The everlasting quest for purpose – show me one human-being who has not grabled , at one stage or another, with his or her destiny and purpose on this planet! It is central to our journey to the end of time (for us) and the very reality of being.
Life is a journey with so many twists and turns, but in the end the journey is more important than the end. I know there are people with a conflicting views and who truthfully believe that the end is the goal and the crowning. I respect their view and wish them well. Fact is that we are here now on a planet so fragile that unless we ‘superior beings’ do something during our stay, nothing will remain to be enjoyed and experienced by those still to arrive.
Not to hit and run a zillion butterflies! I have never in my life seen more butterflies celebrating life. Neither have I seen ostrich chics bathing in a thunderstorm waterpuddle. Life is indeed beautiful and in many ways incomprehensible. Who are we humans? What do we know? How wise are we? We know greed. We know how to kick those who are down.
Ever seen butterflies docking like yachts in a yachtclub? Zillions, and how long do they endure? The circle of life. What do we know?
Let us not forget the little ones!
The joy of the dancing grasses in a light breeze stock-piling the foodstores!
A revelation of universal truths man should learn from nature and creation.
Road to Bitterpan
It is January 2021 during the times of Corona and our escape to the Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park brought us to ‘Springtime’ during summer in this arid and oft unforgiving land.
It is our first visit during summer. Safaris to this most northern part of South Africa are mostly done during winter. Temperatures can easily reach 40 degrees Celsius during the day. Believe me!
Turning on the heat
This arid land has an average rainfall of between 200 and 350mm, but The Infinite Divinity has blessed all of creation here with an ability to survive and a morality far surpassing that of man. Man has interfered yes, as boreholes were sunk to supply additional water. Shows some compassion, but nature provides for a supreme order to ensure that life continues and species are protected.
All of the fauna and flora are bursting of joy after the wonderful rains in December. It is a time of blessing and immense grace. It is a time of birth. Family-time.
Family time
Never before have I seen so many ostrich chics, springbok lambs, gemsbok, red hartebeest and blue wildebeest calves – and butterflies! Life is bliss and truely laidback!
Life is beautiful
But – Although there is abundance for now, there is no greed, there is no abuse, there is sharing, there is eqilibrium.
Just spend a few moments at the upper end of Kenridge dam observing the ‘Jupiter- Saturn – conjunction’ with Rosebud, Rozanne and oupa’s two Bloemie princesses. Lia and Amelie right on top of the Fortuner’s roofrack. A moment in time, a memory forever.
Moments make life. Life is art, is a complex puzzle. So many pieces.
Who or what will we be at the next great Conjunction?
I am not sure if it is a direct consequence of the year of the pandemic or merely one of growing older and not having enough to do in retirement. Well, the latter is partly in my own hands and partly not, I suppose. The pandemic no doubt (in my mind) turned the world upside down in many ways, despite what the advocates of conspiracy theories may argue.
Life is a blessing they say. Life is hard, others say. Life sucks, the unhappy say. Life is good, indeed very good, a few say. Live Life and be grateful, the disabled say. There is no other Life we know, the downtrodden sigh. Life is not fair, the grieving say. Life is a golden opportunity says the optimist. Life is about humanity says the philanthropist. Life is not for us to comprehend some say.
Life is real – very real.
The pain in my chest is not fear of death. The pain in my chest is longing for my child and my grief that endure. C S Lewis said: “No one ever told methat grief felt so like fear”. The pain is fear and anxiety for the mental and physical well-being of my wife and my children on this shattered and contaminated planet. It is concern for my grandchildren. The pain is anger. The pain is the inability to change things.
The pain in my chest is an intense desire for a just society – for humanity. A burning desire for understanding.
The pain in my chest is angst.
Small Pain In My Chest
by Michael Mack
The soldier boy was sitting calmly underneath that tree. As I approached it, I could see him beckoning to me. The battle had been long and hard and lasted through the night And scores of figures on the ground lay still by morning’s light.
