The Restory Retreat Centre

Photograph by PJ Hamel Years ago I came across the story of Bontche Schweig or Bontche the Silent, written by Isaac L. Peretz. The version that I penned down in my notebook went as follows: Bontche was one of the 36 holy people on whose shoulders the world rested.  He was born softly and lived softly. Throughout his difficult life people took  advantage of him, but Bontche never complained and worked like a pack mule. Later he walked bent over from all the loads he had carried in his life time and  eventually he died as softly as he had lived. The news that he was on his way, sent heaven into a flurry.  His arrival was announced by the big trumpet of the Messiah.  Even the young angels in their radiant splendour excitedly went  to welcome him. Botche was totally overwhelmed. He, a holy man?  Now, they told him, you may ask anything, request whatever you want.  The gentle Bontche asked: “Anything?”  “Anything” it came from the heavenly host.  Bont

Earth's crammed with heaven,  And every common bush afire with God,  But only he who sees takes off his shoes; The rest sit round and pluck blackberries.                                                                          Elizabeth Barrett Browning Very early on Friday morning, I went into the meadow behind the house to pick wild flowers for Matilda. The grass was soggy wet with dew. Wearing shorts I put on my gumboots to keep at least my feet dry. Later, back at the house after breakfast, I discovered that the dew on my legs had dried into a sticky film. It had the same feeling as the overspray getting onto my skin when I apply varnish with the spray gun to a work piece. Stuck all over my legs were a multitude of grass seeds, hitching a ride. In an ingenious manner, the grass produced a glue to stick its seeds to anything passing by and in the process is sown all over. I had to wash my legs with warm water and soap to get it off. The incident somehow moved me.

A man visits a monastery. At dinner he is served Fish and Chips, and they are delicious, the best he has ever eaten. He goes back into the kitchen to thank the cook, and finding someone there cooking, he asks "Are you the Fish Fryer?" To which the man replies, "No, I'm the Chip Monk".

"As Above, So Below" - Photograph by Patricia Turner Please can I have a God (after Selima Hill) not fossilized, hardened, stiff, unshaken, not contained in creeds and testimonies, judgments and stone tablets, but in the wound breaking open. Please can I have a God who asks me to worship at the altar of mystery, to lay aside certainty, and curl up in the hollow of a great stone down by the river, to hear the force of it rushing past. Please can I have a God with questions rather than answers, who is not Rock or Fortress or Father, but sashays, swerves, ripens, rages at the rape of the earth. Please can I have a God whose voice is the sound of a girl, long silent from abuse, now speaking her first word, who is not sweetness or light, but the fierce utterance of “no” in all the places where love has been extinguished. Please can I have a God the color of doubt, the shape of uncertainty, who sees that within me dwells a multitude, grief and joy, envy and g

Bounty of first crop figs from our kindly landlady I tried my hand at Green fig preserve and I am rather pleased with the result. It being fig season in the Southern hemisphere, I share my recipe with you. It is a combination of recipes sourced from recipe books and the internet and adapted to the availability of ingredients in my pantry.  Ingredients: 2 kg green figs, nicely swollen but not hollow. Also it is suggested that figs from the first crop be used as it gets too ripe and bitter later on in the season.  2,5 kg sugar 2 liters of water 40 ml lemon juice 1 thumb sized piece of fresh ginger root, peeled 6 young fig leaves, rinsed(it enhances the fig flavor if boiled with the figs) Method: Wash figs and prick all over. Soak overnight in a solution of 30 ml bicarbonate of soda to 3 liters of water. Next day, rinse the figs well and bring to boil 3 liters of water. Add figs and boil for about 20 minutes until tender. Drain. Bring the water, sugar, lem

A view of the "Rocks", the "Ruins" and the Vegetable and Herb garden.  Ever since we arrived here, I knew I would regret not journaling more diligently about our settling-in days. But most evenings found us dead beat. So much had to be done, so much happened! I am sorry I didn’t journal each and every day. But here we are on the evening of Day 77 at Barrowfield. Better late than never. On Day 75 our landlady, whom we had met only briefly once before, paid us a surprise visit. She arrived just as we discovered that our water tank had at last filled to overflowing. (See the post  Finally! ) I was trying to take a picture of this momentous occasion and George suggested that he stand under the overflow with an umbrella to demonstrate the marvel. So there we were, standing in the veld, he, clad in his blue worker’s overalls and holding a large umbrella, and I, sporting gumboots and camera. I’m not sure what she thought of this spectacle, but we cut short the ph

Photograph by Matilda Clifford And so, on this 3rd day of February in the year of our Lord 2014, our new tank here on Barrowfield overflowed. After all the disappointment and hard work it is truly a sight to behold.  I told Matilda that it would be such a joyous occasion that we'll celebrate with champagne. But it  came much quicker than anticipated with the result that there was none of the  intended beverage at hand. The much lesser substitute, vintage last Wednesday, was wonderful though. The label mentioned that it goes well with joy if I'm not mistaken. Comments like “Small things amuse small minds” won’t sound strange under the circumstance. It is only water out of a short pipe falling into the air after all. Percy Bysshe Shelley has a different angle: First our pleasures die—and then Our hopes, and then our fears—and when These are dead, the debt is due,  Dust claims dust—and we die too. For now, I'll settle on life. George

Most of the luxuries and many of the so-called comforts of life  are not only not indispensable,  but positive hindrances to the elevation of mankind.                                                             ~ Henry David Thoreau An American investment banker was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked.  Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna.  The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them. The Mexican replied, “only a little while. The American then asked why didn’t he stay out longer and catch more fish? The Mexican said he had enough to support his family’s immediate needs. The American then asked, “but what do you do with the rest of your time?” The Mexican fisherman said, “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siestas with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine, and play

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.”                                                                                   Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude