I always feel like I am there in your story. Maybe parts of your writing just resonate with everyone who reads your newsletter. I’m glad you went back to the lake. When we were young we’d be in the backseat of the car and it was always my biggest thrill to see the water. It wasn’t always the same lake but often Lake Erie. Lake Ontario was seen every day (but just part of the view, taken for granted). Thank you for the stories and the colour.
As always, your writing stirs up so much. I've been thinking of writing An Account of my Life, so I don't forget things, just for myself. Last week, I had the sudden memory of me chasing our sheep called Cubes down a red sandy road - he always got out of the stables and I was always the one who had to go and get him. I was about eleven at the time (we lived in the country about an hour and a half north of Johannesburg, on a kind of ramshackle but wonderful small holding).
We had just fed the horses and, being South Africa, it was always dark that time of the morning. And there I'd be, in my school uniform running down the road after Cubes. You'd have thought we'd have found a better way to keep him from getting out but Cubes was an escape artist. He slept in the stables with one of the horses to stop him from pacing around all night. The theory was that Cubes would wander in the horse's way and stop him from circling. I think maybe Cubes just lay down in a corner, out of the way of the pacing horse and then made a wild dash for freedom the minute we opened the door.
I'll be honest, I hated getting up in the dark and trudging through the condensation soaked grass (I don't like getting my feet wet) and mixing horse food with water (more wet!). But now, when I get a hint of any smell like it at all, of those cool dark fragrant mornings, it makes me so happy and I wish I could be there again, with my sister and my mom and dad who were such adventurers (and later moved us to two rooms in a veldt with no electricity or running water, to 'get back to the land'.)
I remember feeling so happy and powerful because I was the one who could get Cubes back. In my pale blue school uniform and striped blazer, I would grab his thick curly fragrant hair and lug him home. Our animals were a bit of a revolving door and I think we sold the horse along with Cubes (they came as a couple).
I am hoping (selfishly), that maybe one day you'll collate all your posts from this into a book because they are such wonderful memory prompts for me and I'd love to read them all again.
My childhood was not easy by any means. But it was unusual and with that, comes so many gems and I want to dig them out and collage them into a book, if for no one but myself. I've always felt like an outsider but not in a bad way, more in a self-contained way and your posts remind me of those self-contained moments of joy - and all of them, linked to nature and the wondrous smells, of jasmine, horse droppings, we grass, the rich horse food, and that incredible South African cool, fragrant air that I miss with all my heart. Thank you!
I read this on a Saturday morning, drinking tea, feeling like I needed a connection to something or someone quiet and thoughtful and beautiful. This was a perfect fit. I loved reading it. Especially the section about feeding the chickens and of a slightly sick feeling in the stomach. It moved me to tears. Thank you for this. I’m looking forward to reading the rest of the project’s journey.
I went to the now 93 year old public park twice while revisiting 3 of my siblings. Gail and I Painted trees not yet in full leaf and I would have collected rose petals for ink if any were in bloom yet
I always feel like I am there in your story. Maybe parts of your writing just resonate with everyone who reads your newsletter. I’m glad you went back to the lake. When we were young we’d be in the backseat of the car and it was always my biggest thrill to see the water. It wasn’t always the same lake but often Lake Erie. Lake Ontario was seen every day (but just part of the view, taken for granted). Thank you for the stories and the colour.
I hope your Papa is getting very good care.
As always, your writing stirs up so much. I've been thinking of writing An Account of my Life, so I don't forget things, just for myself. Last week, I had the sudden memory of me chasing our sheep called Cubes down a red sandy road - he always got out of the stables and I was always the one who had to go and get him. I was about eleven at the time (we lived in the country about an hour and a half north of Johannesburg, on a kind of ramshackle but wonderful small holding).
We had just fed the horses and, being South Africa, it was always dark that time of the morning. And there I'd be, in my school uniform running down the road after Cubes. You'd have thought we'd have found a better way to keep him from getting out but Cubes was an escape artist. He slept in the stables with one of the horses to stop him from pacing around all night. The theory was that Cubes would wander in the horse's way and stop him from circling. I think maybe Cubes just lay down in a corner, out of the way of the pacing horse and then made a wild dash for freedom the minute we opened the door.
I'll be honest, I hated getting up in the dark and trudging through the condensation soaked grass (I don't like getting my feet wet) and mixing horse food with water (more wet!). But now, when I get a hint of any smell like it at all, of those cool dark fragrant mornings, it makes me so happy and I wish I could be there again, with my sister and my mom and dad who were such adventurers (and later moved us to two rooms in a veldt with no electricity or running water, to 'get back to the land'.)
I remember feeling so happy and powerful because I was the one who could get Cubes back. In my pale blue school uniform and striped blazer, I would grab his thick curly fragrant hair and lug him home. Our animals were a bit of a revolving door and I think we sold the horse along with Cubes (they came as a couple).
I am hoping (selfishly), that maybe one day you'll collate all your posts from this into a book because they are such wonderful memory prompts for me and I'd love to read them all again.
My childhood was not easy by any means. But it was unusual and with that, comes so many gems and I want to dig them out and collage them into a book, if for no one but myself. I've always felt like an outsider but not in a bad way, more in a self-contained way and your posts remind me of those self-contained moments of joy - and all of them, linked to nature and the wondrous smells, of jasmine, horse droppings, we grass, the rich horse food, and that incredible South African cool, fragrant air that I miss with all my heart. Thank you!
Sounds like a wonderful father.
🥲
Oh such beautiful images and writing. Always. Thank you for stirring up the deep.
I read this on a Saturday morning, drinking tea, feeling like I needed a connection to something or someone quiet and thoughtful and beautiful. This was a perfect fit. I loved reading it. Especially the section about feeding the chickens and of a slightly sick feeling in the stomach. It moved me to tears. Thank you for this. I’m looking forward to reading the rest of the project’s journey.
I went to the now 93 year old public park twice while revisiting 3 of my siblings. Gail and I Painted trees not yet in full leaf and I would have collected rose petals for ink if any were in bloom yet
So many sleepy child memories resurfaced as I read this but they were already joustled by a resent trip to my place of origin
“…feeling of embarking on an adventure that you could not see into but that pulled you forward.” YES. That’s love. ♥️💫