Wandering into the future – Matroosberg Nature Reserve

July 20, 2020 Posted in Review / Travel / The Honey Badger Diaries

It's no use crying over spilt milk. We’ve had our chips, and now we must suck it up and move on, without the help or approval of the government, closed borders or the WHO. Our lives are still in our hands. What we do with the situation takes creative thinking and the will to act. With the support and encouragement of our significant other, a friend, a family member, or a kind neighbour, anything is possible. The long and short of it? We're resilient. There is a life with COVID-19. We must adapt. This crisis is not our first rodeo, and it's not the first time my life has changed in the blink of an eye.

My grandparents survived the Rinderpest (my great-grandparents), two Boer Wars, concentration camps, two world wars, blackouts, and the Great Depression. Millions succumbed to Spanish flu and polio (my Ouma suffered debilitating pain, with crippled legs, callipers, and built-up shoes. Nothing could stop her from leading a full life). Apartheid. Measles, chickenpox, malaria, TB, HIV, and so the list goes on. This is Africa; everything befalling humanity filters down, engulfing us, but not paralysing us. No. We’ve survived it all.

Something magical happens when a great black winter storm hits the Cape. The aftermath can be catastrophic, but looking up at the mountains, especially the white-capped Brandwacht Peaks, makes it all worth it. Early-morning sunlight turns the slopes golden; noon brings silver hues. It’s breathtaking and truly mesmerising.

We decided to pack up our troubles, a few bottles of excellent wine, a basket of delicious comfort food, and a shiralee of my crocheted blankets, and head off into the Karoo for a longish weekend and a road trip.

Butch reversed the Honey Badger out of storage, had the tyres checked, filled her with diesel and drinking water, then strapped on our bicycles. We dusted her off; I swear she gave herself a good shake as we rumbled off, her pistons pumping with pleasure. We looked like Cheshire cats.

Up into the Ceres Karoo, we galloped. Like a string of ants, vehicles from all directions crossed our path as day-trippers returned home after magical hours in the snow. Delighted children, wrapped in layers of cardigans, puffer jackets, scarves, beanies and gloves, scooped up handfuls of snow to toss at siblings. Wellingtons were covered in slush as walkers stomped their feet to loosen clumps of mud drying on the soles of their boots. Last stragglers, stretching the day to its bitter end, opened their back doors to sit on the flaps and enjoy afternoon coffee and hot chocolate before gathering their children, who were playing chase in the fields, and heading home before curfew. Everyone sported ruddy red cheeks, runny noses and an excited glint in their eyes—a good day.

I sent a dozen pictures to my children on the family WhatsApp. Not impressed, the boys said, “Looks like fun.” Or “have fun.” Lise said, “Oooooooh, looks amazing. Snow isn’t all that, and a bag of chips, let me tell you, but have a blast nonetheless.” I couldn’t let the opportunity pass and replied, “It’s uncanny how excited we get every time there’s snowfall on our mountains. Can you remember how excited we were? Still like that. Maybe because it happens so seldom. Like a reward after the terrible storms. Looks like Switzerland in the summer!” My beloved Big Erin posted a crying-face emoji. Her comment: “It’s a touch of frost compared to the heaps we have to deal with here. That’s why it’s enjoyable. Small doses!” In all fairness, we can’t compare a Cape winter to a Saskatchewan deep freeze. It would be like comparing a dusting of icing on a sponge cake to fondant icing on a wedding cake.

Perhaps we cope far better with small doses. I love my insignificant life and our quick trips, and I can deal with myself in small doses too. Embracing these small moments helps us stay resilient and makes life more manageable.

We stopped off at the Matroosberg Nature Reserve for the night. Numbers say it all. The perfect day-trip getaway for families, 4x4 enthusiasts, nature lovers, campers, hikers and fun-seekers. Pack a basket, grab your winter woollens, and head off for a day of fun. There’s enough time to explore and return home before curfew.

After we walked into the valley, I collected pinecones for our weekend fires, and Butch shook up an exciting cocktail at sunset. When temperatures dropped, we scuttled indoors for piping-hot soup and crusty bread. We downloaded the latest messages from friends and told them our news. I filled my hot water bottle, and we both retired to our cosy bed, piled high with blankets. Butch read, and I watched a film on my iPad (I download films from Netflix before our trips). The open-air showers, dappled with melting snow, fascinated us and inspired a photo.

The next morning, we departed just as the centipede of day-trippers returned. Their excited smiles of anticipation were infectious.

For brunch, we stopped at the Tankwa Padstal, a favourite watering hole for travellers, before heading deep into the Karoo for the weekend. The owner gave us an update on local news. The free Wi-Fi would be our last link to the outside world for three days. Exactly what the doctor ordered. Our "roosterkoek" wasn't quite what I expected, but it filled a hole.

The earth is preparing for spring. This year, Mother Nature will surprise us with a magic carpet of blooms. Cherry orchards are preparing for a bumper-blossom extravaganza; December would be wasted if we didn't make a special effort to go cherry-picking at Klondike Farm. Be prepared for it.

As I end my blog, I notice the mist evaporating and the sun shining. Today will be another perfect day.

As my friend Jos would say about life, “Maricha, it is what it is. S—T or get off the pot.” Indeed, we shape our future.