A challenging hike from Newlands Forest to Kirstenbosch Gardens

The Volunteer Wildfire Service at Newlands Forest was training its recruits this morning. Amidst much yelling of orders and running hither and thither, the brightly clad volunteers practised spraying water on non-existing flames, immersed some sort of water pump to the flowing Newlands stream, and unrolled metres of firehose. A few minutes earlier, we had passed a caravan, which seemed to act as an outdoor control post of the volunteer firemen.

Volunteer firefighters in training

Sadly, we didn’t linger all that long to admire the fit-looking and nicely built firemen – and women, because we were on a mission that involved hiking from Newlands Forestry Station to the Tea Garden at Kirstenbosch for a cup of tea.

On a Sunday morning, quite frankly, I can think of numerous easier and less exhausting ways of having a cup of tea, though perhaps few that are quite as exciting.

Nonetheless, that was our self-imposed mission for the day. According to the route described in my 10-year-old copy of Shirley Brossy’s A Walking Guide for Table Mountain, it should take about 2-and-a-half to 3 hours. We were pretty certain that we wouldn’t want to walk back the whole way too! Hence the second car we’d left at the parking lot outside the lower gate at Kirstenbosch.

I was keen to follow Brossy’s route step by step, but – as usually happens with us – we got… er… well… not really lost per se… because we were still walking in the general direction, but… um…

Well, never mind. We got there in the end!

So, at 9h30 on Sunday morning, we walked past the Newlands Forestry Station, turned left on the main gravel road and then turned right at Newlands Stream, following its southern edge up to the Stone Bridge. Here, we turned left along the wide gravel road.

Broad gravel road climbing gently uphill

There was pine forest on the left, and blue gums on the right.

Pine forest with bracken on the left

According to Brossy’s map, we were supposed to follow the serpentines of the gravel road zig-zagging fairly gently up to a set of steps leading up to the contour path. But, when we saw a track leading straight up the slope, we decided to ‘take the short cut’, in the hope that it would cross the gravel road.

For future reference, it doesn’t.

Mind you, it was a very pretty path.

Pretty path through dense indigenous forest

Suddenly, we came to a stream crossing that we had crossed on previous hikes.

Crossing the stream

There was even water flowing here.

Refreshingly cold mountain water

Looking upstream – always lots of boulders in these mountain streams:

A rock-strewn stream-bed

Unfortunately, I remembered from past hikes that this was definitely not the way up to the contour path. It was taking us down the mountain, instead of up. We emerged from the shady forest into an open area with a great view, and took the next right turn in the general direction of Kirstenbosch.

A great view down a wide valley

We trudged along between hip-high fynbos and bracken and admired the pretty purple geraniums that were in flower here.

Purple geraniums are a-flowering!

The narrow track ended on a broad gravel road, which took us further south and into pine forest once again.

Looking back along the wide forest path

At the next opportunity, we took another narrow track up the mountain. It led us up between reeds and fynbos. Pretty white flowers:

White flowers

Then came another foresty bit. I wonder what kind of tree this is, with this cinnamon coloured bark? It looks so startling.

Cinnamon bark

By now, it was about 10h30, and we’d been walking solidly for an hour.

And then we made the most serendipitous discovery of today’s hike: We found a boardwalk, which was signposted the Fernwood Track!

Look! The Fernwood Track!

It was breathtakingly beautiful up here.

Nicely laid boardwalks between the trees

I was expecting it to be a horizontal kind of walk, rather like the Woodcutters’ Trail, and to run more or less parallel to the contour path. But it didn’t.

It continued south (definitely a good thing, seeing that we had only a vague inkling of where we were in relation to our destination), and it led UP the mountain. Fortunately, not straight up, but we clambered over plenty of rocks and up plenty of steep sections in-between the pleasant, well-maintained boardwalks.

Rocky bits

About 20 minutes later, we came to a T-junction. One boardwalk led slightly upwards to the right, and another led slightly downwards to the left. Man, I do wish someone would put signposts on these! We had no way of knowing how far up the mountain we were, because the indigenous forest was too dense to see our surroundings. I wanted to head right and up, because I was worried that we were still too low down the slope, but luckily hubby’s decision to go left and down was correct! If we’d gone right, we would have returned towards Newlands Forest.

