A BUSHVELD GATHERING

A road beckoned to three generations of my family.

We came from all over the country to meet for a weekend at a farm in the Bushveld to celebrate what would have been my father’s hundredth birthday.

The firepit was at the centre of our celebrations.

The fire burned all day.

With a kettle constantly on the boil.

It was where we cooked

With plenty of pots to choose from.

A sheep was slow roasted over the fire to feed the gathering of the clan.

It was shady under the Karee trees.

Nyala came down to drink at the dam next to our gathering place.

There were impala nearby too.

Including a few black ones.

Redbilled Oxpeckers kept them free from ticks.

Pairs of Egyptian Geese kept us company.

As did some White-faced Ducks.

Blacksmith Plovers arrived and left throughout each day

We talked, we laughed, we cried. We remembered, we found out new things, we bonded all over again.

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