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When I was a little girl I had a fox terrier called Stompie. Those familiar with South Africa’s history, will know that it was a long time ago since nobody today is too likely to call a dog in South Africa Stompie. Anyway, he was a special creature that I loved dearly. We often used to sit in the wheelbarrow and watch my father tend the garden. At about the same time that my junior school days ended, Stompie bid us farewell.

The next dog that made an impression on me was a magnificent bull terrier called Ike. Unlike Stompie, Ike was not my dog, but my father’s. They were great friends and went walking daily. When Ike was a puppy they sometimes went to the local park. My father would sit on the merry-go-round reading the newspaper and Ike would watch the world go by… in circular motion since they always gave it a good few spins before settling down. And then Ike would play on the slide as one would expect a child to do. Eventually Ike became too big for the slide and the beach became their new favourite place.

Years later I met a gorgeous Staffie called Rex and who belonged to my friend, David. Rex was very stylish and loved travelling in limousines. His favourite place was the front seat, regally sitting next to the driver. There were times when people recognised the limos as ours only because they recognised Rex! When David went sailing around the world on a big cruise ship Rex was adopted by our friends, Marius and Monica. We’d have dinners at their home and Rex would be smothered with attention from his “real father”, his adoptive “parents” and us, his big fans.

It’s strange how sometimes we do not recognise our own preferences simply because we do not see them as such. It never really struck me that I am particularly fond of terriers. It was only when we visited the Montagu Country Hotel frequently that I realised this. The GM has a Jack Russell called Megan. She befriends guests to the extent that they may as well appoint her as the Guest Relations Manager. And, of course, she likes to stroll through the dining room and pretend that the staff are all too busy to feed her and that she will surely starve unless a guest takes pity on her.

Megan

Like all Jack Russells Megan needs exercise and stimulation. A simple stone keeps her occupied for hours so long as you keep throwing it for her to collect. Generally speaking, she has more stamina than whoever is playing with her. She also has a unique ability to judge people – she either likes you, or she doesn’t. I’m sure that the Accounts Department at the hotel have used this ability to prevent unpaid accounts when guests depart! Before she even barks at someone she dislikes, a little patch of hair on her back starts to reach directly for the heavens.

As a result of Megan, I’ve learnt that somewhere in the 1800’s the Reverend John Russell lived in Devonshire. He had a passion for breeding fox hunting dogs and Jack Russells were named after him.

When we stayed at the hotel we became great friends with Megan. Each time we returned we’d get an exuberant welcome and even more entertainment that the previous time. When we bought a house a few streets behind the hotel, Megan was the first visitor. Being a bright little spark, she quickly worked out that when the GM of the hotel is busy (and she does not get enough attention) she can slip away to visit us and he’ll collect her on his way home. Sometimes she sleeps over and it is a real treat for all. She “talks” to us when she wakes up in the morning and bites at Robert’s ankles when she is ready to go outside to play.

Our visitors’ book is filled with photographs and most guests appear with Megan. We receive thank you notes that all make a special mention of her. And needless to say, while she is visiting at our home, there are regular hotel guests enquiring after her wellbeing. Besides gracing the hotel with her presence, she also has domestic duty to do at the GM’s house. There is a really cute toddler whom Megan has known since birth and a little over a year ago they were joined by delightful twins. She is amazing with children and heaven help anyone who does not respect her parental rights over her own family’s little ones!

Currently she is on a special assignment and all of us in Montagu are missing her a lot. However, we are very proud of her being able to bring love and cheer where it is needed. There is a certain magic that Montagu only projects when Megan is around and I cannot help but wonder how much better the world would be if there were more people who behaved like this intuitive creature called Megan.

A couple of days after my last blog about the bees appeared, my mother called to tell me that she had been stung by a bee. First I was very quiet and then I burst out laughing. Of course she was not amused and so I tried, unsuccessfully, to explain the content of that blog. Was she okay now? Yes, she’d been to the local hospital and was on medication. Did she kill the bee? No, one does not kill bees. And then she lectured me about bees being endangered, that they are very special pollinators and that the entire situation is deeply worrying.

Earlier this morning I found myself watering the garden and realised that we are apparently very blessed. There are many, many bees (and butterflies) in our garden.

Having lived in an apartment in Sea Point for so many years gardening has never really been on my list of activities. In the early days of our marriage we used to have beautiful pot plants, but eventually we were reduced to only one Ficus Benjamina.