I *think* we had reached the contour path.

The contour path

So there was considerable relief and much cheering when we came to this sign!

Welcome to Kirstenbosch Gardens!

There was even a good map! If you look closely at it, you can see the ‘Big Rock’ on the far right of the map – there, where the Contour Path splits into a downhill and an uphill section. That’s where we were. And our destination was the Restaurant just above Gate 1 and the Visitors’ Centre.

A very good map

After some discussion, we decided that we’d continue up past ‘Dassieklip‘, and to take the next track down the hill near ‘Window Gorge‘.

An informative sign-post

And so, UP we went on the contour path,which was most emphatically no longer a contour path.

Up these steps

And further up. Puff… pant…

Up more steps

Looking down the bit we’d just come up on! Ooof…

Looking down

And still further up. Gasp! Wheeze!

Surely not more up?!

Until we reached a vast area of boulders, some overgrown with moss, but most just grey with splotches of white or orange lichen dotted about.

A field of boulders

High above us loomed the imposingly steep cliff face of Table Mountain’s eastern slope.

Table Mountain looms above us

Route markers led us across the field of boulders, balancing carefully because some of them were wobbly, the earth beneath them having been hollowed out by rain.

Just on the other side of the boulders, we met a couple with their young girls. They had set out from Kirstenbosch earlier this morning, and were looking for the contour path; they’d been climbing steadily up for over half an hour, and were pretty tired.

We chatted companiably for a while, explaining to them where we’d come from and what the path was like higher up, and then said goodbye. I love these little friendly encounters in the forest with fellow hikers.

As they had indicated, our path led steeply downhill with helpful steps created by a seriously hard-working roadcrew. I wonder whether they had carried in all the wood and planks and equipment to these high places? Or had they used a helicopter? Either way, they have my utmost admiration.

What a descent!

LOTS of steps.

More steps

It was so steep sometimes, that my natural momentum propelled me forward and I almost had to lean backwards not to break into a run. Hips, lower backs, thighs, calves, knees, ankles… everything was starting to ache and complain. I was leaning more and more on the branch I’d adopted as a walking stick a couple of weeks ago.

Looking up a particularly steep bit I’d almost trotted down.

Looking up a steep section

This ancient tree had grown its roots around a massive boulder, and was holding onto it very firmly.

A tree holding firmly onto a large boulder

Fortunately, there were plenty of helpful signposts at the various intersections. We always chose the one saying ‘Garden’, though – a friendly hint to the staff of Kirstenbosch Gardens – it would’ve been even NICER if it had said ‘TEA Garden’.

Around quarter to 12, we reached a reddish gravel road. Man, do I hate walking downhill on gravel. It’s always so unpredictable and slippery, that I tense up around my ankles and knees because I’m afraid of going for another slide, and pulling a muscle or twisting an ankle. The mountain is not a good place to get hurt. And then you promptly do slide because you’re too tense. Sigh.

Slippery red gravel

We crossed a teensy stream, with a pretty bench next to it, inviting the weary hiker to rest.

A very picturesque setting for a picnic, I believe?

But – we didn’t.

Our reward was waiting for us at the bottom of the Garden. Some nice fellow-hiker had placed a stick-and-stone arrow on the red gravel path, indicating a narrow path that took us downhill and towards our destination more quickly.

A helpful arrow on the ground

And here we ran into Oliver, the friendly tortoise.

Oliver striding confidently towards us

Or rather, he ‘ran’ into us. I swear, he did! He motored up the hill towards us, his curious little eyes watching our every move. Don’t you think he looks really intelligent?

Bright eyes and a friendly smile!

Oddly, he stopped directly in front of us.

We have a little chat with Oliver

I bent down to photograph him and gently stroked his shell. He hissed briefly, and retracted his head, but then turned around to look up at me. I like to think he realised that I meant him no harm.

So I continued stroking his shell and talking to him in a friendly kind of way, telling him that it was still a long way up to the contour path, that there were a LOT of steps, and that maybe living down here in the shady bit was nice enough after all. I was amazed at how trusting he was, and felt quite sad to say goodbye.

