far as you can. And then at the same time not get too excited at the prospect of the dream being fulfilled, just in case it fizzled.

Needless to day Vince went to work with a smile on his dial, but a frown on his crown. He now had an incredibly significant decision to make. What sort of financial offer should he make? He called me at about 10.30 a.m. to make absolutely sure that I was still up for the challenge. After about 10 minutes of aimless chatter it began to dawn on me that this was becoming a serious reality.

Vince called throughout the day to update me on the developments. When he arrived home that evening, we poured a stiff drink, and discussed the state of our project. Vince had a bundle of faxed information, re the farm including the income/expenditure statement, the produce, the acreage under development, the asset value including the implements etc. So much to learn as a greenhorn. To say that it was intimidating was an understatement! Bloody hell, buying a residential property was so much easier!

I think if I had known how challenging the seller’s wife would be, perhaps I would have been a lot more assertive in my dealings with her. Our original offer was rejected immediately. We knew we had gone in a bit too low, but felt a cheeky offer would test the water. We had our answer! So the negotiations began…. and continued for two months, during which time we also had to list our home for sale. That in itself could take up an entire book ... what a revolting experience! The offers and negotiations were wearing both sides down. The wife wouldn’t budge. Frustrations set in. We had made a decision and there was no turning back!

Not only was the purchase proving to be exasperating but we too now had to sell our home. We agreed that the best way to market our home economically would be to get three of the best agents in.

Oh my! Talk about bullshit…we had to deal with “sole Agents”…Show House Sundays….one agent defaming the other….it was a proverbial pain in the ass. I took on the selling of our home. Vince and I would make the final decision together, but I would handle all the initial dealings.

Our visits to the farm were becoming antagonistic from both sides. It was fast becoming a roller coaster of mistrust, and questioning of greed…this, the lady of the house had this in abundance!

We finally managed to agree on a fair amount excluding any livestock, but including implements. Now the date of occupation was the next nightmare. The seller’s wife insisted that we only take our rightful ownership on the 15 January, and we insisted on the 15 December. She insisted that all monies were to be in place on that date…or no moving in. That was one fire we needed to extinguish. The inferno was lurking around the corner.

We were buying a working farm, implying that the farm continue on its normal course. Now, Madam, suggested that as they had prepared the fruit trees, namely the apricots, for the year, and they were due to be harvested at the end of November that the entire crop would be for their coffers. We agreed. The vineyards, would be ours to harvest and the farm manager would continue to prepare and nurture them until we took over. We would pay a farm manager’s fee to ensure this was completed thoroughly. That all fell apart, once we moved onto the property. The “J” Factor as I named her, made a royal appearance, and presented us with a ridiculous bill for the previous months ‘costs’, which she charged at an hourly rate for the tractors and equipment that we had already purchased! Talk about greed…this Mama certainly had it in profusion!!

The ‘bill’ was outrageous. I withdrew from the meeting choosing to take a long walk down the road, seething at her audacity. Before I left the room, I let her know in my best Afrikaans that I would never invite her to tea, nor greet her in town! I stood up, glared at her, and spitting the words out through clenched teeth…said ‘’Gulsigheid is ‘n sonde’….. (translated…Greed is a sin….)…there was utter silence in the room. Vince said nothing, her husband was mute, and I left…incensed.

Vince told her in no uncertain terms that we would happily cancel the transaction. Sensing that nothing was about to change for the better, her husband stepped in and stopped the discussion. They left shortly thereafter.

Of course a legal letter arrived stating her claim but was soon dismissed and settled by the only lawyer in town. That was the last of her …but not her husband!!!

As for the sale of our home, there was laughter, tears but most of all excitement and apprehension at our new adventure.

We sold our home within two months, with us taking occupation on the 15 January to satisfy madam at the farm and planned, our final Christmas at home with the girls… before our new adventure commenced.

Packing up after 18 years in one home was exhausting. Finalizing telephone accounts electricity, and taking care of all the other little took a lot of time and patience!

The drive to the farm in the rain was bitter sweet. I had driven up in the jeep with Kai, as well as my cat Cleo and assorted personals. Vince had opted to drive the Alfa Spider….and Dayle the Merc. The bakkie was still in use in Cape Town , and would follow at a later stage.

Aggravation soon reared its head. We all arrived sans a piped band welcoming us onto Buitensorg, without the furniture truck…it had gotten lost. To add to the frustration, there was no stuffing cell phone signal. So we had to drive around to find a signal so we could make a call to the driver and guide him to our farm. It took two hours for them to make an appearance.

