Blushing apricots

The apricots are hanging velvety with rosy cheeks in the orchard. Attracting every bird in the neighbourhood with their sweet deliciousness. We have accepted that some of the crop will have to be shared. That is the sacrifice one has to make if one creates a haven for birds in your garden.

On Saturday, the male sparrow was giving warning sounds as I walked into the orchard. I decided to investigate in case it was a snake. Following him from tree to tree I realised that it could not be a snake as he was leading me away from the trees. Somebody was being warned against my presence in the orchard.

Basket of apricots by Louise Moillon 1634

I discovered that the sparrow family had taken up permanent residence in the apricot tree when I noticed them feasting on some fallen apricots later in the morning.

Although we do have some fruit that was stung by Mediterranean Fruit Fly, they look ready to inspire an artist to painting them. I can understand why artists like Georg Flegel (1566 –1638), Louise Moillon (1610–1696) and Luis Egidio Meléndez (1716–1780) were inspired to do so.

Branch of apricots by Georg Flegel 1630-1637

One cannot help but pick one from the tree. Biting into the soft velvety skin, one enjoys its nectar sweet juicy flesh. The branches are heavy with the orange fruit and their blushing cheeks. Although the birds are an irritation at present, one can forgive them for being tempted by the deliciousness.

Still life with bowl of apricots and cherries by Luis Melendez 1773

The fruit brings pleasure to the meals in the Towerwater kitchen. From a luxurious bowl of fresh fruit for breakfast, to adding a sweet surprise to a masala roasted chicken for Sunday lunch.

Vernacular building skills and plaster mixes

Owning a house that is nearly 200 years old means that one needs to do constant maintenance. I believe the true test of whether one is compatible with a historical building, is the measure to which one is prepared to learn traditional skills. Before undertaking the task of restoring your own historical building, one needs to research the building skills and materials of the period in which the building was built. Building practice has evolved immensely over the last century, making contemporary building practice largely incompatible with old buildings. It is often best to consult a professional.

The kitchen gable missing a piece of strap moulding

Most old buildings in the Cape were built with natural materials such as stone, and relatively soft sun-baked bricks, lime plaster and clay. Concrete and strong mixes of cement mortar are usually incompatible with 19th and early 20th century rural Cape building material. If one uses the wrong mortar mix on an old building, it often leads to cracking, uneven settlement and general permeability and adhesion problems, amongst others.

Tools of the trade

Visiting historical buildings many years ago with renowned restoration architects like Dirk Visser and Gawie Fagan was, and remains a privilege in terms of the insight the experience provided. Their passion for this built heritage prepared us for a life of loving old buildings and caring for them.

Keith repairing the inside of the chimney cowl

Restorers generally use a softer mix of lime plaster. The precise ratio may vary from one restoration specialist to another. We have found that a mix of 8 parts sand, 2 lime and 1 cement has worked well on the restoration of Towerwater which commenced 27 years ago.

Preparation

Plastering

When a piece of strap moulding came loose on the kitchen gable-end at Towerwater, it was time to do some maintenance on the ‘old lady’. Luckily Keith, quite unrelated to his profession, is also a skilled plasterer. The greatest challenge was to create a secure working space for him on the steep thatched roof. The top of the gable is very high and one needs to be sure of foot to rule out the risk of serious injury.

Floating the plaster

I am not sure that our measures undertaken to creating a secure working environment for the repair of the moulding would have passed modern building safety regulations. But, we employed a tried and tested vernacular solution for a vernacular repair problem.

Repair work complete

Plastering is a skill that Keith learnt as a young boy. I am always amazed at how effortless he can make it look. In no time the strap moulding was repaired. When it was properly dry, it could be lime washed.

Repair work limewashed

With Keith’s plaster skills and a plaster mix that has stood the test of time at Towerwater, the main house was soon sporting a fresh looking strap moulding. One realises at moments like this how important it is to have the right skills and knowledge to not only restore a historical vernacular building but to maintain it as well. After all, such skills and/or knowledge, would have been commonplace among home owners in centuries past.

Living in a vegetable patch

Fields of lettuce 

Twenty-seven years ago, when we bought in the valley, it was mostly farmed with vines, apricot orchards and yellow cling peaches. Driving through the valley today, one encounters vineyards, apricot, peach, olive, plum, pomegranate, orange, lemon, satsuma, nectarine, and persimmon orchards.