Bye, Ollie! Stay safe!

He stalked off into the grass and bushes on the side of the road. Perhaps he’d decided to take my advice?

This pretty little bird was singing so beautifully on a bush that I just had to try and get a photo!

Pretty song bird

It was after 12h00 by the time that we reached the Tea Room, and had a look at the menu. They have an excellent and wide-ranging menu, but the prices were all definitely on the steep side for us. So we headed down to the Fynbos Deli, where we just got a capuccino and a pot of tea to take outside to the wooden tables and chairs.

We supplemented these liquid refreshments with a delicious capuccino muffin and some buttered báirin breac from yesterday, which I’d packed as a picnic ‘just in case’.

A really nice surprise was to see two Dylan Lewis sculptures (remember our Photo Walk in Stellenbosch?) – one on display near the Tea Room:

A cheetah sculpted by Dylan Lewis

and the other on display lower down near the Restaurant:

I love this leopard

Aren’t they extraordinary?

What an uplifting ending to an exhausting but wonderful hike.

Báirin Breac at Samhain

It is the festival of Samhain this weekend:

“At Samhain (which corresponds to modern Halloween), time lost all meaning and the past, present, and future were one. The dead, and the denizens of the Other World, walked among the living. It was a time of fairies, ghosts, demons, and witches. Winter itself was the Season of Ghosts, and Samhain is the night of their release from the Underworld. Many people lit bonfires to keep the evil spirits at bay. Often a torch was lit and carried around the boundaries of the home and farm, to protect the property and residents against the spirits throughout the winter.” (Samhain)

One of the nicest Irish traditions relating to Halloween is the baking of a yeasted bread known as Báirin Breac (or Barmbrack). And so, in view of my some-would-call-it-obsession-but-I-prefer-to-call-it-passionate-fascination with Ireland (both north and south, of course), it has now become tradition in our house that we bake a portion of Báirin Breac at this time of year.

Symbolic objects

Traditionally, Barmbracks are supposed to contain a couple of objects, which are baked into the bread. Each object, when you find it in your slice, carries a symbolic meaning. For instance, if you receive:

• a pea - you will not marry next year (not a particularly nice prospect, if you aren’t married and your mammy’s been nagging you and you really wish to find your soulmate!)
• a stick (!) – ‘to beat your wife with’ (personally, that’s one custom I don’t really wish to perpetuate) – meaning that you would have an unhappy marriage (again, not reeeeeally something to anticipate with joy)
• a piece of cloth - you will have bad luck or be poor the next year (jeepers, these are really depressing!)
• a ring - you will marry within the year (finally! something nice to look forward to!)
• a coin - you will enjoy good fortune or become rich (yayyy!)

We haven’t taken up that part of the tradition, because I’d really like to change the symbolic items. For instance, Iwould rather put in the following (I guess you could get these as miniature plastic items from a toy store):

• a heart - yes, of course, to symbolise love and romance
• a shoe, car, boat or airplane - to symbolise travel to exciting places
• a dog - to symbolise exuberance, loyalty and friendship (or you may actually get a dog this year…)
• a cat - to symbolise gracefulness and inner peace (or you may actually have a cat moving in with you…)
• a horse - to symbolise passion, power and courage
• an elephant - to symbolise long life, wisdom and good memory…

I think these would be FAR nicer to find, don’t you?

A Recipe for Báirin Breac

Anyhow, I thought I’d share the recipe for with you here.

It used to be available on Wikipedia, but I see that it must have been removed since last October. Frankly, I don’t know why, because the recipe worked! Fortunately, I’d printed out a copy last year, so here it is (with illustrative photos from today’s baking experience):

Ingredients

You will need the following, in order of use in the recipe below:

• 50 g of mixed peel
• 60 g of mixed raisins and sultanas
• 100 ml of warm milk
• 15 g of dried baker’s yeast
• 50 g of fine white sugar (*1)
• 50 g unsalted butter (*2)
• 250 g of white flour (*3)
• half a teaspoon of allspice or mixed cinnamon and nutmeg
• half a teaspoon of salt
• 1 small egg

Ingredients for the Barm Bracks

Notes

1. I used light-brown sugar, as we don’t have refined white sugar in our house.
2. I used salted butter because that’s what we have in the house, and then just used a little less salt.
3. I used self-raising flour, but I think you’re supposed to use baking flour that doesn’t have a raising agent in it.

