K…

K is for Kalahari, one of my favourite places. Even though the Kalahari is a large region, the part I refer to here is in Namibia, close to the border with Botswana. K is also for Kudu, an African antelope and Kameeldoring (the Camel Thorn Tree).

K also stands for Kings Park and Botanical Garden, which is one of the world’s largest inner city parks. Situated on the bank of the Swan river it provides sweeping views of Perth, the Swan and Canning rivers and the Darling ranges (Perth hills).

K is also for kangaroo and kalamata olives which  I love and grow in our garden.

Weekly Photo Challenge: One Love

This week’s photo challenge is to show what One Love means to us. The Urban Dictionary describes One Love as “the universal love and respect expressed by all people for all people, regardless of race, creed, or social status”. In the challenge Anne also says: “the universe is constantly whispering words of love: expressions of pure joy, respect, loyalty, and sacrifice for someone other than ourselves, and instructions on letting go and focusing on what is most important in this world”.

The natural world gives us so much every day, the very air that we breathe and beauty all around for us to look after, respect and love, without asking much in return. There are many elements that, together, form our world as a whole. Our natural environment, the animals and us humans who have the responsibility to care for and protect it. Love, respect and loyalty occur in our environment every day. I love the peacefulness of nature, and listening to its sounds. Birds calling, waves rolling in or animals moving around.

Sunrise is one of my favourite times of the day. It’s a time to be thankful for life, the promise of a new day and the privilege to experience it every day as we do.

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Sunrise over the mainland near Esperance, southern Western Australia, taken from Woody Island

Animals grazing at sunrise, at peace in and with their environment.

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Sunrise in the Kalahari, Namibia

What’s not to love and respect about mother nature when she shows all her colours? Out hiking, and it reminded me of a line I read somewhere: “Leave only your footprints behind”.

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Bluff Knoll, Stirling Ranges, southwest Australia

Love, respect and loyalty in the animal kingdom – galahs are birds that mate for life.

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Pink and grey Galahs, taken in Denmark, Western Australia

Mutual respect – I’ll help you and you help me.

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Zebras dozing in the midday sun in Etosha National Park, Namibia

Love and tenderness from adult to the young.

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Giraffe in Etosha National Park, Namibia

Caring and trust between humans and wildlife, two more necessary elements in looking after our environment.

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Feeding a young kangaroo at Donnelly River, southwest Australia

Trust, respect, loyalty, caring, responsibility and love all come together to form a bond with animals where no words are needed.

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Child No 3 and Belle sharing a quiet moment a couple of years ago in Namibia

As the day winds down it’s time again to be quiet and reflect on how much we have to be thankful for, and also on our duty to care for our world and all those that we share it with.

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Sunset at Sorrento beach, Perth, Western Australia

 

My Eerste Perd

(Apologies to non-Afrikaans readers.)

Geskryf in opdrag van Scrapydo2 se Toeka-Tokkel.

Ek was van kleins af lief vir diere en toe ons as Kaapenaars die geleentheid gekry het om perd te ry op vriende van ons se plaas in Namibië, het ons dit elke keer met albei hande aangegryp. Mettertyd is my suster met ‘n Namibiër getroud wat ook baie lief is vir perde en so saam met sy boerdery ook perde teel.

Ek was in matriek toe hulle getroud is en het gereeld vakansietye by hulle gaan kuier. Eendag terwyl ons so op die grondpad in die Kalahari verby hulle een plaas op pad na die ander een ry sê my swaer uit die bloute: “Kyk daar, daar staan jou vulletjie”. Ek was so uit die veld geslaan dat ek vir ‘n paar oomblikke nie mooi geregistreer het wat dit was wat hy gesê het nie, tot hy dit herhaal het en ek het blitsvinnig gekyk na waar hy beduie het. Daar in die veld het ‘n merrie en haar pragtige klein vul gestaan.  Ons het nie daai dag tyd gehad om te stop sodat ek haar kon ontmoet nie, en ons eerste ontmoeting het eers ‘n paar maande later met my volgende besoek gekom.

Teen die middel van die volgende jaar (ek was teen hierdie tyd ‘n eerstejaarstudent) was sy omtrent ses maande oud en die tyd reg vir my om haar te begin hanteer sodat sy kon gewoond raak aan menslike kontak. Ek het elke dag wanneer sy in die kraal was gegaan en haar gaan vryf en borsel en ‘n bietjie molasse gegee totdat sy my begin assosieer het met die lekkerny.