“I wonder if you’d help me, sir”, he smiled as best he could. “A sip of water on this morn would surely do me good. We fought all day and fought all night with scarcely any rest – A sip of water for I have a small pain in my chest.”
As I looked at him, I could see the large stain on his shirt All reddish-brown from his warm blood mixed in with Asian dirt. “Not much”, said he. “I count myself more lucky than the rest. They’re all gone while I just have a small pain in my chest.”
“Must be fatigue”, he weakly smiled. “I must be getting old. I see the sun is shining bright and yet I’m feeling cold. We climbed the hill, two hundred strong, but as we cleared the crest, The night exploded and I felt this small pain in my chest.”
“I looked around to get some aid – the only things I found Were big, deep craters in the earth – bodies on the ground. I kept on firing at them, sir. I tried to do my best, But finally sat down with this small pain in my chest.”
“I’m grateful, sir”, he whispered, as I handed my canteen And smiled a smile that was, I think, the brightest that I’ve seen. “Seems silly that a man my size so full of vim and zest, Could find himself defeated by a small pain in his chest.”
“What would my wife be thinking of her man so strong and grown, If she could see me sitting here, too weak to stand alone? Could my mother have imagined, as she held me to her breast, That I’d be sitting HERE one day with this pain in my chest?”
“Can it be getting dark so soon?” He winced up at the sun. “It’s growing dim and I thought that the day had just begun. I think, before I travel on, I’ll get a little rest ………. And, quietly, the boy died from that small pain in his chest.
I don’t recall what happened then. I think I must have cried; I put my arms around him and I pulled him to my side And, as I held him to me, I could feel our wounds were pressed The large one in my heart against the small one in his chest.
Having been “imprisoned” since end of March, the eventual ‘breakout’ was highly anticipated.
18 August 2020 – permission to travel for leisure again. A little time to prep the caravan, arrangements for Emma and off on 8 September, with our first overnight at The Growcery at Vioolsdrif on the banks of the Orange river. The memory of my first visit to this arid land without doubt: scorpions! And we were not let down at all!
Only we, Sas, who manages this normally very busy river rafting spot and his many Australian cattle dogs – a domesticated cross with dingos!
Although just a one night stand, our pawed friends made quite an impression and we left with pleasant memories.
It has been a good season for this arid semi- desert part of our fragile planet. You know this when the Richtersveld shows colour other than shades of brown and grey.
An endless land. Past Eksteenfontein and Kuboes to Sendelingsdrif, port of entry to the park and of course Namibia via the pontoon.
Potjiespram campsite was unfortunately a huge disappointment, but we knew the De Hoop site would make up for it. First the passage through the Akkedis pass, which now, having traversed the pass before with sweaty hands and pumping heartbeat, seemed fairly easy.
Four days at De Hoop. Bliss, save for the more than usual number of vehicles – all Covid-escapees, mostly from up north. The very best post-‘imprisonment’ rehab ever. The tranquility of the slow flowing Orange river, the soothing sound of the water through the nearby rapid, the birds coming to say hi, the flickering flames of the fire, the ‘roosterkoek’ and the evening quiet. Paradise not lost, but profoundly found.
I rest my case
This place carves into one’s heart as youthful lovers would into the bark of an old tree. A memory tattooed from within. You will be back. You know this with your whole being.
Time stopped running during 2020, but the calendar not. Everyone had to adjust. Pensioners too. You see – work and career are all about time. Time is of the essence when you work to fulfill dreams and earn. To grow (in wealth) and to gather. Also in spirit, I suppose. All about purpose. All as per upbringing and Life. Off course it all makes sense – Life is a journey – enjoy the ride they say.
But what about pensioners and when Time’s sunset approaches? When you are still young you evolve naturally, adjust with much more ease, but pensioners not. They consume more time on reflection not only because they have more time to kill, but more than often dream ‘backwards’. It’s the circle of Life they say.