Preparation

1.  Soak the dried fruit overnight in weak tea.

Mixed peel and raisins soaking in tea

2.  Warm the milk a little, then stir the yeast and one teaspoon of the sugar into two tablespoonfuls of the milk, and let it rise for 10 minutes. [Hubby just pointed out that I should have taken the photo below from a LOW angle, because "it doesn't look like the yeast has risen at all!" Sigh... Dear friends, I do hope you'll take my word for it?]

The yeast has risen - magic!

3.  Melt the butter and let it cool. I always melt the butter over a pot filled with a bit of water, but when you do this, make sure the plastic bowl is sturdy enough not to melt!

Molten butter

4.  Sift the flour, the allspice and the salt into a bowl. Add the rest of the sugar.

Dry ingredients sifted into a bowl

5.  Pour in the rest of the milk. Add the yeast mixture, stirring well.

Dry ingredients plus milk and yeast

6.  Beat the egg with a fork, and add it to the molten and cooled butter. Stir this into the dry ingredients.

Egg and butter mixed together

7.  Knead the mixture for about 5 mins, until the dough is elastic and no longer sticks to the bowl. [It was at this point that I realised that I must have mis-estimated the butter - instead of 50g, I probably had closer to 100g. In addition, the egg had not exactly been small. My dough, quite simply, was a runny mess. No amount of 'kneading' - or rather squelching and sloshing - would ever transform this into a recognisable dough. As a result, I temporarily abandoned the recipe and tossed in more flour, more sugar and more spices, until I had a nice, firm and elastic dough in my hands.]

The dough looks good!

8.  Cover with a wet cloth. Let it rise in a warm place for one hour. [As it was a pleasantly warm and sunny day, I left the bowl outside next to a wall, where the sun would heat it up from above, and the reflected heat from the wall and the tarmac would heat it up from below.]

Putting the sun's energy to good use

9.  Use the time to wash the dirty dishes (less unpleasant work to do later and the kitchen will look habitable once more, in case guests pop over unexpectedly). Let the mixed peel and fruit dry – and if necessary, chop the mixed peel up into small sections.

Drip-drying dishes and fruit

10.  Roll the mixed peel and the raisins and sultanas in a little flour.

Citrus peel, raisins and sultanas tossed in some flour

11.  Add these to the risen dough, and knead the mixture vigorously.

Magically, the dough has risen!

12.  Butter a baking tin and spread the mixture evenly into it. Leave to rise for 30 minutes. I wrapped it in the damp cloth and left it in the sunshine again.

Ready to rise once more!

13.  Shortly before the 30 mins are up, heat the oven to 220°C (428°F). Put the mixture in to bake for 25 minutes. (Set a timer to be on the safe side.)

The dough is ready for the oven!

14.  Then reduce the heat to 190°C (374°F) and bake a little longer. [In our oven, we can either get the heat from the grid at the bottom, or from the top, but not from both at the same time. So I usually give it heat from below first, to make sure that it rises, and then reduced heat from the top for the last 1/4 of the time, to make sure that it doesn't burn.]

15.  Let the barmbrack cool down for 15 minutes after taking it out of the oven. Allow it to cool thoroughly before cutting. Serve with tea and butter. [Hm... the COOLING DOWN period is always extremely short in our household... which may well be why I have such a stomach-ache at the moment... urgh...]

But honestly, look at this picture below:

Mugs of tea, and steaming hot, fresh-from-the-oven, irresistably fragrant Báirin Breac with a dollop of butter melting into each delectable piece – and tell me whether YOU would be able to wait?

Yummmm....

No?

Us neither.

Have a happy Halloween!

Cartoon: Bees

I wouldn’t indulge in such behaviour myself, but …

Hehehehehe….