So het ek elke vakansie wat ek daar gekuier het, elke dag tyd met haar spandeer om haar meer en meer gewoond aan my te maak. Ek het haar geborsel en haar stert uitgekam. Ek het (alles met my swaer se geduldige leiding) geleer hoe om ‘n halter aan ‘n perd te sit wie nog nooit ‘n halter gesien het nie. Eers laat jy haar dit ruik en stadig maar seker (sonder enige vinninge bewegings), hang jy die leisels oor haar nek sodat jy iets het om aan vas te hou. Op geen stadium forseer jy haar met krag om te bly staan nie. Jy praat mooi en rustig en vryf sodat sy dink dis alles “hunkey dorey”. Volgende skuif jy die halter stadig oor haar kop sonder om haar skrik te maak. Sy het gou daaraan gewoond geraak, en toe moes sy leer om gelei te word. En ek moes leer hoe om haar te leer.

Ek het elke dag wat ek daar was omtrent ‘n uur met haar spandeer. Ons het die werf platgeloop. Sy het die lieflikste temperament gehad en my begin herken. Soms het sy genoeg gehad van die dag se stap- en leerdery en eendag het sy afgehaak en my agter in my rug gebyt. Dit was bitterlik seer en my refleks was om om te draai en baie hard te raas. Sy het dit nooit weer gedoen nie.

Teen die tyd dat sy drie jaar oud was het my swaer gesê dis nou tyd dat ek haar opklim. Teen daai tyd het ek al ‘n tyd lank geoefen om die tooms aan te sit en die saal op haar te sit sodat sy daaraan gewoond kon raak. Jy bring die saal nader en laat haar daaraan ruik en dan beweeg jy stadig na haar linkersy en sit die saal saggies op haar rug neer. Dan maak jy versigtig die buikgord vas – nie te styf nie sodat dit haar nie knyp nie. Volgende stap jy vorentoe, buk langs elkeen van haar voorbene en stoot liggies teen haar sodat sy haar gewig oorplaas op die ander voorbeen. Dan raak jy liggies aan haar knie en tel haar voorbeen op om seker te maak daar is niks vel onder die buikgord vasgeknyp nie. Alles terwyl jy met haar praat en haar vertel wat jy wil hê sy moet doen. Nadat jy dit met altwee bene gedoen het kan jy die buikgord stywer maak. As dit te los is sal die saal rondswaai as jy ry!

Elke nuwe ding wat ons bekendgestel het het sy met die grootste rustige vertroue aanvaar. Ek was steeds baie senuweeagtig om die eerste persoon te wees om haar op te klim (en dit was ook die eerste perd wat nuut geleer is wat ek ooit opgeklim het). Ek het haar opgesaal en ons het haar in ‘n baie klein kraal ingelei. My swaer het die teuels vasgehou en toe kon ek nie die oomblik van waarheid langer uitstel nie. Ek het die teuels geneem, my linkervoet in die stiebeuel gesit, my gewig oorgeswaai en stadig en saggies in die saal gaan sit. En sy het bly staan asof dit nie doodnatuurlikste ding in die wêreld was. Ek sal daai oomblik en daai gevoel nooit vergeet nie.

Op een stadium het sy lank gesukkel met ‘n wond wat sy opgedoen het toe sy geval het by ‘n waterkrip. ‘n Onbeduidende seerplek op sy eie maar vir ‘n tyd lank het ons gesukkel om die infeksie onder beheer te kry. Op die ou end het die veearts onder narkose die oorsprong van die probleem heelwat dieper af in haar been gekry: ‘n klein klippie wat gesweer het. Ek het verpleeg en wond skoongemaak en weer baie geleer.

