There are times when I am alone outdoors when I am taken back into my childhood. Like today, in the park which is just across the road from our home. Listening to the calls of birds in the still-bare branches I am suddenly in the Karoo “veldt” again. It is something so essential to myself that growing up on a farm in a semi-desert area of South Africa has given me – a strong connection with nature and a need to just wander around in a natural environment – to be alone. I saw an earthworm in the park today, wriggling about on the grass, trying to burrow its way back in – and it reminded me of the phenomenal, pythonesque earth-worms that would surface in South Africa when it had rained and wriggle around, or seemingly, swim in the earth-brown puddles that so quickly formed. They were sometimes 2 or 3 feet long and quite moist-rubbery-wriggly-incredible. Sometimes the rain would come so suddenly and intensively that the drains would overflow and gutters would be mini-flood-torrents – always browned by the dry-earth and dust that the usual dryness had made. As a child I was sent to boarding school at the age of eight. I think I had been there for a year or two before my native mischief fully emerged – and I remember wading in the rushing waters of the gutters after a sudden and very exciting flood of rain – shoes and all – some of the greatest fun I have ever had.
There was a gloriously round little robin today in the ecology park, up at the top of one of the resident willow trees. The sound of its singing, and the call of a little tit hopping about in the tangly, sky-steaming branches of a poplar nearby, the late afternoon sun, just transported me back to the still sun of the Karoo veldt – birds singing amongst acacia thorns, I could walk for miles and miles alone without seeing another living soul. Once I surprised a kudu (a large antelope with long twisty horns, about the size of a small pony.... the kudu, not the horns!) The kudu was standing in front of a barrier of thorny trees at least 8 or 9 feet high – and it simply leapt right over the top of them with one swift vertical spring – a small bend at the knees – no run up at all – pretty breathtaking. That was unusual – there was a lot of wild game but it usually kept well out of sight, especially by day-light.
As a child I lived in mortal fear of the herd of dairy-cows who were frequently headed up the dirt road towards the farm buildings to be milked around the time I was wandering down towards the bridge across the little fish river. Up until a certain age these walks were supervised by my nanny,(I hate saying that because it sounds so lah-di-dah, but the truth was that all us over-priveledged little white brats were brought up and cared for by gracious, lovely and caring black women who were like second mothers to us, and yet we lived in a culture that denegrated them and stripped them of their basic rights.) My 2 sisters would usually have have been there too, the three of us clinging to her in terror, or maybe my youngest sister was still being carried on her back in the traditional way. The mere sight of the big lumbering beasts shaking their ponderous heads and lowing in that threatening way would terrify me beyond belief. Later, when my nanny wasn't there, I would just dive into the nearest bush and hide away as soon as I saw those bovine monsters coming.
A strange rural myth was related to me by my nanny incidentally, it stipulated that stepping in cow-dung with one's bare feet would cause them to grow to an inordinate size, so we lived in mortal terror of that as well. She also told us that if we laughed when we heard a horse passing wind it would give us chapped lips, I continued to believe that for many years and would absolutely feel my lips starting to dry and crack if they so much as twitched in the presence of equine flatulence. The relationship I had with my first nanny, and then with her sister who went on to work in our house as “inside maid” was a very close and nurturing one and I still feel very connected to them to this day. Their mother was our cook and she had a special fondness for me, something which helped to compensate for what I saw as my mother's rejection of me.
I think in retrospect that my mother did not really understand my sensitive and introspective nature. The fact that I did not join with my sisters in competing for her affections was seen by her as a sign I did not want them. I think I did have a strong tendency to turn to alternative mother/father figures and try to bond with them instead. My parents were certainly not neglectful or abusive and I think my early childhood was a very happy one indeed, but they never told me they loved me or made me feel wanted, accepted and loved. I think this is something they passed on from the way their parents had brought them up – they definitely lived within a culture where showing feelings or talking about them was a kind of taboo. The sad thing is I grew up believing they didn't care about me at all, and was tormented by this, and it really wasn't true. At least I know that now. I may have over-compensated a bit with my kids – but I have been determined that they should always know they are loved and get loads of affection. Something they have sometimes resisted and seen as a kind of torture – being boys – oh no she's trying to cuddle me again! My oldest son (the beautiful Bird-Dog) often expresses how lucky he feels to have us as parents, which is pretty amazing and gratifying. However Long-Kitten is inclined to regard us as terrible morons, but he is very good at helping us with all our pc related dilemmas and catastrophes – he also spent many hours making me a mother's day “card” in the form of an animation, it was truly touching even if it did involve a lot of babies exploding out of a mummy's tummy and the words happy mother's day been spelled out in gore – the bump was wobbling and pulsating and the sound of the babies crying could be heard from within... after the explosion the doctor fainted, haha - last year's one had sheep being fired from a canon – maa-aa-aa – splatt!! I know it seems a bit weird, but they are really beautifully made and very funny (in a dark teenagerish kind of way) and that is his way of saying he loves me.... I can truly say my kids are the most amazing thing that have ever happened in my life.... and I'd better go and do something about seeing to their nutritional needs, I can smell them burning, tarah.
