Damn, it was hot. Like an oven.
I'd wandered outside in my mission to find a cool spot. No, my mind had not succumbed to heat stroke, I just could not find a cool spot in the house.
I took a towel and a pillow and quietly slipped outside into the garden and surveyed the green lawn while trying to decide under which huge oak tree I would make my siesta spot.
The children were playing inside while the parents tried to relax in the scorching heat. The Husband was lying in a prone position on a princess duvet trying to catch a bit of shut-eye and NM and Jack were doing puzzles on a tablet. Well, NM was doing puzzles, Jack was trying to catch 40 winks beside her.
The Boy and Poppie and P were playing topless on the cool cement floor, probably not a bad place to be if you want to keep cool. Outside, the Sunday afternoon baked in the Franschhoek summer heat and not an oak leaf fluttered in the dry hot air.
I chose my shady spot and lay down under a tree. My back settled on the towel and I could feel the spongy lawn cushion my body and the faint coolness of the earth underneath me. In the back of my mind I keep an eye out for displaced snakes from the neighbouring cattle farm that experienced a runaway fire two weeks ago.
My original idea was to close my eyes and catch up on some lost sleep from the early hours of that morning but I found myself gazing up into the tree's branches and that of its neighbour. Beautiful long branches stretching to touch the tree beside it, and I imagined that trees with that kind of reach must need pretty deep roots to keep it form toppling over. They reach deep down below me and thrive on the many clear sweet mountain water ducts running below the farm.
The oak leaves are still mostly green but starting to turn a lovely bright yellowy green. We are heading into autumn and in a few more months these branches will be bare. I take stock of all the leaves on the trees and decide that Jack will need to dust his rake off soon. Already there are a lot of acorns lying below on the grass.
I look for the squirrels that have been scampering along the branches but the tree is quiet, except for the hundreds of wasps visiting the branches above me. I never noticed them before. What do wasps need in acorn trees? Nonetheless, there are hundreds of them doing their thing high above me.
I turn my head to the right and take in a beautiful weeping willow and a lime tree and a hedge of baby blue plumbago. Behind them the majestic Drakenstein mountains form the backdrop to my afternoon siesta.
The weeping willow's branches undulate gently in a light breath of an air current. I hear a rustling high above me and notice a breeze is moving through the oak branches. An acorn is released from its arboreal realm and drops to the ground, bouncing once. One or two oak leaves lose their tenuous grip and pivot downwards on the breeze and take up residence on the grass alongside me.
I am lying there doing nothing but absorbing His quiet Greatness, imagining His life-giving breath whispering though the branches above. Bliss. I have needed this quiet time for a while. Where I do nothing but be quiet and listen. With no little body climbing all over me or pulling my hand to show me something or asking me questions or asking for still more juice. Just a time for being me, alone and enjoying the hush.
I close my eyes with my only concern being that an acorn will leave an imprint on my forehead. I hear insects buzzing around me but not bothering me. Unlike the Nazi mosquito I had in our room early this morning. Little winged demonized bugger.
From the house I hear P, the youngest family member, lustily singing Barney's song "I love you, you love me, we're a happy family.." P's song peters out as he discovers something else of interest. The garden is quiet again.
I recap on our weekend so far.
Its a special weekend for the Darling Husband and I. We celebrate 5 years of marriage. Well done, medals all around. The best few years of my life. I like to think I can speak for him too.
Our friends, Jack and NM had invited us out to their farm in the beautiful wine lands town of Franchhoek. We always enjoy their company as we can be our selves with each other. No hang-ups, issues or pretenses. We are who we are. The Griswold's in all their glory. It helps that our children get on like wild fire too.
NM had take us to a wine festival in the area where we bought a glass each and were given permission to taste a bunch of different wines on a bunch of different wine estates. What could be better?
We had a great time sampling young wines, unfiltered wines, wines with a distinct coffee chocolate flavour, sparkling wines and many more. We were treated to lunch at a local Primi Piatti while the children played outside and I admired the most inspired giant lampshades that the restaurant had designed.