To us 2020 and the pandemic brought a state of oblivion – sliding, sinking, slipping and drinking us into oblivion. Is it time lost? Wasted? Not really, for some maybe. But for some it brought a time for new things and for appreciating Time. Reading more than ever, learning more again, exploring new things that can enrich and add value to Life. Gardening, cooking, baking (mostly sourdough), and clearing out dust covered possessions to momentarily call up a memory or two, but mostly because we have time to kill as Time is running out. There is a time to collect, and a time to cast away.
Dreams we have plenty of time for, even more so us pensioners taking an afternoon nap. Not the best utilization of time I venture. This is also the time that the magic of the movies adds to our dreams!
Go watch it – sorry, DVD it – nope stream it! Magic is not only for kids, it is for us too. What would I not have done if I had the ability to time travel! My life would have been shorter, but all of my children would have fulfilled their dreams to the full. More time with parents? More regard for this planet and its creatures, who knows – only Time.
Die jaar 2020 sal in die geskiedenisboeke as die post moderne-pandemie aangeteken word. Covid-19 het die boorlinge van Planeet Aarde goed geskud. Sommige natuurlik meer as ander, want mens is mens en eenstemmigheid bly altyd uit. Feit is dat ingrendeling vanweë Corona beslis nie net ‘n stuk (🍰) was nie, en steeds nie is nie. Inkorting van bewegingsvryheid, soos veral dié tydens die eerste toesluiting, het legio sequelae – Vereensaming, irritasie, individuele aura (dampsfeer) betreding, konflik, depressie, ontvlugtingdrange, kreatiewe denke, oorlewingsinnovasie en projekte.
Terwyl die werklike impak op lyf en siel nog ondersoek word deur hulle wat reken hulle verstaan die mens, is sosiale media gelooi met oorlewingsidees. Een hiervan was natuurlik die ‘brood van die lewe’. Die oerbrood, die natuurlike, die gesonder, die moeitebrood, die smulbrood – ‘sourdough’- suurdeegbrood.
Ek moet ruiterlik erken dat brood gedurende ingrendelling ook een van my reddingsboeie was! Daar is iets omtrent die hele proses – moeite, verdraagsaamheid, afwagting, resultaat. As die botter wegsmelt in ‘n warm sny, dan weet jy, ruik jy, ervaar jy, proe jy en heel jy bietjie vir bietjie.
Die begin – oersuurdeeg, met net meel en water gemaak. Dan daagliks bietjie gevoer en na 5 tot 7 dae het jy jou permanente en parmantige kerngis -“starter”, wat ‘n naam moet kry, want dit is soos om nog ‘n opstandige en altydhonger kind in die huis te hê. Meer soos ‘n adolessent, wat oorkook van moeilikheid soek – en kos. In my geval is hierdie ‘kind’ Juju gedoop.
Juju
Juju is nou al deel van die huishouding en is telkens die katalis vir heerlike en gesonde grendelbrode. Laasgenoemde het gedurende ingrendeling een van die mees gewilde onderwerpe geraak. Kyk maar net na Google. Gaan kyk maar net na wat op youTube beskikbaar is! Kyk na al die vrae en antwoorde op Google. Dan natuurlik ook soveel menings as wat daar siele is. Vir diegene wat Duits kan lees- hier is ‘n lekkervoel storie oor ‘n bewaarskool vir ‘Jujus’).
Die proses van eksperimentering, innovering, verkenning en afwagting neem jou aandag heerlik weg van die pandemie. Boonop vereis die proses nie die dra van ‘n masker nie!
My eie grendelbroodterapie het nou al ‘n paar aanpassings gesien. Verkenning is interessant en stimulerend! Geen super klewerige vingers van die redelike klam deeg nie. Ander tegniek as uitrek en vou. Ek gebruik nou ‘n spatula om die deeg oor te trek en in te vou binne in die bak.
As jy in die laat middag begin, het jy baie drinktyd, want die proses van water, suurdeeg en meel (ek vergeet telkens die sout!🙄) tot die deeg laat rus vir 10 tot 12 uur voor bak, verg so 5 of 6 intieme interaksie van spatula bewerking! Oortrek en invou, oortrek en invou…….so elke 30 minute.
