When I was a child, I remember the distinct physical, visceral sensation of homesickness. The rock at the pit of your stomach, pressure behind your eyes, and tears that won't release and seems reasonless. The longing for small, insignificant familiarities, the scent of a pillow, the bark of a dog, daily routine tasks, opening shutters, rooibos tea with Ouma rusks. Scents in particular matter. The wooden floor polish, lemon verbena by my bedroom window, and the wafting potato and carrot soup on winter afternoons.
The longer I am away from the farm, the more I long for the daily rituals, the routines I've come to know well. The Hadeda chorus just after dawn, Bentley the Saint Bernard stretching and getting up from his sleeping spot right next to my bedroom window, not having left his watchdog place all night, barking at resident monkeys and baboons. The tractor starts at nine, while coffee brews and toast is buttered. Just before lunchtime the tractor trundles back, and for an hour in the middle of the day, the farm becomes restful, sleep, quiet in a midday daze of heat and bees circling water. Even the birds are quieter until four, when the evening starts and a new energy floats over, signalling the end, but also the time when the birds come home to rest in trees, and the monkey antics begin. In summer the braai starts around five, in winter the fireplace in the lounge is lit around the same time. When my children were young, we used to take chips and drinks outside and they would run up and down the summer lawn with the dogs, before heading inside for a commuting bath with pine bubble bath. The evenings are always the best. A beautiful quiet reprieve as the sun sets behind the cliff face of the Magaliesberg, and the evening star appears, a gentle wink, a nudge to start supper and switch on lights.
Night time was a night wish. It was a time when Charlie and Lola would laugh across the lounge from the TV, bouncing across an imaginary solar system, with stars and pink milk flowing through looping straws. Fluffy dressing gowns and bath time sister chats with mermaid Barbie having her hair washed. After fish fingers, peas and carrots, the little girls would snuggle in my bed, or try on my high heeled shoes and dresses and parade around. Sometimes we would have a little dance party before bed time. The nights were silent, solitude and space reigned.
When we moved to the farm permanently in 2019 we made the dining room, with it's dark sleeper wood table and chairs, stoic Boer War statues and stern oil painting into a light, colourful homeschool classroom. Our home school was called The Sunshine School. The students were as follows: Willow, Victoria, Mia, Hippy, Cecilia, Alexa, Pink Spot, and of course the human classmates: Ashlee and Natalie Basson.