We headed out to more wine farms while slurping on McDonald's R2,50 ice cream cones, delicious.
It would take too long to describe everything we saw and tasted and I'm not writing a novel. We had a lovely time and the kids had a blast petting animals and riding pedal tractors. I have made notes for further wineland expeditions and picnic opportunities and possible reviews.
We head home with the anticipation of a braai of lamb chops filling our mouths. No more wine for me today, thanks.
The children are filthy and are all popped into the bath together. Faces are wiped and feet are scrubbed and fresh PJs are put on. I love it when The Boy is squeaky clean and smelling of Johnson's baby bath lotion. I brush his hair to the side in a neatish side parting. That won't last long. They are soon speeding about outside on their matching scooters in the slightly cooler evening air.
The fire is crackling and the salads are done. The little succulent lamb chops are emitting a most delicious mouth watering aroma. We eat al fresco on the stoep and watch the bats swoop through the darkening garden. I wish they'd catch the wretched mosquitoes.
We all head to bed early, the wine and the heat have caught up with us, but not before I run a nice warm bath, bubbles added courtesy of the pretty pink Lux hand soap. Wineland dust is washed from my feet and and I also put on fresh PJs . The bed's linen is fresh and soft. I make sure the window is open only a crack and the voile curtain drawn fully across the window. (It seems the mozzies can navigate and leopard crawl even through these precautions.)
Lights out. No hot anniversary action for us, the Boy is sleeping at the foot of our bed and we are surrounded by pink unicorns and princess dolls. The Husband is half way to Dreamland anyway.
I wake up when the Boy climbs into bed with us later. The Husband moves to his bed. I try get back to sleep but become aware that the room seems to have been invaded by an army of mosquitoes. And the neighbouring dog is barking a monotonous reportoire. Points on my body are stinging but not itching and I am restless. I gather its much earlier than I thought as the sky is not getting any lighter.
The Boy stirs, sits up and then vomits onto the sheets. Not sure why, I can only think he had too much mash potato for dinner. He goes back to sleep leaving me to mop up and place the top sheet over the damp spot. Thank heavens it oddly didn't stink. I FINALLY drift off to sleep again.
Morning coffee is served to us by Jack, what service!
NM and I take the kids for an early morning amble round the farm. It still needs a lot of maintenance and we walk through dried withered weeds and spy the flock of guinea fowl foraging for their breakfasts. We keep moving or else the armies of big red ants will bite us silly.
We make ourselves a scrumptious farm breakfast which is enjoyed under the big oak in the corner of the garden.
Time for more wine tasting and the temperature is steadily rising. Bottles of ice water, sun hats and sunscreen are packed for the kids. We head to Del Vera which I can recommend to anyone looking for kid friendly activities, crafts and cuisine. They have converted old pig sties into barns for crafters and pedal go-cart tracks. And what a view! Those pigs must have had a life, or a view at least.
We sit down at a table with a red checkered table cloth under an air conditioner. I settle down with the Boy and and enjoy a spot of people-watching. All sorts come to taste the wines. Enjoying the delicious aromas wafting from the fresh pizza and Lebanese food stalls and the live accordion music it all combines into a lovely relaxed atmosphere. The Boy is asleep in my arms. Poppie distractedly lies about on the chairs while her playmate sleeps open mouthed on my chest. Bored, she sits under the table watching hundreds of feet walk by.
We decide to make our way home. I agree with the Husband that we should only drive back home later to avoid the suffocating heat. We get back to the farm and try get through the afternoon without melting into an unattractive puddle.
That is how I find myself under an oak tree studying wasps and birds and the trajectory of falling leaves.
We head back home later with another lamb chop braai filling our stomachs, and with the waning moon to guide us.
A truly enjoyable weekend and food for my soul.
And not too many mozzie bites either.
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