Our world, it seems, is descending down a refuse-filled vortex not unlike that after you’ve pulled the plug on dirty dishwater.
An unexpected byproduct from my partnership in The Elephant Café landed on the farm — and, more importantly, in my vegetable garden — last month.
September and October for us here in the Zambezi Valley is much like it is for haute couture in Paris: it’s Fashion Week.
The day a 14-foot python, out hunting for food, strangled our Staffordshire bull terrier to death in front of my mother and me during an evening walk on the farm in Zimbabwe, was the day my scales tipped from wary a
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.