I’m told that all the other plants died because I did not water them when my husband was away. At one stage he had an arrangement with my mother and she would call me during his absence to remind me to water the pot plants. Although I tried really hard, it was apparently not enough.

The Ficus Benjamina was affectionately known as Benji and became quite famous after I adorned him with pretty, festive lights… all year round! Benji was a birthday present from my friend Maria and was clearly given with a very good heart since his lifespan was remarkable considering my apparent inability to quench his thirst.

Now if only a garden in the country consisted of nothing more than a Benji or two I might be less stressed about my gardening duties. Usually my husband takes care of all the practical things (including the garden), politely telling me that it’s better that way since although he loves me dearly I am very impractical. However, when he is away, somebody has to at least water the garden and that honour is bestowed upon yours truly.

It’s quite something getting ready for this task and I’m sure that it takes me longer than sprucing myself up for a formal evening in the city. For starters, it needs to be done early and so I need to be sure to wake up in time. Then I need to slip into my gardening clothes that, by the way, include both summer and winter gardening shoes that do not exactly come from Nine West. I even have gardening gloves although I do not wear them because I think they are sexy or convenient. If it was not for an encounter with a snake that seemingly did not like my OPI nail polish, I would not have acquired gloves.

I prefer not to wear my usual sunglasses when do this task so I wear the pair that came for free with some or other magazine. They are huge, have big gold rims and I could swear they are more effective than the expensive designer ones that cost a fortune.

Then I need to be sure I do not lock myself out the house so I have to sort out all the doors and put a set of keys in my pocket. I’m likely to sneeze while out there so I need a tissue or two in my pocket too. And in case of emergency, I need a mobile phone. Next I need to drink a glass of water and then, finally, I’m ready. Oh no, not quite. I need a dictaphone as well since I cannot remember everything I spot that needs doing in the garden and must go onto the “to do” list.

The vine and the veggie garden are my favourites to water. They have an irrigation system and all I have to do is open and close the taps. The most difficult part is remembering to close the taps, but my mobile phone’s alarm is of great assistance in this regard (provided I do not keep pressing the snooze button).

Grapevine

The other part of the garden that I like very much is where the herbs grow. There’s something very satisfying about watering the curry plant, the rose geranium and the lemon verbena. The fragrances are not only gorgeous, but so helpful for city girls like me who can barely tell one plant from another. Lest you think I’m not very bright, I’d like to reassure you that I can recognise the basil and the rosemary simply by their looks. There are a number of other herbs and while I always need help identifying them, it’s a real treat having them when preparing food.

The very long orange hose pipe calls for great handling skills. No matter what I do, it always gets tangled. The more I try to untangle it, the more it seems to knot itself up. I’ve no idea why, but it also folds itself up and cuts the water supply off entirely. Invariably I get a surprise shower in the process of trying to resolve this problem. Add to that the fact that the water pressure in the town is not very stable and the hose pipe and I become a really comical sight.

Tourists often stroll through the village early in the morning. Camera around their neck they wander along, taking in the sights of rural South Africa. Whenever the hose pipe and I have an altercation, you can be sure there is tourist strolling past our house. Heaven knows what they must think of the sight they see. I’m usually too busy jumping around to pay attention to them let alone ask that they do not film and put it on YouTube.

The brand we use in our garden has a good website that talks about each household having different gardening needs. To cater for these needs they have a wide range of nozzle and spray solutions.

The problem is none come with instructions for people like me. It’s all very well having the option of a “soft spray for the blooms”, a “mist spray in the greenhouse” and a “hard jet for cleaning the garden path” , but how the hell do I get the settings right? Somehow I always manage to give the garden path a soft spray and the blooms get a hard jet of water… while my face mostly gets the greenhouse treatment.

Besides the bees and the butterflies there seem to be a whole lot of other things in the garden too. The birds are delightful and besides the cute little one that made its way into the lounge the other day and would not leave, they cause no trouble. But there are also lizards, spiders, snakes, snails and toads… and I do not particularly get along too well with any of them. Less than 2 years in the country and I have sufficient material to write a book about these encounters that are apparently amusing to others although I find them frightening!

