The old farmhouse

It was a stinking hot day when I brought my family to this small country suburb. We knew not what awaited us apart from a lot of work. The garden was so overgrown one could not see the house from the bush. Products of suburbia, my children took one look at the house and said, I like the city better! There were no functioning toilets, no council water and no insulation. We had our work cut out for us. At least Eagle boys, Woolworths and a number of other recognisable places were only about ten minutes away. I tried to convince them that living here we had the best of both worlds. The looks I got told me they didn’t believe me. When I was a little girl, my brother worked on a farm. It was a massive farm situated in a small remote village in Zululand, South Africa – the village was called “Babanango”. My Dad would take us to see him regularly and I loved it. I loved the peacefulness and sparseness of the countryside. It had a small well-known pub in the tiny town; apart from this I can’t remember much else. You could blink and probably miss the town if you weren’t careful. I think that is where my love of the country was birthed.
On that first night at our run down, old farmhouse, I looked up at the sky littered with stars, took a deep breath and sighed. What ever happened in the future I knew that this is where I was supposed to be. It took a while but I got here as fast as my dream could go. This crossroads I found myself in was the start of living our dream. It could only get better from here.
Now three years down the line, the openness of the sky and country life is the norm. We have a fully restored septic system which does not cost an extra cent, a garden we are gloriously proud of and a partially renovated but liveable clean home. No longer do the children pine for the city. We have everything we need just a short way away. If there is something we need to get from the city we do a day trip and make it fun. Over the years, the children have filled their days with things that one could not possibly do in the city. Fun has changed its direction 180 degrees. Collecting tad poles in the crisp early mornings, walking the bush trails, imagining hideouts in the forest, taking rides in the small tinny on the dams, building tree houses and enjoying campouts and bonfires. These are the things my children have done. Grass skiing and hay rides not to mention the animals that have filled our every day. We have grown and learnt so much from them. We came to the country to live life as it’s meant too for us and we sure have done that. To know the soil and the pains it takes to grow your own food. To enjoy the rewards of that hard labour and to learn that patience is a virtue. We were all pampered city slickers before we took this path. My; how we have changed.
Today the children are grown and have bloomed like sunflowers. The old farmhouse has had a face lift somewhat but the work is never done. I know that without a shadow of a doubt, we did the right thing. we couldn’t have given them a better experience.