Fields of butternut

The sad part of the citrus orchards, is that they are grown under a white netting that stretches over vast tracks of land, mostly against hillsides. The vast expanses of white netting are highly intrusive in the natural landscape. One has sympathy with the farmers who have to produce fruit in a more competitive world market, but one feels that it can be achieved a bit more sensitively.

Citrus orchards under netting in the distance, near Ashton

Shade netting reduces water consumption and damage from wind and sun but apparently the control of red scale, mealybug, red mite and woolly whitefly is more challenging under nets. One has to wonder how the nets are also impacting on beneficial insects, bees for instance.

Citrus Orchards under netting near Swellendam

Apart from the larger variety of fruit being grown in the valley, we have also noticed that vegetables are now being grown on a larger scale. Mealie, lettuce, butternut, cabbage, melon and tomato fields are making their appearance between vineyards and orchards.

Red frilly lettuce

A bit surprising, given our current climate of water restrictions. One would think that vegetables would need more water. Growing vegetables on this scale is possibly more labour intensive as well. Surely a welcome change in a valley where work opportunities are becoming scarcer.

Tomato plants

Driving through the valley feels like walking through the Towerwater garden. The variety of crops grown in the valley resembles the crops growing in the Towerwater garden, but those in the valley are on a gigantic scale. I find the vegetable fields a welcome change in our valley. Sometimes I feel a bit envious when I see how healthy the plants look. But I am sure they are not organic like those in the Towerwater garden. That thought gives me a little bit of consolation.

Living in the valley feels like living in a giant’s vegetable patch. That is quite nice. I get a visual joy from the big stretches of orderly vegetables etched into the landscape against the backdrop of the beautiful mountains of the Breede Valley.

I wonder what Forrest Rigg would think of what his irrigation canal has achieved for this valley. One man’s vision of more than 100 years ago changed a semi Karoo landscape into a lush food producing valley. I have to wonder how many of us are aware of all those who went before with vision and big dreams that have made it possible for us to enjoy what we have and what sustains our lives today. 

Bull’s blood and Oxhearts in the vegetable garden

One might be forgiven for thinking our vegetable garden rather sanguine and somewhat gruesome. It is enough to repulse a vegetarian. But it sounds worse than it is. I was prompted to thinking about the names we give vegetables as I was planting the follow-up crop of beetroots. The beets are called Bull’s blood, and happen to be growing alongside a bed of Oxheart tomatoes.

I thought the vegetable garden should be old-fashioned this season. Planted with old favourites, instead of all the colourful and exotic heirloom varieties that I tend to favour.

It all started with the bed of Sicilian violet cauliflowers. A bed that I did not mark as having been planted. I arrived one weekend, with excited anticipation of seeing the young sprouted seedlings. Only to find the bed freshly cleaned. I was horrified. But, I realised what a nightmare it is for us to keep track of all the plantings and distinguishing the lesser known vegetables from the weeds. Sometimes tomatoes can be treasured vegetables. But, when they come up all over the beds after composting the garden from our compost bins, they can become ‘weeds’.

To assist in keeping track of when the vegetables are not weeds, I started placing planting indicators in the freshly planted beds. However, I think the snails caught onto this arrangement. They seem to have become very adept at using the planting indicators as signposts for where the next tasty morsels are soon to appear.

I have consequently lost a complete bed of basil and coriander to the marauding snails. The little magic-performers make seedlings disappear overnight. I have decided that I will keep on planting the bush beans as fast as they destroy my neat rows. Just as I thought we were winning the battle of the bush bean, I walked, pre-dawn, into the garden only to catch 30 snails eating the little plants. They left only the flowers and young beans on the stripped stalks. Needless to say, it was their last meal at Towerwater.

Snails making bean plants disappear 

Bean plants post snail visit

Well, I have enough young seedlings to re-plant in the places of the destroyed beans, but it does mess with the look of my beds. On reflection, I think the reason why I am not companion planting in a big way, is that I get so much pleasure from seeing the neat rows of the same plant in a bed.

The mealies have at last started to reach the height for which I was hoping. I love the different heights and textures of the vegetable garden. This is accentuated by the bean trellis, tomato stakes as well as the natural height variations between the mealie plants and the cucurbits, amongst others.