Sy was getrou aan my vir meer as 22 jaar. Soos wat familie- en werksverpligtinge my tyd en aandag begin verg het het ek haar minder gesien maar sy het my elke keer herken. Elke keer wat ek haar gery het was die band van volkome vertroue nog net so sterk soos die vorige keer wat ek haar gesien en gery het. Later jare het ek my kinders op haar rondgelei. Die ouderdom het haar op die ou end ingehaal. Ons het al in Perth gewoon teen hierdie tyd. My swaer het laat weet dit gaan nie goed nie, maar perd uitsit is ook nie ‘n eenvoudige storie nie want hulle reageer nie altyd lekker op die inspuiting nie. Vir ‘n paar dae het ek gewroeg oor wat die regte ding is om te doen, want om haar te laat swaarkry sou ook nie reg wees nie, maar sy het gelukkig die besluit uit ons hande geneem en is een nag stil in die veld dood. Dis steeds hartseer maar ek dink met dankbaarheid aan al die ongelooflike ondervindinge wat ek saam met haar gehad het, en alles wat sy my geleer het. Daar is min dinge wat so lekker is as om jou arms om ‘n perd se ontspanne nek te vou en haar ‘n lekker stywe druk te gee. Sy het oor die jare ‘n paar pragtige vullens gehad, een waarvan nou ook myne is, en ek is baie dankbaar om te kan sê dat sy haar liefdevolle geaardheid ook aan hierdie pragtige merrie oorgedra het. Ek ry haar elke keer wat ek daar kuier, al kon ek haar nie self leer nie. Daarvoor is ek my swaer en hulle dogters baie dank verskuldig. Al woon ek ver is die herrinneringe naby.

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My vulletjiepresent as volgroeide merrie in die Kalahari

Jul 2004

Julie 2004, besig om my kinders te leer om haar te borsel

Kerskoekies (Christmas cookies)

(Please scroll down for the English version.)

My suster bak elke jaar die heerlikste Duitste kerskoekies. Lebkuchen (gemmerkoekies), pfeffernüsse (peperkoekies) en allerhande enes. Ek het dit nog nooit gemaak nie maar eendag jare gelede terwyl ons by my suster en swaer gekuier het op hulle plaas, het my man besluit om self te probeer om dit te bak. Met Duitste herkoms het hy grootgeword met baie van hierdie koekies vir Kersfees. Nadat hy met hierdie boeremeisie getrou het (wat nog nie eens op daai stadium probeer het om haar Hollandse ouma se botterkoek of spekulaaskoekies of Afrikaanse ouma se suurdeegbrood te bak nie), het hy besluit om dit doodeenvoudig self te doen.

Hy stap toe een oggend in my suster se plaaskombuis in en kondig vol brawade aan dat hy zerubskuchen (stroopkoekies) gaan maak. Die snaakse ding was dat hy nog nooit by ons eie huis geïnspireerd gevoel het om dit te maak nie maar uit die bloute daai oggend besluit het dat hy dit in haar kombuis gaan waag. Sy aankondiging het ‘n huiwerige en effens skeptiese ontvangs gekry want die kombuis was pas skoongemaak en die vloere gewas. Dis nie maklik om ‘n plaaskombuis in die Kalahari skoon te hou nie. Sand word voortdurend ingeloop en plaasbehoeftes kry voorkeur bo ander maar die kombuis was silwerskoon toe my man besluit het dis tyd om te begin bak en brou.

Hy het in sy lewe tevore nog nooit iets gebak nie maar vra toe my suster vir die resep en maak reg om te begin. Hy is ook nooit tevore geleer om die gemors wat hy maak te beperk tot ‘n hanteerbare area nie. Hy het al die bestanddele op die kombuistafel gerangskik en begin. Ek het saggies weggesluip, sodanig om na die kinders te gaan kyk, en weggebly van die kombuis af. Toe ek dink dis veilig om terug te gaan is ek begroet deur ‘n gesig wat ek nooit sal vergeet nie. Dit het gelyk asof vyf sakke meel op en rondom die tafel ontplof het. In die pas skoongemaakte kombuis nogal. Te midde van dit alles het my man gestaan met ‘n brëe glimlag om sy mond – baie trots op die koekies wat hy besig was om te bak. Die ergste was dat die meel nie net oor die tafel gestrooi was nie. Dit het deur die gapings van die houttafel op die vloer geval. Orals.

My arme suster het net agter my ingeloop, die gemors een kyk gegee, daarin geslaag om darem nie haar sin vir humor heeltemal te verloor nie en met haar onwrikbare diplomasie hom mooi gevra om skoon te maak. Sy entoesiasme was geensins gedemp nie. Dit was amper asof hy nie die gemors kon raaksien nie. Hy’t klaargemaak en begin opruim maar selfs met sy altyd teenwoordige optimisme het hy hulp nodig gehad in hierdie department. Hy sou dit net nie op dieselfde standaard kon skoon kry as wat dit voor die tyd was nie.