Kumquat Tree

The garden produces lemons, naartjies, kumquats, guavas, quinces, grapes, gooseberries, granadilla, cauliflower, spinach, carrots, tomatoes, beetroot and an abundance of other veggies, herbs and flowers. Limes, figs, olives and apricots have been planted and are growing well. There’s a special kind of magic in collecting all this produce from the garden rather than a supermarket shelf. Of course, the fact that everything has taste because it has not been in cold storage is especially magical.

I’m sitting in the most gorgeous and comfortable cottage on a farm high up in Burgers Pass. For those who are not familiar with this pass, you will find it on the R318 in the Western Cape Province of South Africa.

The views are as endless as the hospitality. Upon arrival, the cottage was filled with arum lilies and proteas and the fruit bowl was overflowing with fruits grown on the farm. There was sufficient wood for the indoor and outdoor fireplaces, the ice tray had been filled up and there was crisp, fresh water in the fridge. Oh, and there were delicious rusks and dried fruit on the kitchen table too.

There is a bee buzzing in the inside of the window frame and so I am reminded of my late grandmother. She was a large lady and, I’m told, she was also quite stern. Being her only grandchild I never saw that stern side. She spoilt me in every way she knew how and when we moved to another city, she used to send me letters with very attractive bank notes inside (so that I could spoil myself between visits).

Those were the days when the postal service in SA did not have the slogan “We deliver, whatever it takes” and they actually delivered everything they took.  Today most of their employees adapt the slogan and they take whatever they should deliver, resulting in most things never reaching their intended recipient!

Now back to the bee. My grandmother was also deeply spiritual and she had a few superstitions. One of them was that bees are good luck and should never be killed. I’ve never been stung by a bee and so I have no idea whether it might kill me. However, I was raised to believe that I would be much safer saving the bee than worrying about whether it might sting me and I might die.

In my last blog I referred to Leo Buscaglia. He said that 90% of what we worry about never happens. He went on to say that insurance companies know that and that’s why they are so wealthy. There seems to be a connection between his thinking and my “bee lesson”.

Generally speaking we worry about so many things and in the process we destroy nature and loose our creativity. There is no need for me to list endless examples – just look around you and you will see for yourself what I mean. We’ve lost our sense of community too. My view is that the recent events in the United Kingdom are a direct result of people living in an Internet community and having no idea of what constitutes a true and real community. If you do not know someone, you seldom give a damn about them and so it must have been easy to destroy so much of their own community when they did not know, love and care for that community or anyone living inside it. The community of those who caused a lot of damage existed only through technology – Facebook, Blackberry, Internet.

For me there is definite connection between creativity and community. Those of you who do Facebook will know that a very large percentage of the status comments posted are particularly unoriginal. In fact, the more hearts you see, the less original. And don’t forget to check how many request you to re-post the status if you feel the same.

My favourite philosopher is a Japanese man called Daisauku Ikeda. He tells us that if we only repeat what we have heard, we’ll never advance beyond limitation, and that the mind is crucial. He goes on to say that we have to experience with the mind and express with the mind in order to be innovative. He talks a about “blood, sweat and tears” and “relentless searching and personal effort”. And he maintains that only then do we gradually acquire the ability to express ourselves fully and naturally.

Is it because we spend too little time in nature and hence too little time feeding our spirit that so many of us have lost our creativity and sense of community? Is it easier, in the mad panic of daily living, to just copy somebody else’s feelings and comments and share that within our Internet community?

There is a further connection between my last blog and my train of thought as I write this one: being fully human, according to my favourite philosopher also means that “we possess not only intelligence but also emotion and sensitivity”. He talks about literature being the oil that greases the mind and then I wonder whether the true and real (versus Internet) communities are filled with incompetent leaders and selfish people because there is not enough literature being enjoyed anymore.

Our hostess on this farm, Karen, tells me that she and a few others in the area are busy collecting books for the less fortunate within their community. They do not have books and feel uncomfortable visiting a library and, in addition, transport to the nearest library is a challenge. Yet they want to read because they feel it will enrich their lives and make them better people. So, here is a small community of people who seemingly understand an internationally well-known philosopher’s views on literature. In fact, they seem to understand it much better than many well educated and urbanites that I know.

There are no doubt many more communities that need books and old magazines to feed their spirit. If we feed our spirits by visiting these tranquil spots we could feed theirs by donating our old books and magazine when we visit. Magical? I think so. Possible? Absolutely.

By the way, before I go I need to share with you that the bee I mentioned at the start has gently buzzed its way out of the cottage and back into nature…