The Restory Retreat Centre

We’re having a bumper Summer season. Wonderful rains cause all the rivulets to gush and gurgle like they haven’t for three consecutive seasons. It is lush and green and simply gorgeous everywhere around us. Cattle shine like polished stones where they lie ruminating in the pastures amongst wildflowers and frolicking calves. It’s the way I’ve always imagined heaven would look like. And we have swallows. Hundreds of tiny fighter pilots that descend on us every morning, swooping and diving just above the lawn. We also have flies. Hordes of them, caused by a combination of factors: a cattle feeding lot that was recently started close by, very high temperatures and all this rain. We’re doing everything we can to handle the problem without resorting to chemical means: burners with peppermint and citronella oil work well to repel the pesky things inside our home. Outside we have bags of flybait that fill up alarmingly quickly. But still, it is not enough. Walking or sitting...

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