The Restory Retreat Centre

Photograph by George Angus Matilda’s nephew Liam has a friend Stephan. Although being only 9 now, the 2 of them has been a fountain of wisdom over the years. A few years ago, on starting playing rugby for the first time, Stephan became very frustrated. As soon as he got the ball, he was tackled. Quite upset he told Matilda’s brother in law: “Oom William, I just can’t get my speed!” I can relate with Stephan’s frustration. Ever since we came to Barrowfield there have been so many practicalities that needed attention that it has been difficult to get my speed writing and meditating. My mind is filled with pipe diameters, the solenoid on tractor starters, pressure pumps, skylights, ropes and rigging, tending to our fathers’ health and adjustment in the retirement village, setting up internet modems, bookshelves and all the rest. In the spare moments that I get to sit at the computer, I am so tired that it is difficult to keep my eyes focused and open. I have to be honest

This morning I was out in the vegetable garden looking for signs of sprouting cabbage and spinach that we had sown a week ago. Among the weeds, I did find the tiny seedlings pushing through bravely, but I had a surprise coming. The young Zulu gardener drew my attention to an abundance of ready food growing in the ruins of the tiny stone cottage only meters away: Umbido, a type of wild spinach, and a staple food in the rural areas. I grew up with much the same in the northern parts of the country, but called Marogo in the Sotho language.  Enter my new helper and friend, Winnie Nkosi. She lives on the edge of the Zaaihoekdam in a traditional mud house with no electricity. Twice a week she walks the four odd kilometres to help me with all things domestic. She has also taken it upon herself to teach me the Zulu language and culture with optimistic determination. The planned lunch menu was immediately ditched in favour of a lesson in local cooking and Winnie showed me the difference be

Two months down the line, it is quite natural that a city slicker like myself will be drawing some comparison between life here on the farm and the life I grew accustomed to back in Pretoria, South Africa's capital city. And, please correct me if I'm mistaken, but so far it seems we're not missing out on much. Garden services "Phone booth"- The view from the only spot where we have mobile phone reception. Running water Free range beef   Dept of Water Affairs Security fences and gates Highway Tarred road for four legged pedestrians Big screen Matilda Note: Photographs by George, Marinetha Naude, Ralie du Preez and myself

Internet Image We bought our new water tank direct from the JoJo factory in Glencoe. (See the post Wind and Water ) Besides saving money it was a very interesting experience. To be at the origin of this well-known South African product that can be seen all over the country. We were guided through the plant and in the yard where we selected our tank by a very helpful young man. The more we asked questions about the tanks and the work they do in general, the more passionate he became. By sharing the information and showing us around, it was as if a deep sense of dignity was stirred inside him. He felt rightfully proud about the important job they were doing in this half-forgotten small Kwazulu-Natal town. I agree with David Whyte. This is not the Information Age. Loaves and Fishes This is not the age of information. This is  not the age of information. Forget the news, and the radio, and the blurred screen. This is the time of loaves and fishes.

Internet image O, to write like this! Every now and again I read this piece of exquisite writing by Clarissa Pinkola Estes which I found as part of an advertisement for her storytelling training courses on her facebook page  with a link to the website mavenproductions.com I read it for the pure joy it brings me. But also to keep a dream alive. "Dear Brave Souls:  ORIGINAL VOICE™ STORYTELLING TRAINING: Rowing Songs for the NightSea Journey Do you want to tell the stories that flower from your lives, and from the lives of your blood and bones? Do you hope to move people for good reasons? Do you hope to learn about yourself and what I coined a term for "your farback people"? Do you have a calling to tell stories or even just one story? Do you want to speak to the souls of others? Do you hope to delve and know and speak and create story in your own one of a kind voice so that you sound only as yourself and no other? Do you have nonotmei'mnotgettingupinfrontofother-

Photograph by Marinetha Naude Like somebody dropped to the ocean floor we are slowly rising. I think we’ve broken the surface, but only our faces are above water. We’re not swimming in long relaxed strokes. Not yet. But it is very good to breathe again. This old lady that has become our home here close to Wakkerstroom is on the one hand very generous and helpful. All her lights were working when the power was finally switched on. Her roofs aren’t leaking. She is warm and inviting. We are surrounded by beauty. But she is not easy letting us get to her water (I am not sure whether that is generally an old lady thing?) First the windmill wasn’t working properly. I fixed that and in the process got to know its workings better. No, no, first I fixed the pipes running from the windmill to the tank. Then I fixed the windmill. We had to learn the rhythm of water and wind. The borehole being shallow and a seep-hole does not supply gushes of water. You wait till it’s full. Then you

Hands know not What hearts don’t tell They have no ear To hear the sound of life. The heart must spell Sweetness not boldly so Sadness not wholly so Quiet mists of morning Tender fern front yawning   Calm pooled to stillness Drifting, drifting Listening Clouds relaxing fists. Matilda