Over the edge and back

Going to the mountains is going home.

                                                                       John Muir

We live right on the edge of the escarpment in the Balele Mountains which is part of the larger Drakensberg mountain range. Just a few kilometres south of us you have a spectacular view over the plains of Kwazulu-Natal down below before you start your steep descent.

Going to Newcastle is in many ways a mysterious mixture of geography and spirituality. Changing over from life on the farm to that in a big and vibrant town. And being able to see this whole transition process in both directions as you are busy doing it.

We leave home and within a few minutes literally step over the edge to this town on the vast plain down below, visible from kilometres off. It is usually accompanied by a change in temperature as well. On Barrowfield we get into the car wearing a jacket or sweater. Down in Newcastle it is much warmer.

Far in the background you can see the Kwazulu-Natal plains. A little closer the sign is visible advising you to change to a lower gear as you go down the mountain.

(Photograph by George Angus)

The higher temperature is merely that. It has no symbolic meaning. It is not as if we enter hell going to Newcastle. We actually love the town and enjoy going there. It is necessary too, because it also provides many of the material and services that make it easier to live and work on the farm. But the pace and sounds there are that of a big town. We do not want to live there. We are from the mountains, clearly visible in the far-off distance. Often, while walking on a sidewalk I’ll stop to look at the mountains and roll a phrase of mine over and over in my mind, indicating where my home is: “And the mountain people came down from the mountains to visit the town.”

Photograph by George Angus

It is always good to return home. To drive into the mountains that await us on the edge of the plain. I never tire looking at the peaks and trying to pinpoint the exact position of our house where it is then still invisible amidst the folds of the upper hills. Those same hills open up as we drive through and silently close behind us to dim the lights of the town down on the plain below. And it is those hills that provide the border when we look up at night at the bright Milky Way overhead.

“Then the mountain people went back to where they came from. And the mist covered them and the silence surrounded them.”


George