Looking up at the green house that held a derth of young palms, I was attracted to two cats copulating on the roof of the shadecloth. I immediately reckoned on 63 days, for perhaps our first litter of kittens! The cats I have named Enigma, and Nuts (Enigma is a female cat whom is wild,she is snow white with magnificent green eyes, but skittish, and Nuts is a big tabby male tom cat, friendly, loving and accpeting of a cuddle, but with scrotum any larger feline would be proud to have)

In the meantime, my nemesis made his appearance. The previous owner with his bloody Jack Russell, that chased my cat, caused mayhem with the delivering of the furniture, and finally left a fabulous stream on my Persian carpet…I was furious. The man had no respect! We were moving in, shouting directions with him passing comment on our possessions! It was raining, and the movers obviously needed the bathroom, and made use of the one in the passage….using the newsprint as loo paper…which I now know is the worst paper to put in the loo, as we have a septic tank. The city slickers assumed their waste would be flushed away smoothly and left the toilet door ajar. I went to close the door, and open the window, so we could all breathe reasonably, and to my horror noticed the entire contents had been forced to the top! It had wedged itself, and could not be flushed!

Screaming in disgust at the perpetrator, I suggested he remove the mess, sort out the bowl and keep flushing until evidence of his lavatory visit was a thing of the past. Toilet blockages would continue to be a bone of contention throughout our entire farm life.

An hour later, with my drunken assistants in the kitchen unpacking the kitchenware, clanging and banging their way through my crockery I’d had enough. I sent them packing. Nobody mentioned that weekends are the worst for the staff, they are all totally inebriated. Lesson number two . NEVER ask for staff help over a weekend, male or female!

Within an hour, on our very first day, I received a call from a neighbour. One of the cows on our farm had blown up after eating lucern. This happens if the cow has not eaten sufficiently before she goes into the field of lucern, gorges herself and the gasses cause her to literally blow –up! If the cow is still alive the only way to save her is to pierce her belly at a certain point to allow the gases to escape. We of course had no idea of any of this, at the time, and were only advised once the poor thing had died. The fences were obviously at fault as she was able to access the cultivated land. This call was followed by a call for my best kitchen knife to chop this poor cow up, and spread the good fortune amongst themselves. I complied hoping for a quick and comfortable severing of the beast. I should have known better. Steven came back to the farmhouse about an hour later with a severed thumb. He had apparently slipped while cutting up the carcass. He would be unable to work for almost two weeks after surgery on his hand. And this was our garden man and general labourer. I had so much to learn. All the staff were drunk as skunks and my kitchen stunk of old wine for hours after their being there. Never again!

The original owner left reluctantly with his shitting dog…. down the dusty confines of the gravel road and we subsided onto the closest chairs with a glass of wine! Two exhausting days. First packing the house in Cape Town and

Monday morning rolled around the same way it had done for the last 30 years. Shower, breakfast and work…same old same old. Who the hell would be crazy enough to rock what had been a comfortable existence all to indulge a crazy whim. A mild panic threatened to escalate into full blown panic as I rolled out of bed wishing I did not have to consider selling of our home. Maybe the decision would be taken out of my hands. How come you can really get excited about something and then when you almost have it in your grasp want to drop the idea and run as fast and far as you can. And then at the same time not get too excited at the prospect of the dream being fulfilled, just in case it fizzled.

Needless to day Vince went to work with a smile on his dial, but a frown on his crown. He now had an incredibly significant decision to make. What sort of financial offer should he make? He called me at about 10.30 a.m. to make absolutely sure that I was still up for the challenge. After about 10 minutes of aimless chatter it began to dawn on me that this was becoming a serious reality.

Vince called throughout the day to update me on the developments. When he arrived home that evening, we poured a stiff drink, and discussed the state of our project. Vince had a bundle of faxed information, re the farm including the income/expenditure statement, the produce, the acreage under development, the asset value including the implements etc. So much to learn as a greenhorn. To say that it was intimidating was an understatement! Bloody hell, buying a residential property was so much easier!

I think if I had known how challenging the seller’s wife would be, perhaps I would have been a lot more assertive in my dealings with her. Our original offer was rejected immediately. We knew we had gone in a bit too low, but felt a cheeky offer would test the water. We had our answer! So the negotiations began…. and continued for two months, during which time we also had to list our home for sale. That in itself could take up an entire book ... what a revolting experience! The offers and negotiations were wearing both sides down. The wife wouldn’t budge. Frustrations set in. We had made a decision and there was no turning back!

Not only was the purchase proving to be exasperating but we too now had to sell our home. We agreed that the best way to market our home economically would be to get three of the best agents in.

Oh my! Talk about bullshit…we had to deal with “sole Agents”…Show House Sundays….one agent defaming the other….it was a proverbial pain in the ass. I took on the selling of our home. Vince and I would make the final decision together, but I would handle all the initial dealings.

Our visits to the farm were becoming antagonistic from both sides. It was fast becoming a roller coaster of mistrust, and questioning of greed…this, the lady of the house had this in abundance!