Sedertdien het hy nog nie weer probeer om kerskoekies te bak nie maar maak wel sy ma se mieliebrood – ‘n soet weergawe wat nie my gunsteling is nie – maar hy is mal daaroor en maak dit nou self. Ek is net verlig dat dit nie nodig is om ‘n klomp meel oor die kombuistafel of –toonbank uit te sprei om mieliebrood te maak nie want dit blyk na die jare steeds dat die skoonmaakdeel van die proses nog onder opleiding is.

Ek het toe die ander dag my suster se lebkuchen en pfeffernüsse gemaak (maar ek sou nie sê hulle is so lekker soos hare nie) – die pfeffernüsse (wat so klein soos neute moet wees) het ek reggekry om amper so groot soos golfballe te maak. Ten minste proe hulle darem beter as iets wat ‘n mens in die winkel sou koop.  Hopelik sal my man nie voel dis nodig om hulle te maak as ek aanhou om hulle te bak nie…

Kerskoekies of te not, ek wens almal ‘n baie Gesëende Kersfees toe gevul met vreugde en liefde.

 

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Lebkuchen and oversized Pfeffernüsse I baked the other day

 

Christmas Cookies

My sister bakes the most divine Christmas cookies every year. German ones.  Lebkuchen (ginger bread cookies), pfeffernüsse (pepper nuts) and all sorts. I’ve never made them but years ago once while visiting my sister and brother-in-law on their farm, my husband decided the time was right for him to try his hand at it. Being of German descent, there used to be lots of these Christmas cookies around every Christmas when he was growing up. After marrying this Afrikaans girl (who hadn’t even tried to make any of her Dutch grandmother’s butter cake or speculaas cookies or her Afrikaans grandmother’s sour dough bread at that stage), he was just going to do it himself.

He walked into my sister’s farm kitchen one morning and declared that he was going to make zerubskuchen (syrup cookies). The funny thing is that he’d never been inspired to do it at our own home but decided out of the blue on that day that he was going to make it in her kitchen. His announcement was greeted a little skeptically as the kitchen had just been cleaned and the floors washed. It’s not easy to keep a farm kitchen in the Kalahari clean. Sand keeps getting trodden into the house and farm needs take precedence over others but the kitchen was sparkling clean when my husband decided it was time for him to try his hand at baking.

He’d never before baked anything in his life but asked my sister for the recipe and got started. Neither had he ever been trained to contain the mess he makes to a certain limited area. It was just always done by someone else. He arranged all the ingredients out on the kitchen table and got stuck in. I slunk away on the premise of having to look after the kids and kept clear of the area. When I deemed it safe to venture inside again I was greeted by a sight to behold. It looked like five bags of flour had exploded on and around the kitchen table. In the middle of it all stood my smiling husband. Quite proud of the cookies he was making. To make matters worse, the flour wasn’t contained to the table. It had fallen through the gaps in the wood on the table and was all over the floor as well. Everywhere.

My poor sister walked in after me, took one look at the mess, managed to hold back her sense of humour failure and with her unwavering diplomacy asked him nicely to clean up. His enthusiasm wasn’t diminished at all. It’s almost like the mess was invisible to him. He finished up and started to clean up but despite his ever present optimism he needed help in this department. He wasn’t going to manage to clean it to the same standard that it had been done earlier.

He hasn’t attempted to bake Christmas cookies since, but he has been making his mom’s mealie (corn) bread. It’s quite sweet and not really my favourite but he loves it and now makes it himself. I’m just relieved that mealie bread doesn’t require a lot of flour to be spread out over the kitchen bench or table because the cleaning part of the process seems to still be in training.

I tried my hand at my sister’s lebkuchen and pfeffernüsse recipes the other day and (though I don’t think it’s to her standard – the pfeffernüsse which are supposed to be the size of nuts turned out more like golf balls) but at least they taste better than something you can buy in a shop. Hopefully if I continue to bake them my husband won’t feel the need to do it…

With or without Christmas cookies, I wish you all a Merry and Blessed Christmas filled with joy and love.

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Festive times

Weekly Photo Challenge: Happy Place

In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Happy Place.”

