It is difficult to believe that twelve years have passed
since I wrote the first post about life at Towerwater aan de Breede.
When I look around me now, the place feels much as it did
then, and yet every season brings something new. Perhaps that is the secret of
an old place. It may seem unchanged at first glance but look a little closer
and there is always something different happening.
The fruit trees are in blossom, their branches suddenly
covered in delicate flowers, and the gardens have that wonderful feeling of
anticipation that comes just before everything bursts into green. The birds
seem to know that spring is coming. Everywhere there is activity: birds
courting, calling to one another, choosing nesting places and carrying bits of
grass and twigs in preparation for the season ahead.
From the vineyards comes the steady rhythm of tractors and
farm implements moving up and down the rows as the vines are pruned and
sprayed. In the fields, the plough turns the earth, followed by a choreography
of white egrets, rising together as their wings flash in the sun before
settling again behind the next deep-brown furrow.
Engines start and stop, machinery rattles, and somewhere in
the distance a tractor makes its slow journey along the road. It is a
soundscape that has become so familiar that I hardly notice it anymore, until I
stop and realise that these everyday sounds are such an essential part of what
makes Towerwater what it is.
The birdsong is not heard in silence. It is accompanied by
the distant drone of a tractor, the rattle of an implement and the sound of
machinery working the land. The natural and the agricultural exist side by
side, each part of the other. Somehow, that combination has become one of the
sounds of home.
Standing among the blossoming fruit trees this year has
taken me back to that first post, and I could never have imagined then that I
would still be writing about Towerwater all these years later, or that I would
still be finding things to say. But that is the wonderful thing about an old
place, it is never quite the same.
The seasons return, but they never repeat themselves
exactly. A tree flowers a little earlier or later. A particular bird chooses a
different place to build its nest. The vineyards change with the seasons. The
fields are ploughed, planted, harvested and rested. Old buildings weather, are
repaired and cared for.
Something is always happening, and so I am still trying to
record it—not necessarily the grand events, but the ordinary things that make
up life on a traditional Klein Karoo homestead: the morning light on an old
wall, the first blossoms on the fruit trees, a flock of birds suddenly
appearing in the garden, the sound of a tractor working in the distance, the
smell of freshly turned earth, a vineyard being pruned, a nest being built in a
tree, or the new trellises in the herb garden to contain the profusion of salad
tomatoes. These are small things, perhaps, but together they create the sense
of place.
When I started the blog, I simply wanted to record something
of life at Towerwater aan de Breede. I wanted to capture the character of an
old Cape homestead and the rhythms of the seasons, partly for myself and partly
because I felt that these ordinary details were worth remembering.
What I never expected was that people from all over the
world would become interested in these small, everyday glimpses of life at
Towerwater. Perhaps that is the most extraordinary part of the story, that a
life on a traditional Klein Karoo homestead, which can feel so ordinary when
you are living it day after day, has found an audience far beyond the Breede
Valley.
People in different countries have taken the time to read
about our old buildings, our gardens, our seasons, our birds and the daily life
and activities of the homestead.
They have followed along as the years have passed. They have
watched spring return, winter arrive, vineyards change colour, fruit trees
blossom and the old buildings continue to weather the seasons.
And now the blog has passed 1,150,000 pageviews, a number
that is almost impossible for me to comprehend, one million, one hundred and
fifty thousand views of stories and photographs about a small corner of the
Klein Karoo.
When I think back to that first post, I realise how little I
knew about where this journey would lead. What began simply as an attempt to
record life here has become a remarkable connection with people far beyond the
valley. For that, I am deeply grateful.
To those who have been reading for years, and to those who
have only recently discovered Towerwater, your comments, messages, questions
and continued interest in this rather old-fashioned way of life mean more than
I can say.
It is a strange and wonderful feeling to know that the
small, everyday details of life here have travelled so far.
This morning, as I write this, the fruit trees are flowering
again. The birds are busy courting and building nests. The vineyards are being
worked. There is machinery moving somewhere beyond the garden. In the fields,
the plough continues its slow work, with its little procession of white egrets
following behind.
The valley is choreographed in its familiar seasonal rhythm
as spring approaches, and I am still here with my camera, my memories and my
words, trying to capture another small moment in the life of Towerwater aan de
Breede.
Perhaps that is the real reason I have kept writing. There
is always another season, another story, another small thing worth noticing,
and as long as there is, I hope there will be another post. For now, it is
enough simply to pause and look around.
The old walls are standing. The fruit trees are flowering.
The birds are building their nests. The vineyards are being worked, the fields
are turning brown beneath the plough, and the familiar sounds of the farm carry
across the valley.
Life continues here, much as it always has, following the
familiar rhythm of seasons, work and the changing landscape. And somewhere in
the world, someone is taking a moment to read about it, sharing in a small
glimpse of life at Towerwater aan de Breede. For that connection, and for
everyone who has followed along on this journey, I am truly grateful.
Previous Birthday Blog Posts
What Price Paradise? - 2025
Packing up yesterday - 2024
Days like this - 2023
Our marmalade malady - 2022
Still life with oranges - 2021
Almond trees in August -2020
Of birthdays and blossoms - 2019
A life imagined - 2018
Looking back to the future - 2017
Reflections - 2016
Happy birthday blog - 2015
Heading for spring -2014