We finally managed to agree on a fair amount excluding any livestock, but including implements. Now the date of occupation was the next nightmare. The seller’s wife insisted that we only take our rightful ownership on the 15 January, and we insisted on the 15 December. She insisted that all monies were to be in place on that date…or no moving in. That was one fire we needed to extinguish. The inferno was lurking around the corner.

We were buying a working farm, implying that the farm continue on its normal course. Now, Madam, suggested that as they had prepared the fruit trees, namely the apricots, for the year, and they were due to be harvested at the end of November that the entire crop would be for their coffers. We agreed. The vineyards, would be ours to harvest and the farm manager would continue to prepare and nurture them until we took over. We would pay a farm manager’s fee to ensure this was completed thoroughly. That all fell apart, once we moved onto the property. The “J” Factor as I named her, made a royal appearance, and presented us with a ridiculous bill for the previous months ‘costs’, which she charged at an hourly rate for the tractors and equipment that we had already purchased! Talk about greed…this Mama certainly had it in profusion!!

The ‘bill’ was outrageous. I withdrew from the meeting choosing to take a long walk down the road, seething at her audacity. Before I left the room, I let her know in my best Afrikaans that I would never invite her to tea, nor greet her in town! I stood up, glared at her, and spitting the words out through clenched teeth…said ‘’Gulsigheid is ‘n sonde’….. (translated…Greed is a sin….)…there was utter silence in the room. Vince said nothing, her husband was mute, and I left…incensed.

Vince told her in no uncertain terms that we would happily cancel the transaction. Sensing that nothing was about to change for the better, her husband stepped in and stopped the discussion. They left shortly thereafter.

Of course a legal letter arrived stating her claim but was soon dismissed and settled by the only lawyer in town. That was the last of her …but not her husband!!!

As for the sale of our home, there was laughter, tears but most of all excitement and apprehension at our new adventure.

We sold our home within two months, with us taking occupation on the 15 January to satisfy madam at the farm and planned, our final Christmas at home with the girls… before our new adventure commenced.

Packing up after 18 years in one home was exhausting. Finalizing telephone accounts electricity, and taking care of all the other little took a lot of time and patience!

The drive to the farm in the rain was bitter sweet. I had driven up in the jeep with Kai, as well as my cat Cleo and assorted personals. Vince had opted to drive the Alfa Spider….and Dayle the Merc. The bakkie was still in use in Cape Town , and would follow at a later stage.

Aggravation soon reared its head. We all arrived sans a piped band welcoming us onto Buitensorg, without the furniture truck…it had gotten lost. To add to the frustration, there was no stuffing cell phone signal. So we had to drive around to find a signal so we could make a call to the driver and guide him to our farm. It took two hours for them to make an appearance.

In the meantime, my nemesis made his appearance. The previous owner with his bloody Jack Russell, that chased my cat, caused mayhem with the delivering of the furniture, and finally left a fabulous stream on my Persian carpet…I was furious. The man had no respect! We were moving in, shouting directions with him passing comment on our possessions! It was raining, and the movers obviously needed the bathroom, and made use of the one in the passage….using the newsprint as loo paper…which I now know is the worst paper to put in the loo, as we have a septic tank. The city slickers assumed their waste would be flushed away smoothly and left the toilet door ajar. I went to close the door, and open the window, so we could all breathe reasonably, and to my horror noticed the entire contents had been forced to the top! It had wedged itself, and could not be flushed!

Screaming in disgust at the perpetrator, I suggested he remove the mess, sort out the bowl and keep flushing until evidence of his lavatory visit was a thing of the past. Toilet blockages would continue to be a bone of contention throughout our entire farm life.

An hour later, with my drunken assistants in the kitchen unpacking the kitchenware, clanging and banging their way through my crockery I’d had enough. I sent them packing. Nobody mentioned that weekends are the worst for the staff, they are all totally inebriated. Lesson number two . NEVER ask for staff help over a weekend, male or female!

Within an hour, on our very first day, I received a call from a neighbour. One of the cows on our farm had blown up after eating lucern. This happens if the cow has not eaten sufficiently before she goes into the field of lucern, gorges herself and the gasses cause her to literally blow –up! If the cow is still alive the only way to save her is to pierce her belly at a certain point to allow the gases to escape. We of course had no idea of any of this, at the time, and were only advised once the poor thing had died. The fences were obviously at fault as she was able to access the cultivated land. This call was followed by a call for my best kitchen knife to chop this poor cow up, and spread the good fortune amongst themselves. I complied hoping for a quick and comfortable severing of the beast. I should have known better. Steven came back to the farmhouse about an hour later with a severed thumb. He had apparently slipped while cutting up the carcass. He would be unable to work for almost two weeks after surgery on his hand. And this was our garden man and general labourer. I had so much to learn. All the staff were drunk as skunks and my kitchen stunk of old wine for hours after their being there. Never again!

