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.