The Restory Retreat Centre

“Francis called all creatures, no matter how small by the name of brother and sister; because he knew they had the same source as himself.”                                                     Saint Bonaventure's Life of St Francis "If humankind could have known God without the world, God would never have created the world."                                                     Meister Eckhart "In that renewal there is no longer Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave and free; but Christ is all and in all!"                                                   Colossians 3:11 ...

Photograph by Matilda Angus His name is Monty. Actually Montgomery, but he is only addressed that way if he’s doing something a naughty Monty would do. I also call him “Montego Bay” or “Wille Waghond” (Afrikaans for wild guard dog). Sebastien calls him “Monkey dog”. About the size of a brick, maybe smaller, with a thimble mouth, he epitomizes chutzpah. He has taken the guard duty of Barowfield onto himself, being of the opinion that it was in a shambles when he arrived here about four months ago. At the slightest noise outside, he’ll run from door to door or jump onto the coach and then into the wide window sill to deliver his warning or to inspect. Among other things, 800 kg bulls are charged and snakes confronted. And he’ll end up with the juicy bone initially given to Jasper the Border collie and will protect it so ferociously that none of the bigger dogs will come near him. With absolutely nothing to his advantage or in his favor but attitude. The love of his life is...

Painting by Ena Lund Me and the hares again. (See the post  Two hares. And more ) Roxy the Labrador killed a young one yesterday morning. By some strange coincidence at almost the exact moment men from the informal settlement in the area hunted with their dogs in the long grass bordering our farm. I heard the excitement when the dogs found the hare, saw the chase in the distance, how it was eventually killed by a blow of a stick. I shouted at them, waved my arms. They merely moved further away. People may call me weak, but it all disturbs me deeply. I feel sick to my stomach. Tonight I found Walter de la Mare’s poem, the one I was remembering in fragments during the day. Hi! Hi! Handsome hunting man,  Fire your little gun,  Bang! Now the animal Is dead and dumb and done. Never more to peep again, creep again, leap again, Eat or sleep or drink again, oh, what fun! Yes.... George

Photograph by George Angus With the shaper running and me busy making a set of blades for a silage cutter, the rhythm of the workshop sets in. Somebody coming in from outside might think I'm running a veterinary field hospital with dogs strewn all over the floor. Jasper the Border Collie close to the small welding machine, Roxy the Labrador with her cheek against the shaper. Healthy and happy. We're just working. God’s in His heaven - All’s right with the world! George