The original owner left reluctantly with his shitting dog…. down the dusty confines of the gravel road and we subsided onto the closest chairs with a glass of wine! Two exhausting days. First packing the house in Cape Town and then unpacking the following day….it was really all too much.

Sunday evening was a very laid back occasion with our close friends Jed and Jan popping over for a regular quiet end -of-weekend supper. Vince and I had discussed the idea of perhaps mentioning our anticipated leap into the unfamiliar to our respected friends. This was going to be a assessment of how they would re-act, we had decided to drop a gentle indication of our intention and await their reaction. Taking in a deep breath, pending the cue from Vince, I nodded, and began.

“Had an amazing weekend with the girls”, I said, rambling on about what we had accomplished, and the ‘bonding weekend’ which was deemed a success by all. “ Lots of laughter, and an aching head or two, I think qualifies a good time”

“And then late morning this morning I met up with Vince in Nuy to look at a farm with the intention of buying”, I stated matter of factly.

Before I could blink, my friend raised her eyebrows, burst out laughing, and said “you…you no way, impossible, you will never leave Cape Town , what do you know about farming, are you crazy?”

Her husband was totally gobsmacked. All he could mutter was “I would never have believed that you would have elected to go farming”.

So the conversation became more animated, more explanations sought as to our proposed decision. I observed myself justifying why we were effecting a gargantuan adjustment in our lives and the reasons for them. Incredibly defensive as we were given extreme negative comments about farming and what it entailed. I do believe that perhaps the loss of our daily interaction of friendship was being threatened. I now understand more of how I would have reacted putting the shoe on the other foot perhaps?

“For 2 weekends now we have been to see some farms, and there is one we are seriously keen on, however feel we have not seen enough to make a decision as yet” “And where is that?” came the enquiry.

“Vince and I are rather partial to a farm about 2 hours from Cape Town , well actually from our front door!” “It is just before Bonnievale, which is near Robertson.”

The discussion continued for most of the evening ending with our friends completely floored at our pioneering possibility. Climbing into bed that night I realized what I would suffer the loss of mostly, and that would be our friends. Surely, I consoled myself, there must be a gain for every loss? Is this not what it’s about, a trade off?

Not being able to sleep easily, we then discussed the evenings events, and concluded that this was our decision one way or another. I was beginning to have reservations.

Uncertain of my emotional state one minute I was in favour and the next doubtful of our probable relocation to the country. Such dissimilar dispositions play havoc with your mind!



I mentioned to Vince that we should in fact spend time going further north, into the Riebeeck Kasteel area, or perhaps Porterville way, bordering onto Tulbach and the surrounds. During the course of the following week, I spent many hours on the internet, checking sites for various farming options. I too contacted people in the know, and set up appointments for the following Sunday. Our designated area would be Agter-Paarl, Wellington , Porterville , and possibly Tulbach. I had briefed the estate agent on our needs and arranged a predetermined time and place for the Sunday.


All discussions Vince and I had for the following week were about our aspirations pertaining to the farm. It became all consuming. We were now on a roll. Or so we thought! It had taken 2 weeks to discover what we wanted. Let the Agents throw whatever they have at us, we will consider any reasonable farms. Indubitably upbeat the week dragged on with Sunday not coming any faster.



A magnificent daybreak greeted us warmly as we drove out of Cape Town lapping up the unpolluted environment surrounding us. Devils Peak stood proud her pike protruding prominently skywards. Table Mountain surpassed her beauty taking pride of place enveloping the basin of the city with her ample granite. I vowed then never to forget my roots and to always have a foot in the metropolis, my home Cape Town .



Making our way along the N1, Vince and I discussed the farm we were to view in more detail. It was an export citrus farm, on the Berg River . The main farm house presently had a manager running the farm residing there with his family. There were possibly 10 labourer cottages, a packing shed and various implements and tools. Appeared to appeal to our instincts immediately. It was in a small ‘dorp’ called Porterville , fairly close to Wellington , and Tulbach. We were to meet the agent on the main road and then follow him to the said farm. The road through Agter-Paarl is great, but then once you leave through Wellington , the road to Tulbach is awful. Narrow, with no asphalt on the shoulder of the road, making any overtaking maneuvers impossible and dangerous. Extremely busy even on a Sunday with trucks etc. An off-putting note taken instantly.



Fortunately for cell phones we managed to contact one another, link up and journey on to the vicinity. “Nice Jeep” I mused to Vince , “must be making good bucks selling farms”, I observed. We met up with the agents, and were pointed to follow them in the direction of the farm to be viewed.

