There’s a lovely old sandstone farmhouse in the Lotheni Valley, one of the Drakensberg / uKhahlamba’s beautiful valleys. We had some great adventures with good friends and our kids up there. These pics are from a few visits over time. – ca.2003 to 2011 –
– Simes’ Cottage – . Lotheni valley -. in Ukahlamba –
As an adult retreat it’s our idea of paradise: no electricity, no cellphone reception, no wifi. Peace. Plenty of hot water, a gas stove to cook and boil water on, candlelight, a lovely fireplace, cozy inside. Luxury. Long-suffering friends the Adlams, Taylors, Foggs and Abercrombies, all blissfully child-free, would tolerate the disruption our two – who were aged from about one to about thirteen over the ten years we went there – could cause. I think they loved it! I know they loved the brats and were very kind to them.
Some are happy to poseSome are not– friends n brats –
A great spot for fishing, birding, botanising or sitting with a G&T and gazing into the distance . .
– there were people who would disturb this tranquility with lures and line –
Adventure in Yellowwood Cave
It had been years since I’d slept out in the ‘Berg and I was pleased when Gayle and Grant readily agreed to spend a night in a cave in 2011. Aitch was feeling a bit weak, so decided to stay in the comfort of the cottage. It was May already, so getting a bit chilly.
– we set off to overnight in Yellowwood Cave –
Settling down for the night on the hard floor of the cave I gazed out through the yellowwood tree branches at the night sky, ablaze with a million stars. I was just thinking ‘It’s been too long, this is the life! I’m in paradise!’ when a small voice piped up next to my ear, ‘Daddy I don’t like it here.’ Oh, well, she may not repeat the exercise, but I doubt she’ll ever forget it. Jessie lay on my one side. Tom on the other side in a double sleeping bag we shared. At least they were warm.
– Yellowwood Cave – internet pic –
Getting Bolder on Bikes
– wheee-ee! –
Fun with Aitch
Once Ma took the kids off up the mountain trail, to give the fishing and reading adults ‘a piece of quiet,’ as TomTom used to say for peace and quiet.
– off they go – Aitch takes our kids on a walk – with her camera as always –– peace descends on earth – goodwill too –– Aitch says Shuck your clothes and jump in! Mud bath Simes Cottage 2007 –– Really Mom? – Yes, Go ON! Jump in! – OK!! –– What? Go back now? – – Just like this? – Yes, off you go! Just don’t go indoors! –– Dad cleans up apres mud bath –
Another Piece of Quiet
We snuck the kids off to have breakfast one morning in the kombi soon after they woke, to allow the adults to sleep in. Good birding opportunity, too.
– breakfast away from the cottage where the addleds are sleeping – Jess takes blankets, Mom takes food – Afterwards, Jess steers us back –
Whipping the Water into a Froth
– Fishermen – Please be polite & Kind to them – Don’t work out their Hours-Per-Fish average! –
In 1297 the Gordon family arrived at Lochinvar from Berwickshire. They established a castle on an island in the lake – or loch, as this was in Scotland. Lochinvar.
In 1908 another Scot, Mr Horne, a cattle farmer from Botswana, arrived on the banks of the Kafue river in Northern Rhodesia long before it became Zambia. The local chief, Hamusonde, gave? sold? him some land – or did Horne simply claim it? – or did the colonial government give it to him? He registered it on behalf of the British South Africa Company.
Known locally as ‘the Major,’ Horne built a big old red brick farmhouse. He called it Lochinvar and it is now known as the old Lochinvar Ranch homestead.
Previously little of this land had been used for farming because of the wild game here, including lion and leopard. To convert the land into a cattle ranch, ‘Major’ Horne set about exterminating the local wildlife in a ruthless program of annihilation. Populations of sable, roan, eland, warthog and wildebeest were wiped out, as well as all the predators he could find. The last lion that ventured into the area is thought to have been killed around 1947.
In 1966 the Zambian government claimed the land back and declared it a nature reserve.
