The Restory Retreat Centre

Photo by George Angus The toad beneath the harrow knows exactly where each tooth point goes; The butterfly upon the road preaches contentment to that toad.                                                            Rudyard Kipling I am not exaggerating when I say that every morning, when I mount my bicycle and turn onto the main dirt road that passes our house, I think of Kipling’s poem. Traveling by car you rush past landmarks and speed over bumps and stones. But with cycling it’s a different story. Very early in the morning, with the sun just above the horizon, some of the bigger stones in the road even cast shadows.  The section next to the camp of the cows with their calves is particularly rough. The slope leading down to the dams where Sebastien does bass fishing has about a 100 metres of hard, smooth surface where my tyres sing. After that I have to sacrifice the full advantage of the decline by applying the brakes, steering through the numerous small

The furniture I am making for our new granddaughter fascinates and puzzles Skhumbuzo. His two nephews living with them in the house are almost 3 years old and they are still sleeping with their mothers. No cribs or special chairs or cupboards. While I am making the rocking chair he looks at the components taking shape and the plans lying on the work table. “This is so beautiful. And strong! But what do you use this chair for?” “The mother sits in this chair with the baby in her arms and when it goes backwards and forwards, the baby goes to sleep easily. It is a rocking chair.” “That is so clever. I think it will also help with the feeding. Every time the chair with the mother goes forward the milk of the mother will flow quickly into the baby’s mouth.” I haven’t looked at it that way. Nowhere did I take the theory on the momentum of mother’s milk into consideration.  Perhaps I should have designed the chair with a brake of sorts. After all, a pitcher c

“…the wise man looks into space and does not regard the small as too little, nor the great as too big, for he knows that there is no limit to dimensions.”                                                                                        Lao Tzu It is often difficult to say what the reasons are in choosing the next book to read. In some cases it is obvious, like when you receive a copy as a gift and you cannot wait to open it on that very first sentence. Oh, I love first sentences! Other times though, there is almost a lull in the reading air with no sense of direction and a myriad of choices. During such times, I wait. It is exciting, trusting the bigger scheme of things that’s tapped into my essence and subconscious to make suggestions, or offer guidance. It was along the latter route that Annie Dillard’s  Pilgrim at Tinker Creek  recently came to rest in my reading hand. It is by no means a new book, neither by publishing date nor acquisition. On the