Indicator turning left was shown with us duly obliging following at the rear. Over a railway line and onto a gravel road we hung back for a few seconds allowing the dust to settle. This thoroughfare seemed endless. We continued for a good twenty minutes, with very little to observe in the line of farming. Naturally I muttered about too far from a main road, shops, etc. Once again, my intuition came to the fore. Endless raw earth stretched out before us causing a fissure in the cultivated lands on either side. This was perhaps the furtherest we had traveled on a dirt road to a farm. Not a good feeling….

Finally a gate beckoned our entrance and dutifully we followed the Jeep all the way through the terrain up to the main house. Both the Agent and his son greeted us warmly once again in their dialect…. Yip Afrikaans. The son proceeded to fill us in on the production of the orchards of the farm. The views from this farm were superb. Overlooking the Berg River for miles, and as far as Riebeeck-Kasteel, and Piketberg, Outstanding! With that the Manager came over to meet us, the usual firm proffered handshake and welcoming annotations. An affable young man, contributing additional information for and when asked for by Vince. He proudly showed us his 3 sheep, only for personal consumption we were told! Shame poor buggers I pondered. Not being too partial to lamb and or mutton, I was not entirely comfortable with their curtailed life span. Needing to relieve my now bloated bladder, I enquired as to whether I could make use of their ablution facilities (also a good idea to assess the working condition of the loo!)

Making my way through the dark house, down the passage, my eyes scanning as I walked, I noticed how old their furniture was, and the general condition once again neat, but lacking sadly in being updated! Garden was also neat. The loo was operational, but tuck behind a half built wall in the bathroom, with the bath alongside. What for???? Perhaps when wiping your ample posterior not a pretty sight should you have an emergency and another person was in the bath perhaps, would you then still hold a conversation whilst doing your ablution . I forgot to mention, there was only one bathroom. Oh crap, that was a definite no!



At Vince’s suggestion we then climbed into the Jeep with the agents (we had driven up in the Merc!), and not being a 4 x 4, it was not recommended to conduct a tour of the orchards The lemons were plentiful dangling from the branches bending the twigs toward the soil with their weight. So many had also fallen in waste to the ground lying in ditches dug out purposefully. It was question time for me once again.
”Why are there always the most beautiful rose bushes surrounding vineyards and orchards?”

“Very simply should a fungus occur the primary shrub to be infected would be the rose. Therefore if the rose is healthy, so is the crop”. Interesting, I thought and all this time I had thought it was for splendor on the farm.



“Added to that the first tree on each row does not bear fruit, it is used to pollinate the other trees”, the agent stated informatively. “Then we bring in the bees to do that job for us”.



So much to learn, so much we take for granted, or assume we know. We drove further over rock-hard dried up clods of soil making our way to the edge of the river.

Sentiments about wooden cabins on the waters periphery came to mind, holidaying families with rubber dingy’s, canoes, water skiing, the notions were endless. Jarring me from my running mind I was thrown literally into my darling husbands lap! We had scaled a mammoth anthill unsighted by the driver as he was occupied in his elaboration of the farms earnings. Vince muttered and expletive humiliated at my position in being slumped over his knees. Shoving me back into my original position he grumbled under his breath, while he straightened my crumpled body back into its seated position as if it was my fault, so that pissed me off. No apologies from the front seat I had to accept that the vehicle had stuffed up and not him, the driver. Nice one buddy, I considered. Obviously I should have noted, that women are not really the buyers, according to the agents…. so his interest in my well being was of no concern. Little did he know that I was ready to reply with a ‘snotklap’ of note, but held my reserve, knowing I would have the last laugh, as we BOTH decide on the buying of the farm!



Our arrival back at the start was as uneventful as the tour, only suffice to say that the son had pointed various little ‘dorps’ out to us in the distance, I think he realized my concern about ‘being so far away’ off the main roads. So to alter my concerns he indicated where Riebeeck-Kasteel was, and suggested that the little hamlet was well known for their ‘kussingbyters’, loosely translated as ‘pillow biters’. Implying the gay community was comfortably ensconced in their preferred accepted lifestyle within the small village. My Afrikaans by this stage had improved to the extent that even I grasped his tongue in cheek comment That was perhaps the lightest moment of the day, albeit a long one, and once again disappointing. Glancing somberly at the 3 masticating sheep on our way out I bade them a silent farewell. It was a long drive home once again, almost 2 hours. We reflected upon the farm we had just seen and did a few comparisons. Buitensorg surpassed all by a long shot. We questioned why we always drew a contrast between what ever we saw and Buitensorg.