An exciting encounter with two Egyptian geese and their young

Yesterday morning, on a walk through the neighbourhood, I spotted a pair of Egyptian geese on a grassy verge up ahead, near the traffic circle of Woodside Drive and Francis Road. The grass was very tall and overgrown, so I could just recognise the two large birds with their striking colouring. As I approached slowly, not wanting to scare them, they emerged onto the pavement and headed down Francis Road.

The male was looking around in an alert kind of way, and the female was honking repeatedly and rather anxiously.

The vigilant father

Suddenly, I realised why: they were surrounded by eight little black-and-white fluff-balls – their young!

I felt like kicking myself for not carrying my camera with me, but there was a slight chance that they would turn down my street. I walked alongside them, keeping a distance so as not to chase them. The male was walking a couple of metres ahead, turning from side to side, as though he was keeping an eye out for people, dogs and cars.

Daddy, mommy and their brood

The female was limping quite heavily, and repeatedly emitting a loud honk, to keep her curious little goslings in check. They were trotting left and right, backwards and forwards, turning around, colliding with each other, pecking at each other, and scampering between their mother’s feet, almost tripping her up. With eight lively little ones, she clearly had her work cut out for her. I noticed that her honks varied in tone, becoming louder whenever one of her little fluffballs got too close to the road, or one was left too far behind.

Much to my alarm, the furious barking of a large dog lunging at a gate (he’d just seen them) frightened them off the safety of the pavement and onto the road among much honking and flapping of wings. I was trying to send them a telepathic message to cross to the large, grass-covered central traffic island that divided the two lanes of the road, and much relieved when they did quickly cross over to safety.

Keep up now - honk - honk

But then they left the traffic island – probably because the unmown grass was too high for the chicks! – and trotted along the tarred road once more. I saw a large 4×4 driving quickly around the traffic circle up ahead with East Way and Uitvlugt Road, and heading straight for them! Panic stations!

I stepped off the verge onto the road, getting ready to signal the 4×4 to slow down. Meanwhile, the mother goose was honking frantically, chivvying her little ones towards the edge of the road closest to the traffic island. Luckily, the driver saw us and slowed down to walking speed, driving veeeery slowly past the chicks with her hazards flashing. The car behind them slowed down too, and also did an evasive manoeuvre, with the driver staring in fascination at the two geese and their offspring.

Mommy striding along briskly

As we were so close to home, I quickly ran home, grabbed the camera, and raced back to where I’d last seen the geese. They weren’t anywhere to be seen! How could they have covered so much ground in the meantime?

After running around the neighbouring streets, I suddenly heard the familiar honking of the female! Ahhh! There they were!

Are all our eight fluffballs here?

They were trotting down Uitvlugt Road, but did a u-turn and came back up the hill towards me. One of the grass verges there is very wide, with lots of trees at intervals. So that’s where I finally managed to snap some photographs of the happy family!

For some factual information about Egyptian Geese (Alopochen aegyptiacus), have a look at the Wikipedia article, and at the website of Biodiversity Explorer, where there is even a short soundclip of the honking sound they make.

Mommy walking confidently, despite her limp

Egyptian Geese can be found throughout Africa (esp. in the Nile Valley and in sub-Saharan Africa), except in deserts, dense forests and at higher altitudes. They have also been introduced in Great Britain (where they were declared a pest in 2009), the Netherlands and Germany. They live primarily on wetlands, on fields where crops are grown, and in urban areas. They eat plant matter (seeds, grasses, aquatic plants), but also some invertebrates (insects, worms, beetles).

The plumage of the male and the female are similar, but the male is larger, so you can usually see whether it’s a male. Also, the male mainly hisses, whereas the female mainly honks. They mate for life, and are highly territorial, defending their territory against rival birds, particularly during the mating, breeding and nesting season. They are fiercely protective of their young, who leave the nest about 6 hours after hatching (!). The chicks need up to 80 days before their wings are strong enough to be able to fly.

I think they are all here

I wonder whether these little ones were enjoying their very first outing?

The heart of a flower

Until last week, there was a small plant in our back garden that looked like a bunch of weeds I’d forgotten to pull up….

I’m so glad I didn’t, because it suddenly sprouted forth the most amazingly radiant golden-yellow flowers, which have completely transformed that corner of our garden. Look here!