In 2003 our little Swanie family drove past a sign that said Lochinvar National Park. As we’d never heard of it, we decided to go and explore this place. What say, Aitch? I asked. Go for it, she said, as she almost always did. Around 40km of rough road later we arrived at the gate as darkness fell.
– Lochinvar? Never heard of it – a sign on the twisty way to the park –– a more recent pic of the gate –
‘Sorry, but you can’t go in,’ said the friendly soldier with a gun. ‘Sorry, but we have to,’ said I. ‘You see, I can’t let these little kids sleep out here and nor can you, so please hop onto your radio and explain that to your main man.’ Back he came – ‘Sorry, but the main man says the gate is closed.’ ‘You just didn’t explain it to him nicely enough,’ I said – ‘Please tell him I can’t, you can’t and he can’t leave a 22 month old sleeping rough next to a village.’ Off he went and back he came: ‘The main man will meet you at the camp inside,’ he said.
‘You’re a marvel, well done, thank you!’ we shouted and drove in on a 4km free night drive in Lochinvar. No animals, but some nightjars in the headlights.
– Aitch and Jessie’s scrapbook –– the huge old H-shaped ranch house was used as a lovely lodge for a while – now it’s dilapidated –– our more lovely mobile lodge –– the ablutions were out of order, so we rigged up our luxury shower –– Aitch always had stuff to keep the kids happy – here, chalk and a rubber blackboard – – better pic of the lechwe – we saw them with binocs, but our little camera lens had them as distant specks! –
~~~oo0oo~~~
Lochinvar National Park
Later, we found out more about the park: In 1966 Lochinvar Ranch, as it was then called, was bought by the Zambian government with the help of a grant from the World Wildlife Fund, and converted into a Game Managed Area; The extra protection afforded to the wildlife by this designation was not enough to prevent its numbers from diminishing further, and so in 1972 Lochinvar was upgraded to a National Park. Subsequently the park has been designated by the WWF as a ‘Wetland of International Importance’, and a WWF team has been working with the local people on a project to manage the park on a sustainable basis for the benefit of both the people and the wildlife. There are a lot of settlements around Lochinvar, and local people still come into the park – as they have done for centuries. Many were unhappy with the Lochinvar Ranch ‘agreement’ – and have always felt that this is their land. They still come to gather wild foods and catch fish, and drive their cattle from one side to the other; so although major conservation efforts are being made in Lochinvar, building up the diversity and number of game species here is not an easy task.
We approached Lochinvar from Monze, on the Livingstone–Lusaka Road – about 287km from Livingstone and 186km from Lusaka. Directions: The road that heads northwest from Monze, signposted for Namwala, is just north of the grain silos on the Lusaka side of town. It passes Chongo village and forks about 8km afterwards. Ask local advice to find this junction if necessary. Take the right fork, or you will end up in Kafue. Follow this road for about 10km and then turn left at another sign. It is then about 14km to the park gate. This last section of the track twists and turns, but all the tracks that split off eventually rejoin each other and lead to the park. There are also a few more signs so, if you become unsure, ask a local person and they’ll show you the way. The gate to Lochinvar is about 48km from Monze. Most of the camps depicted on the old maps are now disused, and ‘some of the roads now seem as if they were figments of a cartographer’s imagination.’ (This from 2003 – it’ll change)
The original state-run, red-brick Lochinvar Lodge, built in the colonial style of 1912, lies abandoned. There are always ‘plans to renovate’ this dilapidated, crumbling old building, but it would take a lot of work and money. Until enough people come to Lochinvar to make a second lodge economically viable, it’s likely to remain an evocative old ruin. As the state of the park gradually deteriorated, the lodge was put up for tender to private safari operators in 1996. Star of Africa agreed to take the lodge, as part of a ‘package’ of old government properties around the country. They first planned to build a floating lodge, but settled on a luxury tented camp which they called Lechwe Plains.
Camping rough in 2003, the campsite handpump had water, but the long-drop toilet and cold shower were out of action. We were happy to be inside the park, though and were equipped to be fully self-supporting.