We both liked the Robertson region nestled in the Langeberg Mountain range, and the Breede Valley . The drive from Robertson to Bonnievale is outstanding. The flaming red cannas on the boundary of the vineyards and the road were unbelievable. Occasional palms separating the awesome colours stood tall guarding their delicate harvest . Distinguished wine estates adjacent to renowned horse stud farms all veiled in the beautiful blush of bougainvillea. A truly exquisite sight. So often I see people interrupt their travel to stop and take a photograph of the sheer beauty before them. Nature was offering her finest floral bouquet.



Once again another outing ticked off the list. No we did not want to go to Porterville , we certainly did not aspire to living miles from anywhere and anybody. The idea was not to opt out of society entirely! It had been three weeks of intensive farm searching, personally viewing, searching the internet, and having phone calls from outlying agents. It was all we spoke about amongst ourselves. What do we want, where do we want to be, when should we sell the house, must we sell the house, what are the full financial implications???? Now it was becoming more about ourselves, and not what we had intended to farm. That had been resolved. One thing about Vince and I we do make decisions fairly quickly, as he always says, ‘you cannot be half pregnant, you’re ’either in or out’.



Conclusion in what we wanted to farm was grapes, with lucerne and possibly some cattle and sheep. After all what is a farm without livestock. Buitensorg had all the produce, and some cattle, so we were almost there. We also realized that maybe one needs to have diversity on your farm. Should one crop fail, then there was hopefully something else you could depend on. Almost all those in the know we had mentioned this to agreed absolutely with us.



It was my regular book club the following Monday evening where girls I have been with for 17 years would get to hear of our impending lifestyle change. I had decided that I would discuss our options quite freely with the girls . Somehow details often are repeated incorrectly, so felt it was best literally from the horse’s mouth.

The occasion always calls for a few glasses of the fruit of the vine, coupled with a nibble of the savoury sort, rounded off with tea, coffee and cake. Much is discussed, not always pertinent to the books, but on various topics. I have always be extremely verbal vocalizing my opinions more often than necessary, and tonight I was to hold the floor once more. The girls were flabbergasted. What the hell was I on, could they have some too, good shit this, put you in high spirits and permitted you to make rash decisions. After an outburst of astonishment, they all fired questions simultaneously.

I suggested that I explain how his all came about and that we had full intentions of actually putting in an offer on the farm in Bonnievale! Several of the girls commented that there was no way is hell they could just pack up and bugger off to start a new life, others said wish they had the balls, others had diverse responsibilities toward their children, job and home. Maybe one or two said “you go girl, good luck, and I hope all works out well for you”. We were getting very little moral support from those around us, most choosing to suggest that we take a very careful look at our options and weigh them up cautiously. Were we prepared for what lay ahead, no, how the hell were we supposed to know, never having done this before! Our stock answer was we have the choices, the dreams, and the gutspha. We will give it three years and if all does not work out we can then say to ourselves, well at least we gave it our all.



Vince had also decided not to sell his business in Cape Town , as this was our main source of income, and that he could commute on a bi-weekly basis. Again, our friends raised eyebrows, and made unintelligible comments. Most evenings I would go to bed with so much running freely in my head. From ideas to keep myself occupied, to my children whom I have such an excellent rapport with, how was I going to balance the two. Distance is a dreadful thing, I know our eldest daughter lived overseas for 8 years. I grieved for her so often and now I was the one making the choice to move away from them. Our youngest daughter was in her final semester of first year university, still living at home. We had a wonderful crowd of friends and our social life was full. I too was involved with the local police station doing voluntary trauma counseling, and training my border collie, Kai. Life was settled, almost monotonously and perhaps that was the key. The monotony of it all.



Every 3rd week on a Wednesday morning I had my nails manicured, most Tuesdays I was on duty at the Police station. On Thursdays were meetings with my colleagues in the trauma room, and then coffee with a friend. Fridays was shopping day, and planning for the weekend. Our daughters would pop in everyday on their way home from work, affording me special time with our grand daughter. Often sharing dinnertime and a bottle of wine together with their Dad too. But the bubble had burst earlier in the year, with our first close family death in many years. I had been at my Aunt’s side since she had her stroke, and slept at her side in the Old Age Home for 14 days and held her in her final moments until she passed away. It was a very poignant time of my life. She was like a mother to me, so her passing deeply pained me. I was also responsible for her in many ways as she had Alzheimer’s disease, which meant I was at all times expected to be a phone call away. With her dying sadly the dependability relieved me of being able to make this decision of moving to the farm once again much easier. In the latter part of January Robyn advised her father and me of her intention to leave her husband and divorce him. Again this was not a shock, we had been expecting this for 2 years at that stage, but the declaration was nevertheless disappointing for us all. Many, many tears later, and in depth discussions with our son-in-law as to our offering support and comfort the wheels were set in motion with their imminent divorce. I assumed that all was said and done and that it was a fait complete, a mere signing of documents, and all would be resolved amicably.

How wrong that was proven to be!