And every evening, when the sun disappears behind our neighbours’ house and the shadows fall on our garden, every single golden flowerhead closes up tightly for the night.

It’s almost as though each flower has drunk its fill of the golden summer sunshine, and is now returning all this joyous, cheerful energy to the earth, to nourish it and to give thanks for the sustenance it has given.

By mid-morning the next day, the shadows from the large tree have slowly retreated across the lawn, the sun is once again shining directly on the little plant, and one by one, its flowers open up yet again to receive the blessings of the sun.

Just looking at them is making my heart sing.

P.S. I have just found out that these are Californian Poppies (Eschscholzia californica).

Eeek! Another hairy caterpillar!

I was ambling through the garden with my camera yesterday afternoon, when I spotted this beautiful chap munching his way along the cotoneaster:

Magnificent, no?

He looks a lot more hairy and has a far more striking colourscheme than the hairy caterpillar Tuffy and I spotted two weeks ago. I wonder what kind of butterfly he’s going to pupate into? Do you know?

WordPress Rocks

Yesterday morning, I received a most surprising email from the WordPress Team, advising me that my post about the full moon picnic at the Taal Monument outside Paarl had been promoted to the homepage of WordPress.com.

Initially, I thought this had to be a mistake.

But then my stats curve began to shoot up.

And then I remembered that my friend Kathy over at her blog had received a similar email from the WordPress Team at the end of September (see The Blog has had a Big Day Today).

So, as you may well imagine, there was considerable excitement in my household last night! A close eye was kept on the stats page, and every click of the refresh button brought out an excited yelp, “Oooh! 200 views!”

“Oooooh! 350 views!!!”

“Oh my gosh!!! Look at that!! 5-hundred-and-40-nine!!!!”

It was a somewhat restless night. Although the computer was off, I must have been aware on a subconscious level that my blog was receiving new visitors, because it filtered into my dreams. Strange stuff happened…

The excitement continued this morning, but because hubby is now at work, I am restricted to sharing my delight with my still-very-sleepy cat.

“Tuffy!! Look!!! We’ve had over 2-hundred visitors already this morning!”

“Oooh! It’s up to 300! Oh my!!!”

“Hey, Tuffy! Wake up! You gotta see this! There’s 362 page views now!”

But, as you can see, our little pumpkin-fritter is taking all this hullaballoo in her stride. Purrrrrr….

A very sleepy cat

But the photo below expresses how I feel about WordPress right now:

Lions’ teeth or cats’ ears?

I’ve neglected weeding in my garden lately, and so there have been lots of dandelions sprouting up all over the place. The name ‘dandelion’ comes from the French words dents de lion, which means ‘teeth of the lion’ and is a reference to the jagged shape of their leaves. They belong to the genus known as Taraxacum.

There are different kinds of Taraxacum species in the world, which have certain characteristics in common:

“The leaves are 5–25 cm long or longer, simple and basal, entire or lobed, forming a rosette above the central taproot. The flower heads are yellow to orange colored, and are open in the daytime but closed at night. The heads are borne singly on a hollow stem (scape) which rises 4–75 cm[5] above the leaves and exudes a milky sap (latex) when broken.

A rosette may produce several flowering stems at a time. The flower heads are 2–5 cm in diameter and consists entirely of ray florets. The flower heads mature into a spherical “clocks”[6] containing many single-seeded fruits called achenes. Each achene is attached to a pappus of fine hairs, which enable wind-aided dispersal over long distances.” (Wikipedia)

I had lots of these popping up all over the lawn, but the lawnmower took off their tops, so I can’t show you any photos right now.

And I have JUST DISCOVERED that the ones I *did* photograph for you today are in fact NOT true dandelions, though they may be a similar species known as cats’ ears (Hypochaeris), which are so easily confused with dandelions that they are called ‘false dandelions’. (Poor dears…)

“Both plants carry similar flowers which form into windborne seeds. However, dandelion flowers are borne singly on unbranched, hairless and leafless, hollow stems, while catsear flowering stems are branched, solid and carry bracts.

Both plants have a basal rosette of leaves and a central taproot. However, the leaves of dandelions are smooth or glabrous, whereas those of catsears are coarsely hairy.