Although the large herds of Kafue lechwe can be spectacular, the birds are the main attraction at Lochinvar – 428 species have been recorded there! The best birding is generally close to the water, on the floodplain. We drove everywhere in our kombi, but we since read: ‘It’s probably best to walk. It’s vital to avoid driving anywhere that’s even vaguely damp on the floodplain as your vehicle will just slip through the crust and into the black cotton soil – which will probably spoil and extend your stay in equal measure.’ Sometimes ignorance is bliss.
So this is what mother Mary probably felt like! It’s 3am and still no sign or word of the little blighter. Then ***pring pring*** . .
Hello, is that Mr Swanepoel? This is Andrew of Medical Rescue Emergency Services
Shit! Worst fears and all that
Don’t worry Thomas is fine
Phew!
I have him here at St Augustines Hospital in the emergency unit. Can you come and fetch him?
Driving down the empty streets I think of mother Mary. Mary Methodist. And how she handled me in my fun days. Did she shout? Did she rant? Did she threaten? None of the above. I tried hard raising kids – not always successfully – to emulate Mom, appreciating hugely how patient she was with me, and knowing confrontations with me would not have ended well. Love, Patience, and a judicial dose of Los My Uit – not interfering – had worked for me. I mean, look at me . .
Tom’s story turned out to be along these lines: A house party in Kloof; Parents away; The girl whose house it was taking Dad’s Ford Everest, filled with okes, for a spin; She was driving fine, when an older oke said, Here! Lemme Drive! after which things sped up! In downtown Durban the cops took an interest in his driving style, and the clever oke thought he could outrun them; Turning a corner he rolled the Everest, bringing the short chase to an end; He decided to scarper, and Tom’s not sure if the cops got him; The rest were taken to St Augustines by ambulance, a few slightly injured. I met some of their parents and we all nodded gravely; Some were muttering threats and blame. Tom was unscathed and we went home.
Memories of Mom peeking her head into my Country Mansion garden bedroom on some mornings-after: Are you back? Oh, Good; or I’m Glad You’re Safe; and once: Were You On That Train?
~~~oo0oo~~~
Even Mom’s gentle attempts at warning served no purpose. In desperation she invoked the dominee: ‘You know, Ds Ras says ‘Na Middernag Kom Die Duiwel Uit!’ she warned. That sounded like fun and only convinced me the night actually started later in the evenings. Love and Patience.
~~~oo0oo~~~
dominees – fire and brimstone preachers
Los My Uit – benevolent, discreet, watchful neglect
Na Middernag Kom Die Duiwel Uit! – after midnight the Devil makes a grand appearance, TaDAAA!! – like Freddie Mercury – and the fun begins!!
~~~oo0oo~~~
One interesting side-effect: Tom would often say, ‘Dad, speed up please’ with my driving. After this he often says, ‘Dad, slow down please’ when I go round a bend!
Jessie discovered and avidly watched live-streamed game drives on the internet. Most were from the Maasai Mara on Kenyan plains, and the Sabi Sands in the South African lowveld. WildEarth and SafariLive. Then she found out ‘her personal connection’ to it: The producer was a big supporter of hers when she first arrived in our home as a little girl! So she’s a big fan of Kirsty‘s, who was involved offscreen, as producer of this very popular program.
– Kirsty was a star with our two year-old Jessie –– Kirsty bravely preventing the Border Collie from eating my children –
This morning I got an invitation to a wedding; and also a virtual invitation to a wedding, or was it an invitation to a virtual wedding? And I called out to Jess: Hey Jess, remember Kirsty’s getting married? Well, she’s gonna livestream the whole thing!
Hey, natch, what else? Life isn’t ‘portrayed’ online; life now HAPPENS online.
I’m sure Jessie – now 22 – will watch the wedding with keen interest as it unfolds in the KwaZulu Natal Midlands! She was a bit disappointed in my decision not to attend in person.
I’ll report back . .
