An Irish philosopher poet accompanied me to Livingstone. When I left America I packed him away in my heart and in my mind. He boarded the plane with me in Virginia and together we took off into the wild.
I was chatting to a friend in America a while ago, telling her about my average day on the farm here in Livingstone, when she suddenly piped up: “Annabel, you sound just like a Bush Martha!”
I was sitting at my desk in our tin box, corrugated walls all wide open in a futile stab at tempering the 43-degree afternoon heat, when a gust of wind whipped through. I heard it before I felt it.
Live entertainment of any kind is a luxury here in the upper Zambezi Valley.
Edible flowers picked from our garden.
As Ralph Waldo Emerson said: “The earth laughs in flowers.” Last week I not only laughed, I rejoiced.
“The power of food is really spiritual. It not only brings the whole family together on the same table, but also brings the whole world together.