Stormy Skies and Yellow Flowers

Brooding, stormy blue skies and bright yellow dabs of color in the lush green grass lured me from the house and onto the verges outside my neighbour's house.  It's interesting to look at your house from a different direction and imagine how it appears to other passers by.  Hunkered down amidst fynbos and indigenous trees it looks interesting and inviting to me and once again I was amazed at how quickly it has become home.  We've been living out here for six months now and the old life in the city with all its noise, stress and endless traffic has become a distant memory.

Despite the muddy road I was able to hop (so to speak) across the furrow which runs alongside the road, carrying water away from the mountains behind us.  It took numerous tumbles and bruises before I was prepared to accept the fact that I needed help keeping my balance on uneven ground but now that I'm used to it, I wonder how I managed before.  And at least it has a jazzy lime green handgrip and useful loop so it can hang off my wrist when I take pictures.



I've recently become addicted to placing my camera at ground level and turning the articulating LCD screen  upwards so that I can see what I'm aiming at.  For anyone unable to kneel or crouch, the Canon G12 is an absolute dream and you can discover tiny little plants and flowers that you'd normally never notice.  For many years I've been forced to shoot from a standing position unless I can sink (un)gracefully to the lawn.  Getting up again involves all sort of ungainly moves somewhat similar to a camel rising from the ground 

I don't have any idea what these little yellow flowers are but they're everywhere at the moment especially along the verges and vacant land.  I study up everyday on the fynbos of the area but it's sometimes quite difficult to decide from photographs exactly what plant you're looking at.  When all else fails, I cut a little piece of the plant and take it up to the Botanic Garden for identification.

And here are some of the little pink jewels spreading across the ground under the grasses and other plants.  I'm reasonably sure that they are oxalis and you'd miss them if you were driving past so the moral of the story is Get Out And Walk.



The assignment for the photographic society this month is "Grass" so much of my time is spent aiming my camera at grass on the roadsides, grass next to the Kleinmond Lagoon and grass at the Harold Porter Botanic Gardens; grass against a blue sky, grass covered in raindrops or grass against a sunset.  Who knew there were so many different kinds and that they all have their own preferences as to locations and water.

Wild Horses

For as long as I've been visiting and now living in Betty's Bay I've heard tales about the wild horses of the Botrivier Wetlands. I've never been lucky enough to see them as they appear to be quite elusive as they wade and graze through the shallow waters or (very rarely) canter across the nearby dunes.  Several Sundays ago we decided to visit the Rooisand Nature Reserve where access to the wetlands is fairly easy.

From Clarence Drive just past Kleinmond you turn down into a dust road with the worst corrugations I've ever experienced and arrive at the beautiful wild wetlands, where the only sounds are those of the numerous waterbirds, the gentle lapping of water against the abundant small islands, the sound of the wind as it ruffles the grasses and the dull roar of the breakers on the other side of the dunes. 

We could see a small herd of horses in the distance, too far to photograph unfortunately, but my daughter thought there might be some of the animals near the bird hide which you reach via a boardwalk and a fairly long trudge through sand and vegetation.  And by the way, how wonderful to see boardwalks being constructed in a number of wetlands and rare plant areas.  We need to do everything we can to preserve our precious biosphere.

When we got to the bird hide we saw two horses fairly close by, so we crept quitely into the hide and settled down, binoculars and camera ready, hoping the horses wouldn't take fright and gallop off.  On the contrary they moved closer and closer towards us, peacefully grazing and perfectly relaxed.

From a pamphet suppled by the Kleinmond Tourism Office, written by Dr F J van der Merwe and titled "The Wild Horses - Botrivier Wetlands, Kleinmond" comes this interesting story about the origins of the horses.

"They are unique to this area and are South Africa's only herd of wild horses found in a wetland habitat.  They are legend in the region  with many speculations as to how they got there.

One of the more romantic claims is that during the Anglo-Boer War, domesticated horses were taken from the surrounding farms into the Palmiet Mountains to be hidden from the British troops.  |Some of these horses escaped to form a herd, which grew to about 400, some 60 years ago."

"Another claim states that the British soldiers who had barracks in the area, released some horses which made up a herd, although not as many as the 400 estimated in the previous claim.

Some locals believe that a local smallholder released a few horses from his stock some time ago and these remnants are those now found grazing in the wetlands."

"The horses seem to have a good ecological impact on the Bot River lake area.  They play a similar role to hippos as they create waterways through the vegetation, especially through the thick reed beds."

Information gleaned from the notices on the boardwalk puts the number of horses at 23, consisting of 2 roaming herds of 10 and 13 horses each.  Apparently over decades the groups of horses and their ancestors have adapted themselves remarkably well to their marshy habitat by developing big, saucer-shaped hooves, an adaptation to the soft spongy surface.

After twenty enthralling minutes of watching and snapping pictures, the pair started to wander off, leaving the wild, deserted expanses to the waterbirds.

We felt incredibly privileged to have caught a closeup look of these mystical animals and it's a magical experience I'll always remember. 

On the way back along the dirt road I stopped to take this picture of the after effects of a fire which swept a large part of the area some time ago.  The dead trees are the remains of Rooikrantz, an invasive alien plant which reproduces rapidly, smothering all in its path.   It seeds itself rapidly and only the most strenuous efforts at ongoing clearance bring it under control.  The good thing about the fire is that the larger aliens were destroyed, the bad thing is that the heat of the fire causes more seeds to germinate.

Once back on the tar road, a flash of bright colour caught our eyes and we found this Brunsvigia orientalis, common names include candelabra flower, king candelabra, chandelier lily and sore-eye flower. 

