The Chase – Homeward Bound

There comes a time on every trip when one’s nose turns homeward. In Afrikaans, it is likened to a spirited horse that stops in its tracks, cocks its head, and gallops back to its stables. Nothing can stop him when his head’s down. Indomitable, they are then.

Our heads turned as we finished exploring, and we knew it was time to return home. This moment of transition should evoke gentle nostalgia and appreciation for the journey's meaningful end, resonating with my readers' own experiences of closure and reflection.

Lush, sub-tropical Natal had enchanted us as we sped along better roads, past large sugar cane estates and state forests as far as the eye could see on our left, with the warm Mozambique current flowing through the Indian Ocean on our right. Finally, our sights were fixed on Eshowe, our next port of call.

There’s always a first time, and for me it was having a “garage pie” at the filling station instead of a Steers Burger. Butch loves them. What could be better than a curry pie in Natal? All those authentic Indian curry flavours came pouring out of my golden, crispy, beefy pie, chock-full of flavour. Or was it lamb? In Natal, beef is farmed, but in India, cattle were holy and wouldn’t end up in a pie like that, I’m sure. A conundrum. Yummy. I couldn’t have asked for anything better. Butch eyed my pie, but I wasn’t sharing.

We arrived at our friends Jonny and Janey’s farm, The Chase, just before lunch. We settled into their garden cottage, pulled on our bathers, grabbed our towels, and moseyed down to the pool. We dipped in, chatting with ice-cold drinks in hand, catching up on the latest news while cooling down.

A scrumptious lunch was served on the veranda at the long table, where I was introduced to family members staying over. We immediately found common ground; we all love travelling in Africa. We were regaled with tales of past adventures in Africa’s remotest parts and incidents in places like the DRC and further afield. I was enthralled.

We spent the afternoon at our leisure, exploring the extensive subtropical gardens, dipping into the pool, and later relaxing with a book under the slowly whirring ceiling fan. Then, as one does on a farm in Africa, gin and tonics were served on the veranda in the late afternoon. The conversation soon settled into its easy pace, and we learned about the farm and the activities underway.

The dynamic owners of this large estate are philanthropic and highly active in their community. Unlike many farmers who are mechanising and cutting back on labour, The Chase places employment high on its list of priorities. Here, teaching and empowering community labourers is a matter of pride.

Large swathes of land are now planted with bananas, sugar cane, and, believe it or not, hectares of Proteas—all labour-intensive crops. Although the Proteas were not in bloom, we enjoyed seeing our fynbos thriving on a farm in Natal. The manager is an import and hails from the Hemel-en-Aarde Valley in our neck of the woods. All the bananas produced and harvested are for the insatiable local market.

Hearing the farm's uplifting story filled me with hope and pride. It's inspiring to see South Africans doing good, even amid challenges, and I want my readers to feel encouraged.

We spent two glorious nights with Jono and Janey, their beautiful girls, and their delightful grandchildren before we had to saddle up once again and gallop off, my father’s words ringing in my ears. “Family, fish and friends go off after three days”!

Thank you, Jono and Janey, for your warm hospitality and for sharing your local culture, which made us feel truly at home and appreciated.

I will keep my eyes peeled. Who knows, we might see The Chase truck loaded with bananas, and proteas for delivery on our travels one day.  That would be lovely!

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If you don’t stay bitter and angry for too long

P.S. Whenever I see Peonies, I think of you, Janey and this quote: “Gardening is the handiest excuse for being a philosopher. Nobody guesses, nobody accuses, nobody knows, but there you are, Plato in the peonies, Socrates force-growing his hemlock. A man toting a sack of blood manure across his lawn is kin to Atlas, letting the world spin easy on his shoulder.” ~ Ray Bradbury