So before we had even conjured up thoughts about making this enormous change and decision…..my life was full. Vince and I had planned a holiday in Belgium and Portugal for May. We offered to postpone it, should Robyn need emotional support. She pointedly refused convincing us that we were to go as planned. We departed on the 1 May 2004, spending 1 week with my brother and family, and discovering Belgium by train and foot. Stunning! From there we flew to Lisbon , hired a car, and toured the country in 14 days. A whirlwind trip, but outstanding nonetheless. Sitting sipping cold lagers on the terrace of a restaurant in Cascais, gazing over the aquatic expanse, we both pondered how our lives would change and where we could be this time the following year. Never dreaming of course about farm hunting! How our expectations have changed. We too had planned a trip to the East in November in celebration of our 30th wedding anniversary. The final Sunday in Portugal we got word that my mother’s surviving sibling had passed away. He was an amazing man, wise, humorous, and deeply fond of his family. Arriving back in South Africa I continued to Durban for the final chapter of his life, the funeral. A very sad end to a glorious holiday. During this time we were away life at home had become unbearable for Robyn , she had news that her husband had filed for an International law suit, with the Hague Convention. Citing her as kidnapping and abducting their daughter from Canada where they had been living for the past 4 years. This was to become my nemesis for the following 6 months. I have days of exhilaration to days of untold grief, the fear of my grand daughter been taken back to Canada , and never seeing her again, to been advised by the courts in South Africa that the case had been dropped. This was not enough crap to put our entire family through so his ‘lordship’ applied once again through the Canadian Courts. The emotional toll on each of our lives was horrendous to say the least.



During this time our middle daughter had a miscarriage, so she too needed to grieve her loss, and once again the circle around our family strengthened. Her husband was a pillar of strength for her as he too needed support his father sadly dying three months prior to their wedding date. So they had their own heartache to deal with too.



In the midst of the anguish our strength intensified considerably by strategizing our foremost concerns and organizing them in the order of importance. Perhaps tendering our offer to purchase the farm was the biggest step of all, in hindsight a great deal of the domino effect hinged on that one action.



A further visit to Buitensorg was arranged. We had wanted to spend more time on the farm, and taking a proper guided tour of the land. During the course of the following weekday we set plans in motion for a visit with the owners. Departing at 8.30 a.m. we headed onto the N2 to see if it was a quicker route, and perhaps a more pleasant drive. Traffic at the Somerset West area is abominable at any time of the day it seemed. Slow moving traffic reverting to a single lane, ‘jalloppies’ and unroadworthy taxis all making the excursion tedious. The climb up the pass as always breathtaking to the top, and then a very busy dangerous stretch to the Houwhoek Inn. Peregrines as usual doing a bustling trade, with the traffic now progressing at a steady pace.



We were quite upbeat about our forthcoming visit to Buitensorg. Deciding on the N2 route after Riviersonderend we took the Stormsvlei turnoff, passing a tiny village with literally 2 buildings on either side of the main road. Crossing the river over a wide bridge the blue gum trees seemed steadfast in their position, not wavering. Then onto an undeveloped section of coutryside which was quite unimpressive. A couple of km’s down the road, Bonnievale Cellar appears ceremoniously displaying its pageantry of flags atop tall flagpoles. Another road sign indicating our turn to the left on the R317 to Robertson. Once again the countryside beckons your gaze as you absorb all the valley has to offer. The vineyards are yielding their vines to the sun allowing her nourishment to penetrate their fruits. Crops are being irrigated with a systematic jet of water spewing from their sprinklers. What a magnificent sight! The men in blue tending to their duties routinely in the lands steering tractors spraying the produce, all just another day in the farming community.



This is what farming is all about I smile to myself. Sure as hell can get my teeth into that! Turning now onto the McGregor Road and Bushmans river turnoff, the Langverwacht co-op presents its colossal concrete uniqueness on the right hand side.

Only a few more km’s and we can already distinguish the divide of the topography depicting the borders of Buitensorg.



Approaching the sign board we turn onto the dusty thoroughfare through to the farm. I turn on the camera capturing on film all that lies before us.

Vineyards on either side of the road full of expectant produce promising an abundant crop. The silence in the car is pervasively noticeable. We both are mesmerizing all we see around us not to forget one small feature. So much to absorb!





