I am very aware how much, particularly in autumn. I get lyrical three times before breakfast. I start quoting Keats’ “Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness” and Opperman’s “Die jaar word ryp in goue akker blare”.
Rough
stuff, good stuff and secrets
I was driving to Robertson from McGregor, a
route where the scenery changes daily, when I noticed oddly shaped activity in
the middle of the road. One has been known to witness blue crane, hare, duiker,
mongoose and once even an eagle taking off with a writhing snake in its talons,
on this stretch. Once past the Renoir (an apricot orchard before the Nature
Reserve) and the Donkey Sanctuary, vineyards stretch away in ochre and rust,
gold and burnt orange; in low-lying gullies wisps of mist promise another
perfect day. One tends to speed up a little at that point, but fortunately I
was besotted with the morning and wanted to prolong the journey. And there, in
the middle of the road, were two mating tortoises – huge old guy and gel. One
wonders how old they are. I drove around them, stopped and got out of the car -
hazards flashing and waving like a crazy person in the middle of the road to
warn other road users. A farmer got the message and parked his bakkie across both lanes, forming a cordon
to prevent “tortoise interruptus.” Essentials completed they toddled off (in
different directions nogal, sensible
beasties.)
In the space of one day one can experience
wonders here. The thing is, one often doesn’t (much in the way Cape Town
dwellers do not go up Table Mountain unless they take guests from elsewhere),
which is why it is great when visitors need a little tour. The McGregor area
has another dimension, sort of like Platform
9¾ at King’s Cross Station in Harry Potter: it opens up once you rush into
it in good faith. There is richness beyond.
One of my favourite places in the whole
wide world is some way down a gravel road: Buffelskloof Primary school. I do relief
teaching there and make a point of taking the children on walks during break -
to get an inkling of their world. And what a world it is! A dam with ducks,
reflecting a landscape of reeds, terra cotta hills textured with fynbos, and a goodly supply of flat
stones to play “koeitjies en kalfies”. Suddenly
one finds Buffalo Creek wine farm: Roses, rosè and a tasting stoep. Mark
Tolmay runs the farm together with a farm-worker’s trust.
About 5 kilometres from McGregor is
Tanagra, a boutique winery and distillery canopied by a giant wild fig tree.
While their red wine is not to be underrated, the real surprise is the limited
release grappa. Robert and Anette Rosenbach create an excellent, hand numbered
range of Eau de Vie. Their love for the lifestyle they have chosen and their
involvement with the community are evident. They host jazz concerts that have become a joyful
institution, the proceeds of which is shared by Animal Welfare and the Breede Centre,
a Skills for Life initiative that promotes
self-actualization and self-employment. The Breede Centre provides activities
(art, sport, craft, gardening etc) as well as meals for children during the
school holidays.
Breakfast at Frangipani is a simple feast,
with (obviously) fresh frothy free range scrambled eggs. This down-to-earth
space also offers seriously good ice creams and sorbets, and the apple pie is
delicately perfumed with orange zest and spices. Dinner at Karoux is decidedly haute, from the duck liver patè to the
pear crumble. Once you have eaten there, you appreciate the limited seating
- food like this cannot be multiplied without
loss of finesse.
You can easily overshoot the turn-off to
Voor Den Berg farm outside McGregor. After a slightly bleak bit of landscape,
you are astonished by the gates and lush gardens of a flourishing farm. An even
bigger surprise is the bustling olive factory alongside: Huge tanks, stacked
crates and olive products of calibre.
High in the northernmost end of the
McGregor valley, cradled in the Protea strewn slopes of the Riviersonderend
mountains, is Lord’s cellar - buildings that look as if the landscape gave
birth to them naturally. It is not easy to discern which of the people seated
outside the cellar, eating from generous plates of tapas and drinking wine, are
tourists, and which are regulars and family. Jacie and Marinda share their acre
of understated paradise with generous hospitality. I recognise one of the
Oosthuizen cousins that I had seen at the Food and Wine festival where he was
surrounded by buckets of wild flowers: Work hardened hands and snapping
secateurs create bouquets within minutes, spectacles sliding down his nose as
he hands you a bunch of heaven. The champagne bottling hive of activity was on
one windy, freezing cold Saturday, the intrepid guests seated on steps and
barrels, munching strawberries, fat green olives and salmon sandwiches. The
final glory was when people, suddenly grown silent, gathered just inside the
arched open cellar door: A perfect rainbow echoed the curve of the doorway.
I have been privileged to taste two seasons
of award winning Lord’s MCC as well as their unusual Pinot Noir. I have done
this under a shining rainbow, among beloved friends, mere minutes up the road
from where I live.
Some of us are lucky.