The Week According To Weatherman Pete

Weatherwise, our forecast predicts snow and pristine white landscapes, perfect for families wanting to see snow or play in it this weekend. 

While our country reels under political turmoil, insurrection and anarchy, mobs ploughed through townships, highways and malls like a derailed freight train at full speed. We, in the Western Cape, were spared the anxiety of seeing our local economy, businesses, private property and small traders being wilfully destroyed by disgruntled, hungry mobs. This contrast can inspire pride in our community's resilience.

While we stood peacefully in a queue on Wednesday to receive our second jab, I looked past the church steeple and enjoyed our snow-covered mountains with a feeling of sadness and guilt.  Wrapped in warm coats, scarves, gloves and beanies, we all took a moment to reflect on our past and how unscathed we are.  Nelson Mandela (a sculpture by renowned Worcester artist Lorna Binneman) stands proudly behind a palisade fence on our church square, a few drops of condensation warm in the early morning sun and run down his cheeks, quite apt.  I wonder what he would make of all this as he casts his eyes up to the mountain.  Where will his help have come from, and what would he have done in similar circumstances?

At nine o’clock sharp, the queue started snaking its way into the Town Hall with practised precision by the staff on duty. Like a well-oiled machine, we were herded and instructed to bare our left arms, difficult with the layers. I have nothing to hide, and after four babies, who cares. After 60, we’re invisible anyway; I reminded myself as I stripped, baring my upper body to the nurse and an astonished man behind the computer.

Within half an hour, including the 15-minute wait, we were strapped up in the Land Cruiser. In the back, our picnic basket was packed and ready for a day in the snow. 

At the Rietdakkie Padstal, en route to Ceres, we stopped, filled our mugs with steaming coffee, and ordered a Roosterkoek for breakfast. Delicious it was. It’s no surprise that cars are always parked there, with customers buying refreshments, vegetables, homemade eats, drinks, and even art.  This farm stall is worth a stop.  Oh, no, that's not my broom parked there!

The mountains were snow-covered all along our route to the Ceres Karoo, sometimes just a sprinkling, but often thick enough to ski, if one could get there!

We headed on towards the Klondyke cherry farms and the Matroosberg, the highest peak in the area.  It’s school holidays, and of course, everyone was out in full force to enjoy a gorgeous sunny champagne day in the snow.  I recalled trips with my children and couldn’t help the sudden pangs of nostalgia. The lump in my throat was unbearable.  Now they live in the far northern hemisphere, where snow is a given.

Cars stopped at the first sign of snow, and excited families touched the melting snow. I saw a forgotten snowman's nose in a patch, reminding me of the joy shared with loved ones during these outings. 

There were happy families everywhere who’d come from all over to enjoy a picnic and a frolic on the slopes. Grandpas instructed small children while Mothers warned of the dangers of slipping and sliding when not concentrating.  I should’ve taken heed. My cushioned derriere broke my fall on four occasions when my fur-lined boots slipped on cracking ice.

After our trek up a koppie to see what was on the other side, a spell of watching children tossing snowballs and a rest on a flat rock, we made our way back to the car at a leisurely pace.

Our route back to Ceres took us through quiet, sunny spots perfect for outdoor family time.  We spread our picnic, enjoyed warm spicy soup, and felt refreshed by nature's simple pleasures, reinforcing the importance of outdoor activities and togetherness.

Lockdown has affected our lives, which we understand and abide by, but being out in nature, with the sounds of children’s laughter and families getting out and having fun, lifted our spirits in a way that is hard to describe.  We return home feeling lighter somehow, and our batteries charged, ready to face the new, never-ending onslaught which is our “new normal”.

In a recent tribute to his Mother, Richard Branson thanked her for encouraging her children always to pursue their dreams and grab opportunities, even when they could be life-threatening. Saying, “It’s better to live dangerously than die of boredom.”  I quite agree.  Travel, no matter where, broadens our horizons, gets us away from the coalface, and boosts morale.

We hardly live dangerously, but we do enjoy a good adventure, even if it’s just around the corner.  This morning the girls and I went for our first hike into the veld after last week’s inclement weather. It was wonderful and so refreshing to be outdoors again.  I believe our sunny days will be short-lived. Rain clouds are gathering for a further cold spell.  In Africa, it never rains but pours.

Thankfully, the train is grinding to a halt as communities come together to sift through the ashes, asking why and hopefully finding solutions to the conditions that led to the riots.