Pulling up in the paved driveway we were met with by a tall tan ridgeback displaying a silent caution at our intrusion. Our arrival summons the owners to welcome us with warm smiles and gracious salutations. Gesturing that we enter into their abode and the confines of the solace of their home, while chastising the agitated hound to take up his rightful place, we accepted and stepped into the dwelling. Apologizing profusely for the ‘state of their home’ implying the untidiness, I fobbed her patronizing attitude off, making my way into the viscera of their home. The typical farm door, being half solid steel at the bottom, and then mesh for the upper half, swung into a controlled shut securing us inside as we made our way down the long passage. Did I mention that the passage was 27 feet long!!!! With all the bedrooms and a family bathroom exiting in unification off its vast void, the corridor was an incredibly imposing spectacle. I began my filming in the main bedroom, with my hostess continually yapping in my ear about her intended alterations, and her achievements which was most irritating as I had requested that I walk around on my own. She had agreed, but nonetheless could not help herself and continued with her blather, in her denigrate drivel. My intentions were to obviously once home view the footage, allowing me to make various decisions on furnishings etc. We strolled through all the bedrooms with comments from us both, while Vince was in the lounge chatting to the farmer re his daily routine. Following my ‘tour de huis,’ we were offered a welcome cup of tea and homemade ‘koek’, all which we expect from a farm! General banter with regards the running of the farm, the labourers, the magnitude of the farm and layout, and obviously costs versus income we all nodded occasionally or raised an eyebrow, and then concurred ultimately. This was such an eye opener, so much to learn.

“Did you know that you never turn the hot tap and the cold tap on simultaneously?” I was advised, “the water pressure is not that good”. “Only the water you drink, cook with and use for general domestic purposes is from the rain tank, situated at the rear of the house. Other than that the bathing, showering, and household water is directly from the cement dam above the house on the ‘koppie’,” she mused. “Oh, that’s fine, I am sure we will soon learn what life is all about on a farm”, I quipped.

“Ja, your maid will ensure there is always a jug of ‘rain water’ in the kitchen for your use as and when”, she concluded. I remember thinking how archaic that was….



Crap, she did not mention the colour of the water from the rain tank, also the taste factor, this I was to discover only when we had taken occupation. Together with the algae and the muck which was alive and well and living in the dam being the household water. Running a bath took on a whole new meaning! I am still waiting for a tadpole, or a tiny fish to make its way into my bath, this has certainly taking on a whole new connotation for me. If one adds a colour or flavour to the rain water, e.g. tea, green juice etc., I believed this would make a psychological difference, what a load of bollocks, I was soon to discover to my horror as well.



We had an extensive discussion as we had written down various points needing to be discussed, as well as them asking us questions. Vince was cautious in his commitment as to our probable intent of an offer, merely suggesting he and I further confer upon our second visit. Politely we thanked our hosts and made our way to the paved parking area then suggesting that we may take a short drive through the farm. This was agreed to so we bid our farewells, turned the engine on and waved our goodbyes. Once again the entire discussion had been in Afrikaans, what a relief to pass a comment in our mother tongue.

“Bloody hell, but she can go on”, I stated. “Wish I could have been left to go through the house at my pace and leisure”, “Her poor husband, never gets a word in!” I said shaking my head.

“That is a bit rich coming from you”, Vince commented.

“Bugger you, you did not have her in your ear for 20 minutes, rattling on about her wonderful self”, I retorted annoyed.



Slowly making our way along the gravel farm road I took out the camera once again, hit the record button and panned over the magnificence of the vineyards.

“You do realize that the house is not what we would be buying, but the farm itself” Vince said matter of factly, preempting my criticism of the house.

“What a farm is all about is not the residential emphasis but rather what it produces”, he said knowingly.

“I am aware of that, however the house needs so much done to it for me to be able to make our home of it”.

We were now about to get into an argument knowledgeable of the fact that my darling husband had fallen in love with this farm, and basically did not really give a toss about the house. That just pissed me off totally. I was quite prepared to accept this life altering move, but bugger it, the house was no where near my ‘ultimate’ farm house! Not wanting to burst his Lordships’ bubble, I silently kept my opinions to myself. Our first disagreement with regards the ‘farm’. I will concur that the land was superb, the views awesome, and the situation acceptable, BUT all my dreams were literally shattered when I took my first step into the house. With incredibly mixed emotions, swaying from chastising myself for being such a spoilt brat, to stuff it, that is not what I wanted, back to I know it will be ok eventually, thoughts were entirely conflicting. I kept deliberating with the emotional wrench of leaving Cape Town , my embryonic mother, to unmistakably not wanting to go ahead with this absurd idea, which by now has completely run away out of my control . I so wanted to say NO. This house was surely going to need so much ‘doing up’, I felt so disappointed, and did not have the balls to say no. Considering my unexplained excitement initially I was on a roller coaster sans brakes heading for an almighty emotive collision. Holy crap, I obviously became angry and found fault with all that I could with regards the house, to the extent that Vince said, “We do not have to go ahead with this unless you and I are in 100% agreement, that was the deal”. “If you are not in a happy place, we can walk away, no big deal”.

Like hell, ‘no big deal’, how could I just walk away when I had been so delighted at our potential change of lifestyle. What was wrong with me.