Memorable moments: The woolly riot

In 1997, I spent a month backpacking around the UK, falling deeply in love with the rugged beauty of Wales. I spent my days hiking the Pembrokeshire Coast Path, a spectacular trail that winds through ancient farms—some welcoming, and others guarded by stern "No Trespassing" signs.

One evening, as the sun began to dip toward the horizon, the sky turned a bruised, beautiful purple. I desperately wanted a photo, but a large field of sheep stood between me and the perfect shot. There wasn't a farmer in sight, so I decided to play the part of the silent intruder. I would sneak in, slip across the pasture, snap my masterpiece, and make a rapid, ghostly retreat.

I carefully, quietly unlatched the heavy wooden gate and swung it open.

The silence of the Welsh twilight didn't just break; it shattered. Immediately, three hundred heads snapped up in unison. Three hundred throats began to bleat with a deafening, hysterical excitement. Then, before I could even raise my camera, the entire flock charged.

They didn't just trot; they thundered toward me with a terrifying, single-minded pace. I stood my ground for a split second, convinced I was about to be trampled by a woolly mob, before realizing the frantic logistics of the farm.

The farmer had been rotating the flock. They had spent the day grazing their current field down to the nubs, and they had been waiting all afternoon for the gate to open to the lush, rejuvenated "salad bar" of the second field—exactly where I was standing. To the sheep, I wasn't an intruder; I was the Messiah of the Meadow, finally come to deliver them to the promised land of thick grass.

Panic set in as the "quiet" morning was replaced by absolute pandemonium. Realizing the farmer would likely be appearing over the hill at any second to investigate the noise, I did the only thing I could: I slammed the gate shut and latched it tight.

The silence that followed was heavy with 300 broken hearts. I didn't get my sunset photo, but I did get a rapid-fire exit. I fled down the path before the farmer could catch me, leaving behind a field of very disappointed, very vocal sheep who probably still remember me as the man who promised them heaven and delivered only a closed gate.

Memorable moments: The bitter truth

On our way back to Cape Town after a weekend at the Breede River, Russell and I pulled over at a picturesque olive farm. As we strolled toward the farm shop, Russell stopped by a heavily laden tree, reached out, and plucked a plump, dark olive.

He popped it into his mouth and began to chew with a look of pure, Mediterranean relish. "Ooh," he hummed, nodding with approval, "the olives here are absolutely delicious. You have to try one."

I didn't hesitate. I reached for the nearest branch, picked a beautiful-looking specimen, and bit down hard.

The taste was instantaneous and catastrophic. It wasn't just "bitter"—it was a violent, astringent assault on my taste buds that felt like chewing on a piece of toxic chalk soaked in battery acid. I didn't just spit it out; I launched it. The half-masticated olive flew a good five metres across the grove in a projectile arc of pure regret.

Russell immediately erupted in giggles. He leaned forward, opened his mouth, and revealed his own olive—completely untouched and tucked safely under his tongue.

"Ha ha! Got you!" he crowed, finally letting the prop fall to the grass.

I stood there with a mouth that felt like it had been scrubbed with sandpaper, watching him double over with laughter. I’ve since learned that olives must be cured in brine or lye for months before they are remotely edible; unfortunately, I learned it the Russell way.

Weekend away at Wolseley, Ceres and Tulbagh with Heather and Russell

A super weekend in the country with Russell and Heather.  

The Fynbos Farm was a wonderful place to connect with many beautiful animals and birds like donkeys, llamas, zebras, goats, pigs, rabbit, emus and peacocks. The owners, a very friendly gay couple, are very spiritual and have built a meditation chapel and a labyrinth. Walking the labyrinth was a very special experience, it really does quieten the mind.

On Saturday, Russell and I went to climb Matroosberg but we gave up after a couple of hours because of rain and wind.  We went to pick cherries in Ceres instead.

On Sunday, we went for a lovely swim in a local waterfall and then explored Tulbagh. The highlight was trying a local restaurant's very adventurous ice cream flavours like wasabi.

Fynbos Farm outside Wolseley

Walking at Matroosberg

Picking cherries

Swimming at the local waterfall

Visiting Tulbagh on the way home

A week with Brendan on his farm

A wonderful week with Brendan.

Highlights

• Lots of very satisfying physical labour including installing a fireplace, clearing a canopy of fallen trees and clearing a fence.
• Being inspired by Brendan with DIY.  There's nothing you can't do with the right outlook.
• Getting to use a chainsaw for the first time. I loved it!
• The delicious creme brulee tarts and doughnuts at the local bakery - and the even more delicious woman who owned it.
• A lovely swim on the last day and leaping off the pier.
• Meeting Brendan's old neighbour at his restaurant and the amazing cheese platter we enjoyed with some lovely wine.

The house

Things we worked on: Clearing trees, installing a fireplace, clearing gutters, taking down a fence.

We cleared old trees to create lots of firewood.  I had my first experience of chainsawing!

Brendan at war with his nemeses.  Blackberry, weeds, thistles and bracken.

Bails of grass.

A swim at the beach nearby.

Hi there guys

At last some good Internet connection and a chance to say hi. 

I'm having a wonderful time on the farm. 

It's a paradise place with rolling, grassy hills and a forested gully running through it. And it's so amazingly quiet. Apart from the beautiful silence, nothing but bird songs and cricket chirrups to listen to. 

I've been doing loads of hard physical labour. Cleaning and installing gutters. Installing a huge fireplace in the farm cottage. Clearing fallen trees (I've become a chainsaw wielding fiend!).  And most fun of all, taking down fences to open up the farm. It feels like rural Feng Shui. Each night I go to bed at 8 pm and sleep like a baby. 

Brendan and I are having lots of fun exploring the local eateries and enjoying local wines. He's a wonderful guy with an amazing sense of humour. A great connection. 

I hope you're all well. I'll be sorry to miss Eckhart on Tuesday. I will be thinking of you all.

G