I have a number of Happy Places. Being out in nature away from the hustle and bustle of city life is the best thing for me. When I’m fortunate enough to go there, my favourite place to find peace and quiet is on my sister and brother-in-law’s farm in the Kalahari (Namibia), or Coral Bay or Rottnest Island (both Western Australia), all of them out in nature. When I’m not travelling I’m happiest at home in my own space, and my go-to place is my garden.

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I have my own little quiet spot where I can enjoy the dappled sunlight and birdsong with a cup of coffee first thing in the morning or sit and read my book over the weekend and maybe enjoy a glass of wine as well, or just sit and be quiet in my happy place.

My happy place

My happy place

Die Môrestond het Goud in die Mond

(Apologies to non-Afrikaans readers.)

Ons gesin is ‘n douvoordag gesin. Nie soseer die kinders noudat hulle tieners en jong volwassenes is nie, maar toe hulle klein was het hulle ook lekker vroeg opgestaan. Omdat ek en my man gewoonlik vroeg aan die gang is word daar selde baie laat geslaap in ons huis bloot omdat daar vroeg soggens beweging is en dis gewoonlik nie stil roeringe nie. Ek het al vantevore geskryf oor my man wat al die jare al bitter vroeg wakker word (dis dan seker voor-douvoordag) en die eskapades wanneer hy vergeet om die wekker af te sit want ek staan darem nie heeltemal so vroeg op soos hy nie.

My verhouding met die voordag kom uit my eie tienerjare toe ek probeer laat slaap het en my pa – wat self nog altyd ‘n vroegoggendmens was – my kom wakker maak het om die tuin nat te maak of te kom help met die kliëntestormloop in ons plaaswinkeltjie sesuur op ‘n Saterdagoggend. Daai tye het ek maar lekker my voete gesleep maar oor die jare het ek die goud wat vir ‘n mens wag in die vroëe oggendure leer waardeer. Ek het lief geraak daarvoor om die dag te sien breek wanneer ons die langpad gevat het met vakansies, van die eerste stadige verkleur van die horison wat die aankoms van ‘n nuwe dag aankondig, die sagte pienk, pers en blou lug wat volg en uiteindelik die son wat kop uitsteek en helder sy verskyning maak met al die belofte van ‘n nuwe dag. Deesdae is dit steeds vir my die beste en ‘n wondergevulde tyd van die dag – dis gewoonlik stil van stadsgeraas en –verkeer wat dit rustig maak en lekker om buite te wees, die voëls te hoor sing en die varsheid van die nuwe dag wat soveel hoop en belofte inhou diep in jou longe in te trek – en vir ‘n kort tydjie elke oggend voel dit asof die tyd ‘n bietjie stadiger beweeg terwyl ek my gedagtes orden en regmaak vir die dag wat voorlê.

Wanneer ek vroeg begin werskaf is ek altyd aangenaam verras oor hoeveel ek gedoen kan kry voor die dag werklik met erns begin. Dis asof daar sommer ‘n paar ekstra ure by die dag aangelas word, en dis gewoonlik produktiewe ure. Vroegmôre hou soveel verrassings in wat net wag om ontdek te word, soos die volmaan wat sak oor die oseaan of oor ‘n watergat in Etosha, om te luister na die geluide van die veld wat wakker word terwyl ons rustig koffie drink by Brandberg waar ons in die veld gekamp het of in die Kalahari waar die tyd teen sy eie pas loop of die lafenis vir die siel om die heuwel alleen uit te klim op Woody Island (naby Esperance, so 800 kilometer suidoos van Perth) voor vyf in die oggend om te kyk hoe die son oorkant die water oor die land opkom. Daar is iets omtrent die sonsopkoms (en –ondergang) wat ‘n mens dwing om vir ‘n oomblik stil te raak en een te wees met die natuur rondom jou en dit te respekteer sonder om ‘n indringer te wees met ons menslike geraasbesoedeling en die belofte van ‘n nuwe begin wat elke dag aanbreek te waardeer. Vir iemand wat foto’s neem by dosyne en werklik hartseer is as ek vir een of ander rede ‘n mooi potensiële foto nie kon neem nie, bied die vroëe oggendure soveel geleenthede en dis my gunsteling tyd van die dag.