"Large pinkish 'eggs'  suddenly push their way above ground, elongating quickly and becoming topped with the spectacular red spherical flowerheads.  Even more surpirsing is that they pop up out of the bare ground, normally without a leaf in sight."

"Once the seeds begins to develop the  flower stalks elongate and the inflorescence dries out.  The dry flower stalks snap off and the wind sends the spherical heads tumbling along."

Information about the lilies from http://www.plantsafrica.com/

Work ? What work ?

I was lost the moment I woke up and walked out on to the bedroom balcony.  The tide was out, the wet beach sand gleamed and the air was fresh and salty.  All resolutions about Work That Had To Be Done Today flew out of my head and wafted away in the soft breeze.  Ten minutes later I was down at Silversands Beach.



I'd  thought I might have the beach to myself but as usual, the early-rising fishermen had beaten me to it.  Blue cooler boxes mark the spot and lay a claim to this particular patch of paradise.

Knee deep in icy surf, intent only on waiting for the fishing lines to twitch, I imagine that this must be one of those experiences to savour and enjoy during colder, more bleak times.  I remember how my dad loved to cast a line out into the surf whenever he had a chance.  I asked him how he felt if he didn't catch anything and he said something I've never forgotten - "It's not the result that's important, it's the experience".  Everytime I wander around with my camera, losing myself in the joy of just being at one with the world around me, I remember my dad and, yes, it is about the experience - the pictures are a bonus but they're secondary.

Mirror images and intrepid walkers way further down the beach.  With the sun behind my back I couldn't get my shadow out of the picture but in a way it kind of balances the reflection of the mountains.

Turning round and walking back the clouds started to drift over and the light on the shining sand softened.

The walkers caught up and passed me, obligingly adding some scale to the image.

Back at the beginning, the fishermen were still out in the waves, the cooler box hadn't been washed away and someone with tough feet was walking over the extremely sharp rocks.

And the Vital and Important Work?  Alas it was still waiting for me.

March Lillies

One of the joys of my new fynbos garden is the discovery of  a new (to me) flower that I didn't know was hidden beneath the rather dry and sandy soil.  When I reversed out the driveway a few days ago my eye was caught by a glorious pop of colour and when I stopped to investigate I discovered clumps of Amaryllis Belladonna popping up all over the place.  Later that afternoon one of my lovely new neighbours dropped in and gave me a bouquet of the same lillies.



From an internet search, http://www.plantzafrica.com/, I learnt that other popular names for this bulb are Belladonna Lily or Naked Lady lilly.  The interesting thing about them is that the flowers are borne on the end of a long purple/red and green stem about 50cm high but the strap-like leaves are only produced after flowering and remain green throughout the winter period.  Apparently this strange phenomanon is known as hysteranthy.



Up to twelve flowers may appear from the flowering stem and the trumpet-shaped pink (or white) flowers are softly scented and delicately curled at the end of the petals.





"Amaryllis is Greek feminine and is named after a beautiful shepherdess.  The specific epithet belladonna means beautiful lady.  The appearance of the tall, flower stalk without any leaves accounts for the common name "naked lady" "



The swirling sugar pink colors of the petals in close up remind me of the gauzy tutus my girls wore for ballet and eisteddfods all those years ago.  At the time the endless fetching and carrying for ballet, tap, tennis, hockey, and singing was absolutely exhausting but I look back on them very fondly.  Any transporting I do these days is when I'm in visiting the grandsons in Brisbane so the activites are soccer, rugby, tennis, cricket, chess, guitar, orchestra and choir.    Nice to know that the musical gene is being carried on in the family.



The flower pix are mine and the information is from http://www.plantsafrica.com/

Peak Times

Casting around for a topic to write about today, I found some notes I'd made sometime ago on blogging ideas.  I subscribe to two daily Word Press newsletters and one of them had suggested writing about a peak time in your life.  And this was one of the first memories that came to mind.

A few years ago my husband and I made a leisurely trip up the Garden Route, a particularly beautiful section of the East Coast of South Africa.  Storms River Mouth was one of the stops along the way, a spectacular meeting of the river and sea, and slung between the two shores is a long suspension bridge.  At the time it was prior to my knee replacements and the long steep hike to the bridge made me pessimistic about my chances of getting there without the total collapse of the knees.



I'm an extremely stubborn person so once started on the path I refused to give up despite quite severe pain and eventually we arrived at the spot where the bridge began.  To my horror the bridge was swaying and bouncing slightly as other people walked over it.

I'm terrified of heights and water.  I can't swim, not that it would help me if I fell into the churning waters below.  I sat on a rock watching others walk across, trying to summon up the courage to take that first step.  I thought "Right, I've come this far, I can't give up now".  So holding on for dear life, I started across the plank walkway which afforded all too vivid glimpses of the boiling cauldron below.

Half way across I was swept by a feelng of utter exhilaration and joy, of being strong and invincible.  After a short rest on the far shore I began the return journey, this time feeling confident enough to snap off some pictures - one-handed of course, because I wasn't going to let go of my death grip of the rope holds.  When I got to the other side my husband was there to capture the moment and I've never felt so proud of myself as I did then.  The fact that I limped for several days afterwards was worth every ache and pain.

I was thinking about why this achievement meant so much to me and I realised that my life had become quite small and constricted for a long time, thanks to the knee problems.  The fear of pain and falling had made me reluctant to tackle anything so strenuous but I had pushed myself through it.  I'd had so few really physical challenges in my life at that stage so this was definitely a peak experience and one I will never forget.  I felt that I had experienced a small taste of the euphoria that climbers must feel when summiting a mountain. 

This was my "mountain" and I had climbed it.