~~~oo0oo~~~
Why, Dad? I decided not to go for good reasons all to do with me. I’m not anti-social; I’m just not very social. I’d love to hear about it, but I don’t want to be there. Yeah, weird, I know.
If you like weddings you won’t understand.
~~~oo0oo~~~
Report back: Well, I watched a bit. I remember speeches and men in skirts and I think some bagpipe noises. These are all things I try to avoid.
Jess missed it. She was away on one of her lost years escapades.
Just a day trip. Late start, so it was already warm and quiet by the time we got there.
– Mfolosi March 2020 –
Bird list: Barbets, Crested and Acacia Pied; Bulbul, Dark-capped; Greenbul, Sombre; Eagles, Long-crested and Brown Snake-; Shrike, Red-backed and Fiscal; Bush-shrikes, Gorgeous and Orange-breasted; Starlings, Cape Glossy and Violet-backed; Swallows, Wire-tailed and Lesser Striped; Kite, Yellow-billed; Crow, Pied; Wagtail, Pied; Cisticola, Rattling; Lark, Rufous-naped; Petronia, Yellow-throated; Batis, Cape; Flycatcher, Spotted; Pytilia, Green-winged; Tchagra, Black-crowned; Vulture, White-backed; Lapwing, Blacksmith; Thick-knee, Water; Oxpecker, Red-billed; Heron, Black-headed; Mousebird, Red-faced; Waxbill, Blue; Kingfisher, Brown-hooded; Plover, Three-banded; – In four hours –
– Three-banded Plover –
Jess was the spotter as usual; She spotted the eles, buffalo, kudu, wildebeast, warthogs, impala, zebra, giraffe, rhino; and the dung beetles. The only animal she didn’t spot first was a crocodile in the Black Mfolosi river which I spotted while she and Jordi were making lunch!
And this was a better lunch! She remembered the mayonnaise. Forgot the tomatoes, though. I like tomato on my rolls. So – still room for improvement, Jess . .
A lovely feature this visit was four or five sounders of warthogs, with up to seven hotdog-sized hoglets trotting next to Ma, tails in the air. We say when their tails are up it means ‘they have signal.’
~~~oo0oo~~~
– Stapelia gigantea –
Jessie took the pic of the Stapelia – one of the largest flowers in the plant kingdom. This one was probably over 300mm across. Smells like something died – hence, Giant Carrion Flower. Used in traditional medicine to treat hysteria and pain; in sorcery, to cause the death of one you dislike! Take that!
~~~oo0oo~~~
Helpful people
My numberplate was hanging down on one side – yes, something clever I did – but it was secure on the other side; so just hanging vertically instead of horizontally like normal numberplates. An Ezimvelo ranger flagged us down: Your numberplate is falling off. Yes, thank you. It’s secure on one side. I’ll fix it when I get home. Nine times this happened before lunch! Four rangers and five citizens flagged me down and instead of saying ‘There are lions round the next bend’ each one of them said Your numberplate is falling off. And nine times I said Yes, thank you. It’s secure on one side. I’ll fix it when I get home.
Jeeesh! Uncharacteristically, I fixed it with cable ties at the lunch stop.
(this blog is about happenings, disasters, surprises and chaos since I caught marriage and kids. But every now and then I re-post a story from my blissful, trouble-free, beer-fuelled bachelor days blog. Here’s one):
I joked that my gran Annie thought ‘the queen’ was also the queen of South Africa. Elizabeth Two, not Pieter-Dirk. And I thought ‘You know, Annie was probably alive ‘under’ Queen Victoria!’
So I thought I’d check.
Well, she certainly was. And what’s more, she actually ‘lived under’ six British Monarchs!
Smiling Vicky; Eddie Seven; Georgie Five; Eddie Eight; Georgie Six; Lizzie Two Second
How’s that! Long live the Queens! Long live the Kings! But longer live our Annie!