Other plants with superficially similar flowers include hawkweeds (Hieracium) and hawksbeards (Crepis). These are both readily distinguished by their branched flowering stems which are usually hairy and bear leaves.” (Wikipedia)

After reading this description, I hurried outside into the garden to scrutinise them more closely.

Here is a photo of the leaves – it appears that they do not grow on the ground as a basal rosette, but emerge from the branching stem, and are indeed slightly hairy.

So does that mean that these are cats’ ears? Or hawkweeds? Or hawksbeards?

Leaves - clearly not dandelion

Do I have BOTH dandelions AND cats’ ears proliferating in my garden?

I read in an old reference book on gardening with herbs that dandelions - which are commonly regarded as weeds – are in fact edible, although they do have a very bitter taste. They are supposed to be a very effective diuretic and a good liver tonic, have a laxative effect, improve the digestion, strengthen tooth enamel, and ease aching joints and rheumatism. You can toss the leaves into a salad, or cook the entire plant in soups and stews.

I haven’t tried this yet…

And until I’m pretty durn sure of what I’m eating, I think I’m going to stick to the herbs that I bought at the nursery!

Yellow flower - dandelion or cats ears?

Regardless of whether these are dandelions or cats’ ears, they are all really good at propagating and at being dispersed by the wind, so it’s no wonder that they tend to take over the lawn as soon as you slack off in the weeding department:

“After pollination and flowering is finished, the dandelion flower dries out for a day or two and then the seed-bearing parachutes expand and lift out of the dried flower head. The dried part of the flower drops off and the parachute ball opens into a full sphere. The parachute drops off when the seed strikes an obstacle.

Often dandelions are observed growing in crevices near a wall; when the blowing fruits hit the wall, the feathery pappi comes off, dropping the dandelion seeds to the base of the wall or into a crevice. After the seed is released, the parachutes lose their feathered structure and take on a fuzzy, cotton-like appearance, often called “dandelion snow”.” (Wikipedia)

Look at this fluffy-looking parachute-ball:

Parachute ball - just waiting for a gust of wind!

Don’t you find that merely looking at it makes your nose tingle with an impending sneeze?

Aaaaahh…..

Close-up

….. choooo!!!!!!!

Hayfever hell

The city council hasn’t mowed the grass in the median of our road for a looooong time (I think they were last here sometime in August). At first, we didn’t mind too much, because it was WILD FLOWER season!

Pretty flowers

But now all the flowers are gone, and the grasses have taken over. This is hell for the hayfever sufferers among us. I’m thinking seriously about hooking up all our extension cords and using our brand-new electric lawnmower to mow the section directly in front of our house.

Tall grass

Close-up

Close-up

Blowing grasses

Pollen!!!

Full moon picnic at the Taal Monument

A couple of weeks ago, on Saturday the 3rd of October, two friends, Volker and Liezl, invited us for a full-moon picnic at the Taal Monument (Afrikaans Language Monument) on the outskirts of Paarl. We hadn’t visited the place for a few years, and this was the first time we’d be able to have access to it at night, so we were looking forward to it with much excitement.

Shortly before 6pm, we arrived at the monument, which is on the lower slopes of Paarl Mountain, also known as Paarl Rock, the hill that overlooks Paarl. Paarl Rock is the second largest granite outcrop in the world, formed by three huge rounded outcrops of intrusive igneous rock. Despite, or perhaps because of, its smooth, unfissured and steep faces, it is very popular among adrenaline-rush-seeking rock climbers – though it is definitely not for the inexperienced or for the faint-of-heart!

We quickly unpacked all our picnic paraphernalia – sleeping bags, picnic blankets, extra jerseys, cooler bags and a rucksack containing all the cutlery and crockery – from the car. It was a beautifully clear and sunny day, and the view was just breathtaking. We found ourselves a table overlooking the plains that stretched all the way to the high Drakenstein mountains.

A picnic table with a glorious view!