Die volmaan wat sak oor die Indiese Oseaan (geneem naby Hillarys, Perth)

Die volmaan wat sak oor die Indiese Oseaan (geneem naby Hillarys, Perth)

Die volmaan sak oor die watergat by Okaukuejo, Etosha, Namibië

Die volmaan sak oor die watergat by Okaukuejo, Etosha, Namibië

Sonsopkoms in die Kalahari

Sonsopkoms in die Kalahari

Sonsopkoms oor Cape Le Grande National Park geneem vanaf Woody Island

Sonsopkoms oor Cape Le Grande National Park geneem vanaf Woody Island

Met die dat manlief so ‘n vroëer-as-vroeg opstaner is word ons naweekuitstappies ook gewoonlik beplan om douvoordag te begin, gewoonlik vroëer as wat ek sou verkies, want teen die tyd dat ek opstaan is sy dag al ‘n uur of wat aan die gang en trippel hy al rond om weg te kom, met die gevolg dat ek dan ook maar vroëer as gewoonlik opstaan. Soos ‘n dieselenjin wat eers moet warm word neem dit my brein ‘n tydjie om behoorlik wakker te word en nog meer so wanneer ek in die donker op manlief se verkieslike uur opstaan. Vir wedlope moet ons ook vroeg-vroeg aan die gang kom en veral vir Ironman wanneer ons omtrent drie-uur in die oggend opstaan om reg te maak en betyds te wees vir alle laaste-minuut voorbereidings.

Net die ander dag het ons twee ‘n daguitstappie na Dwellingup (so ‘n uur en ‘n half se ry suid-oos van Perth) beplan en hy wou graag sesuur die oggend in die pad val, wat beteken het ek moes vyfuur opstaan om wakker te word en reg te maak want hierdie ou dieselenjin spring nie net uit die bed en begin die dag teen ‘n honder kilometer per uur nie, dit neem ‘n koppie boeretroos of twee voor ek behoorlik funksioneer en stadig spoed optel en ek het so effens tëegeskop want dis winter en dis baie koud in die voordag-donker maar op die ou end het ek maar vyfuur opgestaan, my koffie rustig gedrink en ons het sesuur in die pad geval. ‘n Uur later is ons verras met ‘n ongelooflike sonsopkoms wat my weer van voor af laat besef het dat ten spyte van die vroegoggendkoue, moeg en slaap in my oë stel die sonsopkoms nooit teleur nie en die Afrikaanse voorvader wat hierdie gesegde uigedink het, het geweet waarvan hulle praat: die môrestond het werklik goud in die mond.

Sonsopkoms naby Dwellingup

Sonsopkoms naby Dwellingup

Getting Scorched

Sunny Southern Hemisphere climates offers such freedom of lifestyle. Only for a relatively short period of time does one have to rug up with cumbersome, warm and weather proof winter clothes (and even then we get over it pretty quickly and dream of the warm sunshine to come). There’s something relaxed about an outdoor lifestyle, to have picnics in the sunshine and enjoy beautiful clean beaches, to walk out the door, get in the car and go places never having to shovel any snow, to be able to exercise and play sport outdoors basically all year round and to fiddle in the garden almost year round. I love the sunny climate, blue skies, being outside in the fresh air, balmy summer nights and to feel the warm sunshine.