I decided not to replace the brinjal plant that I lost to a cutworm. I try to ignore the gaping hole in the otherwise neat row of plants. But it still bothers me. I had to stop myself from buying a replacement at the nursery.  Buying a tray of six brinjal plants would have left me with a bigger problem. Where do I plant the remaining five in an already full garden?! 

Carrots and beetroot

The orange sweet potato plants turned out to have a different growth pattern. They have long runners snaking into the pathways. The white sweet potatoes with the pink skin, tend to make a bushier plant before sending out runners. On early mornings, I have to guide sweet potato runners back to their bed.

The pumpkin and butternut seeds, I decided to plant in the middle of their beds this year. This is an attempt to try to contain them to their beds. Instead of simply letting them grow all over neighbouring beds, crowding out other vegetables.

On Saturday, I planted the last available empty bed with coriander, sweet peppers, salad tomatoes, beetroot and carrots, as follow up crops for the summer months. The baby marrows have started off the summer harvest season at Towerwater. The names of the crops might remind one of an animal farm, but in the Towerwater garden, all vegetables are equal.     

The generous sunlight of summer

November in the Western Cape is filled with sunshine. We can enjoy daylight for more than 14 hours a day. This will be increasing to 14 hours and 25 minutes at the most on 22 December, which is the Summer solstice in the Southern Hemisphere. After that, our days will gradually become shorter again.

Afternoon sun

We will be able to enjoy the long sun-filled days deep into summer. The longer days have turned the garden into a paradise of green. I am sure that if I stand still long enough in the vegetable garden, I will see the vegetables grow fuller and taller.

In the tree-filled garden, the sun gets filtered. It creates a visual experience that is pleasing to the senses. In the house, the morning sun falls deep inside through the kitchen door. Only to be repeated by the afternoon sun that falls deep into the house through a bedroom window on the orchard (western) side.

The play of light creates different atmospheres in the house the day long. It is as if it intends to highlight different details in the rooms at different times of the day.

Summer brings a different energy to Towerwater. The birds announce the sunlight at least half an hour before the first rays peek over the Langeberg. When the light filters into the bedroom, I simply have to get up. Even if just to walk in the garden with my camera, capturing that one perfect moment in the soft morning light.

Edward Hopper – Sun in an empty room 1963 - https://www.edwardhopper.net/sun-in-an-empty-room.jsp

I love what the sun does to the rooms in the house. Streaks of light fall like brush strokes over floors and furniture. If I had time to paint, I would like to capture it on a canvas like Johannes Vermeer or Edward Hopper or like so many other painters in history.

                                  Johannes Vermeer – Lady at the Virginals  1660’s                                                                        -https://www.rct.uk/collection/405346/lady-at-the-virginals-with-a-gentleman

At Towerwater, I have not reached the stage where I can indulge in the art of painting. The busy days allow me only to capture brief moments of brilliance with my camera. With the sunlight changing the mood in rooms, no moment is the same in the house at any time.

It is a fact that sunlight lifts the mood, is antibacterial and has healing properties. We are fortunate to enjoy a generous helping of sunshine all year-long. But in summer, we are restored in mood and being.

Olives in search of a martini

One of my favourite cocktails is a Dry Martini, shaken with a couple of olives. The olive is not just a pretty garnish to the martini. The saltiness and brininess of the olive help to highlight the aromatics in the gin, complement the vermouth, and counterbalance the Martini’s invigorating intensity.

If one prefers a martini on the wild side, one can enjoy a Dirty Martini where some of the olive brine is added to give the drink a pleasingly savoury character.

I received my bucket of olives from the Klaasvoogds valley near Robertson on Friday. Saturday was taken up by baking Christmas cake and that meant that Sunday was occupied with the bottling of Towerwater inspired olives. I added lemon, bay leaves, garlic and other fresh herbs from the garden to the jars of olives.

I enjoy making the special Towerwater olives. It not only makes the martinis I serve uniquely Towerwater martinis, but all the other dishes containing some of the olives, is like tasting the Towerwater garden.

After bottling the olives I admired their smooth round bodies in the jars and wondered which one of them were in search of a Dry Martini, I am sure I will soon find out.

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"The martini felt cool and clean… I had never tasted anything so cool and clean. They made me feel civilized.” - Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms (1929)