– Annie 1893 – 1983 looking regal, complete with corgi and matching twinset –
~~oo0oo~~
I myself have lived through the (distant, irrelevant) reign of Lizzie Two Second and . . oh, only Lizzie. She recently de-throned or defrocked her great-great-granma Victoria as longest reigning Breetish monarch. Poor old Bakoor Charlie has gone straight from lifelong unemployment on the dole, straight into pensionerhood before ever actually doing anything. He’s seventy one in the shade, has never worked a day in his life and is still sitting around waiting for a vacancy to arise.
“Royalty” is such BullShit. If his mother keeled over millions would be wasted putting a hat on his head; after which he’ll carry on doing nothing while not wearing that stupid hat. We humans are incredibly stupid often.
– dreaming of his hat –
~~~oo0oo~~~
breetish – Mugabe-speak for that island to the left and north of France;
‘Dad, I need an eyebrow piercing.’ Sure Jess, get it one day when you have the money and you’re living on your own, love.
Strategically she drops the subject till the old man has forgotten all about it. So ten minutes later she comes from a different angle: ‘Dad, remember when you sold my scooter? You said I could have that money.‘ Sure Jess, what’s left of it after you pay your debts. ‘OK,’ she works out I owe her R330. Sucker pays.
** pring ** ‘Please can you fetch me n Sindi from Pav, Dad?’ Sure thing love. On the way home from work I pick them up at the shopping centre – this is the same Sindi who was Jessie’s accomplice in the tattoo surprise. I immediately spot the bauble on her eyebrow. What the heck is that silver fly on your eyebrow, Jess?
They both break out in peals of laughter. Once again she’s seeking forgiveness, knowing seeking permission would have been futile.
– aaargh! my sweetheart! –
Well I hope that hurt Jess. You needed that like (another) hole in the head (and you now have eleven of them). Seven holes you were born with: Two earholes, two eyesockets, two nostrils and one mouth which gives your Dad lip. The 8th and 9th were done in cahoots with your Mom: earlobes. The nose and eyebrow were sprung on your poor unsuspecting Dad!
In her defence, she has been meticulous about keeping them clean and sterilised. Still, aaaargh!!
What an interesting cul de sac is Elston Place. Sure there are five boring houses with abelungu in them, and one high-wall complex called Maroela or Marula something with faceless people living in it who don’t know that if you live in a ten-gate dead end you GREET everyone who lives there . . or who drives past.
BUT: We also have four council houses with hordes of kids. THAT’s what makes our road interesting.
Those that visited when we first arrived ranged from three to thirteen, Fezile, Asanda, Katelo, Khanyiso, Michael, boys. Andile, Azokuhle & Minenhle girls. Who exactly they belong to I never fully worked out. But the kids (mine) knew, and shook their head when I asked – yet again. The older ones have moved up and on. They’re now thirteen years older, and too cool for our pool; or our trampoline and jungle gym – both of which are now gone. Three of those now have bambinos already. Kids with kids. I fright for that.
The new generation now is all girls: Lwandle, Amahle, Lisa and Cutie. They worship our Jessie:
– as far as these princesses are concerned, Jess is the Queen of Elston Place –
One house is childless. Occupied by Bill G, ex-Durban Corpse employee who knows everything, especially about how grass and verges should be cut – and specialising in kids’ education: “You must study hard, y’hear? My daughter didn’t play in the street and look today there she is, a doctor.” We’ve never seen his kids, he’s right about that much.
One is Thandi, who works at Woolies and goes to Virgin Active Gym every day, walking her ample bum 3km’s there and 3km’s back (even tho there’s a gym in our nearby centre that she works in – I guess Woolies has her on Discovery Health, and therefore Vitality, and therefore Virgin Gym).
One has a green car and drives her kids to school at Westville Jr Primary every morning. Her kids don’t visit or play in the road.
Lawrence and his young wife and little daughter Cutie. He worked at Nourish Cafe nearby, but they closed, so now he walks to a far-away newly-opened PicknPay near Thandi’s gym.
