If I was asked what I’d plant in my garden before anything else, it would be a selection of fresh herbs and then tomatoes. Nothing does it for me quite like fresh herbs. Basil. Dill. Mint. Parsley. Oregano. Sage. Thyme. Rosemary. Tarragon. The list goes on.
Capers are a luxury in these parts … and I love capers. If I’m lucky I may find a small jar in a grocery store in town, but more often, I have to stock up on our infrequent visits to Johannesburg in South Africa, or Zambia’s capital, Lusaka, a mere six-hour drive from the farm.
Chris grows 60 hectares of wheat on the farm, which in a few weeks time will be harvested and sent to a miller-cum-baker up the road. I will watch with a wistful stare truckload upon truckload of wheat heading out the gate to be turned into flour and used in someone else’s bread. I know it’s business; I know it’s commercial farming.
Spring is upon us out here in the African bush, which sounds ridiculous when you consider that our daytime temperatures move from mild to boiling in just a few weeks.
The native aloes around our house are in bloom. They only do this once a year. Not only are these scaffolded fire-orange flowers a feast for the eyes, they are a feast for myriad bird species.
In Guadeloupe in the Caribbean a pineapple symbolizes hospitality. It has been said that when Christopher Columbus and his Spanish fleet first landed on Guadeloupe at the end of the 15th century, they knew they were welcomed if a pineapple had been left at the entrance to each village.