Hoe aktiewer en opstandiger Juju is, hoe beter. Nou gevind dis beter om die suurdeeg (Juju) eers net met die water (2 koppies teen kamertemperatuur) te meng en ‘n rukkie te laat staan voor die meel ingevou word. Amper vergeet- 4 eetlepels van ou Juju! Dan die meel inwerk en eerste rus onder ‘n doekie.
Aanvanklik die deeg na ‘bewerking’ oornag in die yskas gesit, maar los dit nou buite. Raak redelik reaksionêr en dapper. Ek kort nog net ‘n goeie rysmandjie ( banneton proofing basket), wat ek nou bestel het, maar intussen werk my meelbestrooide plastiekbak heel goed. Met die deeg goed gerus en gegroei, volg die voorbereiding vir bak. Ooit gehoor van ‘n pot bak? Dan nog ‘n leë pot! Wel, suurdeegbrood het baie hoë temperatuur en stoom nodig. Die pot moet ‘n soort van ‘Dutch Oven’ wees, wat net beteken ‘n “swaargewig” kalant, soos gietyster, Le Crousette,ens. Jy bak die brood as te ware in ‘n oond binne in ‘n oond!!
Oond bitter warm teen ongeveer 250 grade. Leë pot met deksel op in vir die potbak oefening vir so 15min. Intussen word die deegie mooi rond gevorm met so ‘n soort van onderlangs invoubeweging. Snytjies op bokant en bestrooi met meel.
“Scoring” – Scoring is slashing the dough with a blade or a sharp knife to allow it to expand during baking. The purpose is primarily to control the direction in which the bread will expand during “oven spring.” Easier said then done!
Deegvlekmessie
Selfs my eie messie vir die sny van die deeg ontwerp en vervaardig! Kurkprop ( oorvloed danksy Corona) en Stanley meslemmetjie! En Pratley Putty!
As die leë pot “gebak” het ( klink laf), word die ronde deegie versigtig in die pot geplaas, deksel terug en in die oond vir 35minute. Stoom help en ek kry dit deur’n papbakkie vol water in die oond te sit langs die pot. Ek het natuurlik deur die hele proses verskeie kere besef hoe warm 250 grade rerig is! So – wees bedag!
Snaaks hoe grendel genoeg geduld gee – deksel af na 35 minute en lekker verder bak en bruin vir nog 25. As jou tydsberekkening reg is, is die eerste warm sny teen koffietyd gereed. Botter ingesmelt en die avokadopeer dik gekapok met sout en peper!
Does he really care for those being raped by oupas and uncles, the pregnant farmer’s wife being butchered, the hundreds at the intersections across this land, begging for a day’s work, for Lindile Mkhathu living in his mokhukhu dreaming of selling veggies in the streets of Khayelitsha in Mangaung? No, he does not, they do not. They have no heart. They are evil to the core. Fuck them all!!
I am tired.
Tired of Covid-19. The bullshit, the apathy, the false prophets, the total lack of love and caring. The fake lives, those jubilantly tweeting that another boer bit the dust, the obsession to drive a Range Rover ( posting a photo on Twitter to prove same) irrespective of whether people are dying of hunger. Exploiting the blind, leading the blind, betraying the the blind and never ever praying for forgiveness , do they?
Covid-29 – the greatest of blessing to those who don’t give a damn. A heart-breaking time to those who do care. What paradox! What utter distortion? What evil!
Then there are the humanbeings with a heart – my son passionately tending to the little cancer patient holding her little black hand firmly in his white hand, my daughter pouring out all her love over the hundreds of little Sotho kiddies with disabilities. I see the pregnant mothers lying in the corridors of the Dora Nginza Hospital in the Eastern Cape, waiting in utter desperation to receive just a bit of humanity and I long with an aching heart for my late daughter, who so passionately cared for them as a young doctor in 2005.
Safari Sunset 