And we have N and S from Pakistan with dogs that bark incessantly right in my ear when I’m in my bedroom and vehicles that arrive and leave at all times of the day & night. That’s the only real bummer of the neighbourhood. Sometimes I get up and bellow and throw stones until they finally shut the dogs up. They might think I’m bonkers. I KNOW they are. They built a double story on top of their garage then complained they could see into my yard! They finally sold and left after nineteen years in the cul de sac. I actually got on well with them. They just didn’t know how to treat or train dogs. They shouldn’t have had any.
Deo was our Metro cop. It was good to have a Metro cop vehicle in our road with his smiling face in it. But he’s late. Car accident. I thought he’d been hit in the blue & white Metro car by a truck, but his widow Nkosazana came round yesterday dressed all in black top-to-toe including scarf and hat, and filled me in on the details: He was driving his private Nissan X-Trail and hit (or was hit by) a Toyota Hilux bakkie. Neither he nor his mistress were badly hurt, but he “wasn’t right” and was sent back to Westville hospital after a while, then on to Entabeni as his condition worsened. There he died and his wife (who he’d ‘kicked out’ in October) was only then able to get there and try and sort things out. Mistress in the meantime had the house keys and took documents, cellphones, watches and stuff. His Metro cop colleagues believed the wife and took her around to the mistress’ place and got some of the stuff back. Nkosazana needed me to update her CV so she can look for another job as she was recently retrenched from the security company where she was a CCTV operator. Bliksem. Three kids. Around 19, 16 and 13.
Elston Place also borders the 100 acre wood. Actually better, the 100 hectare Palmiet Nature Reserve, and the day before yesterday I saw a new bird at my bird bath: A Yellow-bellied Greenbul.
The End.
~~~oo0oo~~~
abelungu – pale, formal people
cul-de-sac – (from French for ‘bottom of bag’), no through road or no exit road, is a street with only one inlet or outlet – a ‘dead end.’ Not that we’re calling our street a dead end!
Or biblically, gold, frankincense and myrrh. Gold is valuable, frankincense and myrrh not so much. but BULLSHIT! Now, bullshit: Bullshit has made billions. Take how you were bullshitted and went Oooh! and Aaah! when you were told gold, frankincense and myrrh, even when you didn’t know what the hell they were talking about, and when you SHOULD have been asking WTF is that!? George Davie? Emma Morton? Anybody? What’s frankincense? would have caused an awkward silence, followed by whispers of ‘trouble-maker.’ Good children would go Oooh! and Aaah! and move on . .
So WTF IS‘frankincense and myrrh?’
Smellies. Derived from tree sap, or gum resin, both frankincense and myrrh are prized for their alluring fragrance. Frankincense is a milky white resin extracted from Boswellia sacra, a small tree that grows in Somalia, Oman and Yemen. These grow to a height of five meters, have papery bark, sparse bunches of paired leaves, and flowers with white petals and a yellow or red center.
Myrrh is a reddish resin that comes from Commiphora myrrha, a tree commonly used in the production of myrrh. It can be found in the shallow, rocky soils of Ethiopia, Kenya, Oman, Saudi Arabia and Somalia. It boasts spiny branches with sparse leaves that grow in groups of three, and can reach a height of three meters.
The processes for extracting the sap of Boswellia for frankincense, and Commiphora for myrrh, are essentially identical: Harvesters make a longitudinal cut in the tree’s trunk, which pierces gum resin reservoirs located within the bark. The sap slowly oozes from the cut and drips down the tree, forming tear-shaped droplets that are left to harden on the side of the tree. These beads are collected after two weeks.
– sap, saps –
It is anti-bacterial, anti-fungal, anti-pest and can be used for oral uses. It has been used as an astringent, antiseptic, anti-parasitic, anti-tissive, emmenagogue (huh? emetic?), and antispasmodic agent. It was commonly included in mixtures used to treat worms, wounds, and sepsis. And very helpful in fumigation. Hey! When your only tool is a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail, right? Our parents had castor oil and guess what? They used it for a lot of the above.
~~oo0oo~~
The lesson? Don’t ever say Oooh!and Aaah! Say WTF is THAT!?? And when precocious kids ask it like that, take them seriously and answer – or say I Don’t Know.