There was a gloriously round little robin today in the ecology park, up at the top of one of the resident willow trees. The sound of its singing, and the call of a little tit hopping about in the tangly, sky-steaming branches of a poplar nearby, the late afternoon sun, just transported me back to the still sun of the Karoo veldt – birds singing amongst acacia thorns, I could walk for miles and miles alone without seeing another living soul. Once I surprised a kudu (a large antelope with long twisty horns, about the size of a small pony.... the kudu, not the horns!) The kudu was standing in front of a barrier of thorny trees at least 8 or 9 feet high – and it simply leapt right over the top of them with one swift vertical spring – a small bend at the knees – no run up at all – pretty breathtaking. That was unusual – there was a lot of wild game but it usually kept well out of sight, especially by day-light.
As a child I lived in mortal fear of the herd of dairy-cows who were frequently headed up the dirt road towards the farm buildings to be milked around the time I was wandering down towards the bridge across the little fish river. Up until a certain age these walks were supervised by my nanny,(I hate saying that because it sounds so lah-di-dah, but the truth was that all us over-priveledged little white brats were brought up and cared for by gracious, lovely and caring black women who were like second mothers to us, and yet we lived in a culture that denegrated them and stripped them of their basic rights.) My 2 sisters would usually have have been there too, the three of us clinging to her in terror, or maybe my youngest sister was still being carried on her back in the traditional way. The mere sight of the big lumbering beasts shaking their ponderous heads and lowing in that threatening way would terrify me beyond belief. Later, when my nanny wasn't there, I would just dive into the nearest bush and hide away as soon as I saw those bovine monsters coming.
A strange rural myth was related to me by my nanny incidentally, it stipulated that stepping in cow-dung with one's bare feet would cause them to grow to an inordinate size, so we lived in mortal terror of that as well. She also told us that if we laughed when we heard a horse passing wind it would give us chapped lips, I continued to believe that for many years and would absolutely feel my lips starting to dry and crack if they so much as twitched in the presence of equine flatulence. The relationship I had with my first nanny, and then with her sister who went on to work in our house as “inside maid” was a very close and nurturing one and I still feel very connected to them to this day. Their mother was our cook and she had a special fondness for me, something which helped to compensate for what I saw as my mother's rejection of me.
I think in retrospect that my mother did not really understand my sensitive and introspective nature. The fact that I did not join with my sisters in competing for her affections was seen by her as a sign I did not want them. I think I did have a strong tendency to turn to alternative mother/father figures and try to bond with them instead. My parents were certainly not neglectful or abusive and I think my early childhood was a very happy one indeed, but they never told me they loved me or made me feel wanted, accepted and loved. I think this is something they passed on from the way their parents had brought them up – they definitely lived within a culture where showing feelings or talking about them was a kind of taboo. The sad thing is I grew up believing they didn't care about me at all, and was tormented by this, and it really wasn't true. At least I know that now. I may have over-compensated a bit with my kids – but I have been determined that they should always know they are loved and get loads of affection. Something they have sometimes resisted and seen as a kind of torture – being boys – oh no she's trying to cuddle me again! My oldest son (the beautiful Bird-Dog) often expresses how lucky he feels to have us as parents, which is pretty amazing and gratifying. However Long-Kitten is inclined to regard us as terrible morons, but he is very good at helping us with all our pc related dilemmas and catastrophes – he also spent many hours making me a mother's day “card” in the form of an animation, it was truly touching even if it did involve a lot of babies exploding out of a mummy's tummy and the words happy mother's day been spelled out in gore – the bump was wobbling and pulsating and the sound of the babies crying could be heard from within... after the explosion the doctor fainted, haha - last year's one had sheep being fired from a canon – maa-aa-aa – splatt!! I know it seems a bit weird, but they are really beautifully made and very funny (in a dark teenagerish kind of way) and that is his way of saying he loves me.... I can truly say my kids are the most amazing thing that have ever happened in my life.... and I'd better go and do something about seeing to their nutritional needs, I can smell them burning, tarah.
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