I bought myself a canning funnel in Knysna that makes it easier to spoon the figs and syrup into the jars. It was jolly expensive. I first had to go for coffee and a slice of wortelkoek to get the courage to pay for it. But now I have it and the pain of paying is forgotten. We nearly sold out our preserves last Saturday at the Markie.
The museum is next to the Markie and tell you what, the watsonias in front are looking magnificent. Perhaps they are paying a tribute to your late queen. After all, Prince Albert is named after her great-great grandfather. Good thing they are not orange watsonias. A watsonia can really bloom a sad orange.
Joubert has just pressed his cheddar number 15. We get our milk from the Jerseys at Aswater. I’m sure their milk is more creamy because they are surrounded by Heleen’s beautiful calligraphy etched into the rocks, painted on walls and floors. When you visit we must go and do her walk on the farm. Last time I walked it, I fell asleep twice along the way. It is that peaceful.
Remember we were going to have a Heritage Day Kwaai Braai? We listened to Johnny Clegg and we kept bringing the food out. We even made broodjies with powdered biltong. The granadilla jelly wouldn’t set, so we made thick custard and topped it with the runny jelly. It was a good day.
We also have a new man-about-town on the farm. Rocky the Rooster. And he takes his job extremely seriously. He struts about with his harem of hens and beware anyone lacking behind! Like a man waiting in the car for his wife, he pecks the ground, highly irritated, and when the flustered lady joins again, the stately procession continues to patrol the orchard like a feathery cloud. He quite likes to show off his (very impressive) tenor crow, setting in action a riff from all the surrounding farms’ gentlemen, and even some ladies….