Only fair if we’re talking about caged birds vs flying free, to show the creatures we have kept in cages in the wild: Gerbils, hamsters and a corn snake.
Much harder to find pictures of them in the wild on the internet! Most pics are of them in captivity.
Driving Under the Influence. After knocking back a few – a few too many chocolate milks, maybe? – Jessie grabbed the keys to Aitch’s VW Polo and sallied forth determinedly . .
where’sh that Polo of Mom’s? I’ve got things to do, places to go!– I’m outta here! –– that’s better! – what’s this thing, anyway? –– Yee Ha!! – get outta my way! –
Let’s go fishing Dad – at Blue Lagoon. Just till 7pm.
As we were leaving a pelican flew overhead and from across the lagoon came the plaintive ‘flat battery’ cry of the Water Thick-knee (Dikkop) . .
~~~oo0oo~~~
again, thank you xeno-canto.org for bird sounds
~~~oo0oo~~~
A week later the fishing bug is still strong! This time Tom goes to Doonside rocks with fellow keen fisherman and school buddy Ryan.
They chose the spot and Tom was surprised when I showed him it was directly below Aitch’s Mom Iona’s last place of abode: The Mooi Hawens frail care home.
Tom went to visit Ziggy in Umhlanga so Jess and I had a late breakfast at Europa Cafe – poached eggs, haloumi, mushrooms, bacon, tsatsiki, all-sorts, yum! Followed by delicious hot bitter black coffee and some sitting back and sighing. And then, what the hell, a chocolate milkshake!
Then off for a stroll at the lagoon in the Umhlanga Nature Reserve, a KZN Wildlife park.
A few birds – Diederik Cuckoo, Southern Masked Weaver, Bronze Mannikin, Familiar Chat, Olive Sunbird – but it was midday. I heard the cluck – cluck – cluckcluckcluck of a Little Rush Warbler while I was photographing a butterfly, so I switched to video:
We’re on a septic tank and a soakpit and I’m the only one who cares.
So I think about all our waste and our waste-water, as none of it leaves the property. It all stays right here and must be done right.
So whenever I had a pot or pan or plate with grease, oil, fat or protein on it, I would have it pre-washed before running the dishwater. That way less fatty waste was in the pipes and the pits.
– not actually Sambucca – just a useful cousin of hers on the internet –
Made perfect sense to me, was hygienic and made a huge difference to the gunge in the system, as Sambucca’s poop would be flushed down the toilet same as ours, and I wouldn’t need to pay for a honeysucker truck to suck.
Yet my co-habitants thought EW! and YUCK! Sambucca’s spit, Dad! – !!?? – Hello! It gets washed off at high temperature, dudes. They remained unimpressed. I remained unmoved. Sambucca’s movements were regular.
Now Sambucca has shuffled off and they’re happy and I’m not. The ants – millions of them, are also happy. And I’m not.
~~~oo0oo~~~
The pic is not actually Sambucca – this is Greg Price’s picture from Hilary Price’s cartoon website Rhymes With Orange. Sambucca got given her licking n pre-wash duties outside the kitchen door. She LURVED the job! Sometimes, though, she’d be less than thorough and I had to say Hey! Lick Up! – that was when it was olive oil. When it was dead animal juice she would lick the platter clean.
~~~oo0oo~~~
Another cool honeysucker truck . .
Although the teenagers were critical, I received support from adults who also use the doggie pre-wash method; regrets that cats don’t do leftovers from Rita – and even evidence of the system working live, from Gayle:
– Coco Adlam earning his Epol by assisting with the rinse cycle –
The little uns in our cul de sac from a while ago are big now, and new little ones are making their presence felt!
Thabiso (Tabs) and Andile are big now – all senior primary school longs, shirts and ties; while little Lisa heads off for her first day of ‘Big School’ (pre-school)!!
Michael – starting school 14 years ago when we got here, now driving his Mom’s car – sent the pic.
