Country lanes

Wandering along the quiet roads and lanes of McGregor with my camera, I lapse into a blissful state of contentment, unconscious of time, frequently coming to my senses just in time to avoid tripping over a pothole or the uneven ground.Small wonder with scenes like this.

 The tree with the bright red flowers is a flamboyant (I think, I hope) and here is a close-up of the flower.

At the end of a lane, an early blossoming orchard of apricot trees.

Keeping a watchful eye on all who pass, this dignified ginger and white beastie refused to make friends.

Afternoon shadows dance across the soft coloured cream and blue cottage with its matching spiked potplants.

These cement-lined furrows are part of the lei water system which irrigates the gardens of McGregor and provides a soft bubbling background for birdsong and insects.

 Purple wisteria tumbles over the fence of this little cottage in a fragrant, colourful shower.

A cottage frontage so perfectly elegant that it just has to be a small antiques boutique.

This picture of the red vine leaves was actually taken during winter several years ago but I included it to show how there is alway colour in McGregor no matter what time of the year it is.

A guest house named Oblivion and there have been times this past year when I could have done with some of that.

The night watch.

Meeters and greeters

The thing is, you see, when you arrive at Temenos (of which more later) , you are greeted enthusiastically by a whole band of unusual hosts.  There's an aristocratic but aloof looking peacock ...

One of his wives perched on the wall in front of your cottage, trying not to look too interested ...

A little duck whose curiosity is far more apparent and extends to an inspection of your home to be ...

and this little speckled fellow who paddled across the pond full steam ahead to inspect us for himself.

Once the inspection was finished we could turn our attention to the gardens around us.  Small white Cape cottages with thatch roofs hunker down amidst olive trees, lavender and rosemary and a riot of colourful indigenous plants.  Yesterday-today-and-tomorrow bushes and fragrant roses add to the delicious heady scents all around.

Gravel paths wind between cottages and flowerbeds.

And finally the door to our cottage, with yet another seemingly bored looking visitor.

Baskets of lush pink geraniums dotted amongst some of the flowerbeds.

The tranquil duck pond in front of our cottage with some of its residents taking an afternoon nap.  The island in the centre is home to dozens of yellow weaver birds busily making new nests, mainly it seems from strips of bamboo leaves which they tear off the stems with surprising strength.

Arriving in McGregor

 My husband was going to attend a workshop in a small country town called McGregor and I decided that for once the office could look after itself.  I would go with him and wander around the village with my camera, at my leisure, returning to our beautiful lodgings for refreshment and rest whenever the need overtook me.  And was I glad that I did!

McGregor is a tiny mid-nineteenth century village nestled at the foot of the Riviersondereind Mountains.  It's a peaceful place of  whitewashed and thatch roofed cottages.  Cold water bubbles along irrigation furrows and wisteria and jasmine scent the air with their heavenly fragrance.  Blossoming fruit trees, bougainvillea, roses and lavender provide patches of colour and birdsong is the loudest sound to be heard.  Largely and thankfully undiscovered as yet, the road into and through the town is tarred but the remainder of the roads are still dirt. The preserved architecture is largely Cape Dutch with few modern buildings to spoil the appearance of the village.

This is one of the views from the far end of the town, where interestingly enough, the road just comes to an end, perhaps in some way accounting for the isolation of the village and its subsequent preservation.

While driving around, the light suddenly became extremely dramatic and this scene had me leaping enthusiastically out of the car.

And, speaking of dramatic, I don't know what words I could use to describe this wisteria, so I think I must let the picture speak for itself.

Imagine that you owned the key to this blue door.  Imagine unlocking that door, pushing it open with your baguette and winebottle-laden basket and then imagine ...

 Finally, as we were looking for our accommodation we saw this - tender pink daisies and sharp-edged grey stones, a striking combination.

Beware of the dog ...

... but be really afraid of the cat!  This gorgeous creature kept a wary eye on me as I walked up and down the street, leaning over hedges and peering through gates.

An old Cape wagon - what tales it could tell of times long past.

Dainty and delicate as an iced wedding cake, a pink house with white "broekie" lace and green roof.  The term "broekie" means panties and would refer to the lace edging around the kind of old fashioned garments which little girls would have worn.

Detail of one of the gable of the pink house.

I'm a gable fan, as you may have realised by now.

Also, a door fan - especially of colourful, old, weathered ones like this.  Can't resist asking "what's behind the green door?"

More glimpses ... and more daisies

We found our cottage and after settling in, I left the rugby fanatics gathered around the TV and took off with my camera for a satisfying saunter.  First, a pic of our blue and white B & B, Die Lodge.

When I spoke in an earlier blog about the orange daisies growing everywhere and anywhere, I wasn't exaggerating.  Crammed behind the open gate ...

Growing up through the bricks on the verandah of our cottage ...

Floating in an old cast iron container outside a restaurant ...

and lying in a forgotten bunch on garden table.

Basking in the sun

After driving through fields of multi-coloured flowers we came into the small village of Calvinia, situated at the foot of the dolerite topped Hantam mountains and next to the Oorlogskloof River.  This is an arid area and the spring flower show depends on whether the rains are plentiful.  This year we had arrived either too early or too late and there weren't that many to be seen, but the town more than made up for the lack of flowers. Small houses in traditional white wash and dark green painted woodwork nestle amongst the more modern pastel painted cottages.

A general dealer's shop, familiar to the childhood memories of most children who have grown up in small country villages.

A pretty and surprising sight - roses blooming at the end of winter.

Bath al fresco,  surrounded by orange daisies.

Die Dorphuis (The Town House) a Victorian green and white striped cottage.

 

The bright flashy orange daisies line pavements, street corners and anywhere they can get a toe hold.

 

Hidden Beauty

Leaving the flower fields we headed for the area where, we'd been told, we would find glacial pavements in the fields.  Striations on the rocks would clearly show the passage of thousand of rocks and pebbles tumbled along by the movement of the glaciers. We should look also for the tiny flowers growing in even tinier pockets of soil on and around the rocks.  We found the formations which are from the Permian era 280 million years ago and, sure enough, the striations looked as if they'd been scored into the granite hard rock with a garden rake.

 And then, oh then, we found the delicate little beauties hiding beneath the grasses; difficult to photograph because of the brisk breeze but at least you get the idea.

 

Further along the road were signs of spring on its way.

Cape cottages built with sandstone and planted around with orange aloes.