Growing up in Cape Town with its moderate climate we had beautiful summers but nothing extreme in terms of heat. When I spent a couple of summer holidays in the Kalahari on my sister and brother-in-law’s farm in my university days it was a different story though. With temperatures rising to above 35°C most days it was tough working outside but the work doesn’t wait for the heat to subside so onwards and upwards we went. One particular stinking hot day a herd of cattle had to be mustered and moved from one paddock to another, some kilometres away. We were on horseback following behind and on the side, swallowing the dust the cattle kept kicking up but they were a difficult bunch and every few minutes when we thought we had them moving along nicely, one would break away to the side and one of us would have to canter off in pursuit and bring it back quick smart before any of the others noticed and decided to follow suit (which they inevitably did if you weren’t quick). One breakaway playing truant was manageable, definitely not half a herd. Others would keep in line but sneak a look to see if they could escape and if you weren’t onto them straight away either showing them that the only way is forwards, they’d make a dash for it. And every now and again one would just inexplicably stop right in front of you and if you weren’t paying attention you’d have passed it before you knew, and then it’s turn around and go back around it at full speed before it gathered pace. All of this through relatively thick bush and trees so it was a challenge to keep them in sight and not lose one or two amongst the bushes. We’d counted them before we took off and had to count them again afterwards to make sure none got left behind somewhere. Passing through gates from paddock to paddock was interesting – if the gate was open it would be relatively simple as long as we could gather them together again quickly on the other side before they dispersed and spread out into the veld, but if the gate was closed someone had to ride up ahead without scaring the herd and causing them to scatter in every direction, hop off and open it and get out the way before they got there. It was hot, dry and dusty, it hadn’t rained for a while and we were in the thick of it for about 5 hours doing some good old hard yakka but it was so much fun. It was so good to do some hard physical work. I’d done it many times before but this particular day was so hot and we were in the saddle for so long that by the time we’d delivered them to their destination, counted them through (and thank goodness they were all there as it wasn’t a small herd either) and got back to the farm house all I could do was change into my bathers, jump into the dam and float in the cool water for about half an hour. The ice cold beer after that was the best medicine and although the heat of that day has been burnt into my memory forever I’ll always remember it very fondly.

Beloved Kalahari

Beloved Kalahari

When we moved to Dubai we anticipated struggling with the heat but we were spoilt with houses, shops and offices all being properly air conditioned and our villa’s windows had double glazing which meant that the temperatures only ever affected you as you moved between air conditioned areas such as unpacking the groceries from the car and doing about five trips carrying it up the stairs of the house to the front door (carrying as many bags as possible each time to minimise the number of trips) or when I left the shops and went out to the car park in the summer heat and humidity my glasses always fogged up instantly! For the larger part of the year the temperatures weren’t unbearable and when it was hot it was a dry heat but peak summer brought with it daytime temperatures of somewhere over 40°C with very high humidity, and night-time temps that didn’t really drop much below 30°C still with incredible humidity.  After visiting our family and friends in South Africa during July/August 2004 we arrived back at the beautifully air conditioned Dubai airport in a false sense of security only to exit the airport building into a 30°C and 90% humidity wall of sauna heat at midnight. We swam so much that year but in the middle of summer the swimming pool water felt like bath water and we turned off our hot water system and used that water for cold water and the cold water tap for hot water because the water pipes were so shallow under the ground that the water used to get burning hot! The architecture and building style of the old Arabian buildings used to fascinate me with their clever design and latticed windows promoting the airflow so that hot air rose to flow out and cool air came in to keep the houses cool and spoilt as we are with air conditioners today I still find it astounding that people used to live without these luxuries in the sort of desert temperatures that I would suffer in, soft as I am.

Now Perth summers are hot, dry affairs with its share of heat waves with temperatures going up to over 40°C sometimes for a few days in a row with no sea breeze to cool things down and every now and then we get a good summer storm and I love these summer storms because they remind me of the Kalahari thunderstorms with mother nature showing off her power with loud thunderous cracks and electric lightning which usually resulted in a good downpour and much needed rain soaking into the dry earth and big fat drops noisily falling onto tin roofs. Downpours that could leave you soaked but still warm. So unlike winter storms.

A summer storm rolling in over our house a few years ago

A summer storm rolling in over our house a few years ago

When we went to support the Perth Scorchers in the Big Bash semi-final in January we sat sweltering in the sun with no shelter on a 40°C day waiting for the sea breeze to come in but it kept promising to come and just as we got our hopes up and I’d move forward in my seat as if to meet it it would disappear again, such a tease, and the WACA lived up to its nickname, The Furnace. It reminded me of the cricket test I went to watch with Ironman and his brother at Kingsmead cricket stadium in Durban back in ‘96/’97. Our seats were also in the full sun but we were allowed to take an umbrella and since I was pregnant at the time it saved the day for me but as the day wore on we were being joined by more and more supporters of the opposing team who’d decided that there was plenty of room for everyone in our little spot of shade. The more the merrier, until we were so tightly packed underneath that umbrella that no-one could breathe and we gave up and went home. That day at the WACA I would have loved to have had that umbrella though, or any little bit of shade for that matter, because there was just no escaping the oppressive heat and the fun element of the exciting cricket match was being scorched right out of it and I had to admit that much as I love our summers, I don’t enjoy getting scorched!