The wind was gusting strongly here, though, and we didn’t feel like picnicking right next to the parking lot, so Liezl and I left the guys sipping a leisurely glass of wine, while we went for a stroll up the hill to find a more sheltered spot. At the end of the tarred road, we had this lovely view of the monument:

The Taal Monument from a distance

We walked back down and around the other side of the monument, where we found a sheltered lawn with a couple of still-unoccupied picnic tables. We quickly went down to fetch the lads and our luggage, and proceeded to unpack our long-awaited picnic. Soon, the table was full of all kinds of delicious and tempting yum-yums: a grilled chicken, soft buns, a large bowl of salad, small containers with feta cheese, olives and sugar-snap peas, a bottle of wine and packs of fruit juice.

I strolled around with my camera while there was still enough light to take some photos. Near our table was a large flowering Protea bush.

A beautiful flowering protea

The monument was designed by architect Jan van Wijk and unveiled on 10 October 1975:

“Completed in 1975, [the monument] commemorates the semicentenary of Afrikaans being declared an official language of South Africa separate from Dutch. Also, it was erected on the 100th anniversary of the founding of Genootskap van Regte Afrikaners (the Society of Real Afrikaners) in Paarl, the organization that helped strengthen Afrikaaners’ identity and pride in their language.” (Wikipedia)

On the official website, you can find a document explaining the symbolism of the monument. The central idea is that languages from three continents (Europe, Asia and Africa) influenced the development of Afrikaans:

Walking up the steps to the main path that leads to the monument, you pass four pillars on the left, decreasing in size and proportionately representing the four European languages (Dutch, German, French and Portuguese). Here is a shot of these four pillars from the other side:

The pillars representing the European languages

More or less in the middle of the steps up ahead, there is another pillar, which represents the two Asian languages (Malay and Malay-Portuguese). You can’t see it, but in the middle of the path are inlaid the Afrikaans words “Dit is ons erns” (roughly translated as “We are earnest/serious about this”).

The imposing spires and curves of the Taal Monument

If you continue walking up the steps, you enter into a curving tunnel, that leads towards the tallest spire, and its shorter companion. The tunnel can also be seen as a bridge, referring to the words of NP van Wyk Louw, who said that Afrikaans acts as a bridge between the languages of Europe and Africa.

I like this shot of a little boy running up the sloping bridge between the group of four shorter pillars and the very tall one:

A little boy running up the slope

Just after sunset, I got this very odd shot of the tallest spire, which represents the rapidly ascending growth curve of Afrikaans. I honestly don’t know what happened in this shot, but I like it!

A strange effect

As you walk up the gentle slope inside the tunnel, you’ll notice that the large spire is hollowed out, so you can look all the way up to the top. There is a stone pool at the base of this spire that also embraces the base of its adjacent shorter companion. This represents the Republic of South Africa, as the birthplace and home of Afrikaans.

As you emerge from the tunnel into the light, you find yourself on a large curved open space, with a couple of steps at the far end, topped by three hemispheres. These symbolise the Khoi languages (isiXhosa, isiZulu and isiSotho), which also influenced Afrikaans.

The three hemispheres

As there was now very little light – and as I had forgotten to take along my tripod! – I went back down to finish eating my picnic and to join my friends in waiting for the moon to rise.

Suddenly, there it was! Be-eau-ti-ful!

The full moon rises above the eastern mountains

What a wonderful evening this had been, and what a treat to share it with good friends!

The moon over the valley

—————–

Information from the website:

Diarise the full-moon picnic dates for the 2009/2010 summer season:

Sat. 3 Oct. 2009 moonrise 18:18, sunset 18:50
Sat. 31 Oct. 2009 moonrise 17:05, sunset 19:14
Wed. 2 Dec. 2009 moonrise 20:17, sunset 19:43
Sat. 30 Jan. 2010 moonrise 20:02, sunset 19:53
Sat. 27 Feb. 2010 moonrise 18:30, sunset 19:25
Sat. 27 Mar. 2010 moonrise 17:00, sunset 18:48

Time: Anytime from 17:00 – 22:00

You can bring your own picnic basket or prebook a basket by selecting products from the picnic menu at the VOLKSMOND restaurant. Call 021 863 2800 or send an e-mail to volksmond@taalmonument.co.za.

The cost: R12 adults | R5 students | R2 children

You aren’t allowed to bring any dogs, or to make a fire.

General enquiries: 021 872 3441.