Snow and Honey

 This weekend past is one of those we will talk about in future, stating the date, and reminiscing on how extraordinary and special it was.

    We knew up ahead that the unusually hot Spring days would be countered by a severe cold front that was moving in from the Southern part of the country and which would be reaching us around Saturday afternoon.  Snow was being predicted for the higher parts of the country and this would send icy winds our way. We were also looking forward to a family visit and felt comforted in the knowledge that the old stone house would keep us cosy and warm as we shared time together.

    

Naturally, a menu was planned with all of this in mind. I had pampering in mind, Grandma style:

-              -  A vegetarian pasta with hot lemongrass tea for Saturday lunch

-              - A hearty soup with chunks of bread for Saturday night

-              - A typical hearty Barrowfield breakfast for Sunday with all the trimmings from home made yogurt  to buckwheat pancakes; mugs of coffee in hand while looking out on the wintry landscape.

     

All pretty special, don’t you think? But then it got even more so.

    

 Soon after the sun had set on Saturday, William, our brother-in-law, donned his beekeeper’s suit and set out to go and check up on the hives down by the vegetable garden. He had been worried that the bees might not have had enough food available during the winter season which had followed on the extreme drought of the previous season.

     It was quite dark by the time he returned. He was glowing with joy and excitement. In his hands he held a rack of our very first honey harvested from the Barrowfield hives. We marvelled at the precision and symmetry of the combs, the colour of the honey and the taste of it. Eucalyptus, Aloe, Acacia, Lavender and Nasturtium had all played their part to keep the bees happy throughout winter.

First honey of Barrowfield hives. Photo by Juanita Wilkinson

      And so, dessert presented itself: Bread and butter topped with golden nuggets of dripping honeycomb. I could not imagine anything more extravagant or luxurious. This is to be rich beyond expectation, we told one another, smiling across the table, lips glistening in the candle glow. 

     Then, on Sunday, quite unexpectedly, it snowed. Our very first experience of snow since we moved here and one of very few in our entire lifetimes. South Africa rarely gets snow.

First snow at Barrowfield. Photo by George Angus

     Barrowfield became all new in a cloak of pure white that lasted for nearly two days before melting in the warm spring sun. And as with tasting our very first honey, this too had a magical quality to it, a feeling of being incredibly blessed by the beauty and marvel and sheer genius of it.

     Snow is exactly what was needed to save this parched land. And the sharing of bread and honey felt sacramental in its simplicity. Snow and honey: Nature’s Eucharist.

Matilda