Reversing the Ageing Process!

Please permit me to fake profound intelligence and start with a quote:

“Youth is happy because it has the ability to see beauty.  Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old.”  Franz Kafka

Well, I’m not sure if what Mr Kafka said then is applicable to the day and age we live in.  These days it generally seems that Youth believes beauty is attainable with the swipe of a credit card.  I’m also not entirely convinced that seeing beauty will prevent wrinkles, gray hair and dementia but if I may twist it a bit, I do believe in the beauty of the small things in life.  You know, stopping to smell the roses and cheesy things like that.

More and more I am beginning to realise how lucky I am to live where I do.  Oh, there is no doubt about it, it has taken me ages to come to this conclusion and there are still days when I want to scream “Where is the life, where is the excitement?”  However, after more than five years in the boonies, I am really comfortable with my surroundings – with the exception of the extremely rotten weather.

Yesterday we had a bit of a break in the standard rotten weather pattern.  It was gloriously sunny, the wind had blown itself to parts unknown and the choked garden’s begging and pleading for some attention finally got to me.  Attacking the concrete-like soil with a tiny little garden fork seemed like a good way to get in some of the exercise I have been told I need, to relieve my phantom stress.

So, I weeded, avoided the cat poo, weeded, disturbed an ants nest, apologised to the ants and tried to work around them, weeded, avoided more cat poo, pondered what the hell I am feeding my cats that it stinks so much, and then weeded some more.  While trying to work around the irate ants, I noticed a spider which I had obviously disturbed as well.  When I noticed the egg sac attached to her abdomen, the guilt set in and I felt so bad because I had ripped this mother to be from her safe haven.  No amount of apologising could make me feel better.  The best course of action was to try and leave her in peace and let her find a new spot to make her hidey hole.

The guilt gods were out to get me because a few minutes later I noticed that Mrs Spider had fallen into a hole made by the garden fork and couldn’t get out.  Of course, I had to save her and I dug a little furrow for her to be able to climb out of the hole.  No, the guilt wasn’t going to end there, it was going to be compounded by the fact that Mrs Spider had now lost her egg sac in the struggle to get out the hole (which I made so it is all my fault).

There was one more course of action left and if that didn’t work, I was going to go into the house and slit my wrists (figuratively).

I returned to the Hole of Guilt and searched for the little white egg sac which I found.  Then I searched for Mrs Spider who had finally stopped her panicked flee from the Garden Fork from Hell and was taking a rest under a weed (she had a wide variety of options I might add).  As carefully as I could I put the little egg sac down close to her but not too close to scare her.  Unfortunately she was indeed frightened by this hulking hand coming down towards her and she started her panicked run again.  Her path of flight took her straight passed her lost egg sac.  And then something really incredible happened.

She stopped, mid-stride, had a look at the sac and it was almost as if she said “Oh, that’s mine!”  Quickly, she gathered it up with her front legs and scuttled away on her remaining six.

I thought that was pretty awesomely cool!  I won’t mention that later, when I had moved on to another section of the flower bed to start weeding I disturbed Mrs Spider again.  Watching her carrying her rather grubby looking egg sac reminded me of refugees fleeing a war zone… oh, wait, I did just mention it.  Well, in the end I decided to call it a day and really leave her in peace.

This passed weekend I was lucky to have another “Aw Shucks!” moment.  On Saturday Flyboy and I were indulging in our favourite past-times – he was surfing the sexy chicks thread on his aviation forum and the feline furries and I were sitting in the sun in the bar/braai/library, me with a book.

Anyone who has cats or is familiar with their behaviour will know what I am talking about when I say Hades Cat, the old hag, suddenly started with the Kitty Has Spotted Birdie noises.  These noises are difficult to explain, they aren’t a meow, more like a croaky ee-ee-ee-ee, as if the cat has got a rubber band around the muzzle and can’t open its mouth fully.  This is a common occurrence when sitting the bar/braai/library because there are usually a number of birdies sitting on the balcony – swallows, martins, wagtails, the works.  So, I looked up to see which feathered friend was gracing us with its presence and giving Hades Cats the Feline Fits.

A very large Steppe Buzzard was perched rather arrogantly on the railing, surveying its territory.  It was about four metres away from me, if not less.  Yes, I do have a rather ambitious cat!

Naturally I froze, hoping the bird would stay a while, while Hades Cat serenaded me with those strangled sounds.  Then, just as I was wondering how I am going to manage to get my camera, with a big swoop, it flew off.  I know I am one of those people who go gooey when it comes to animals but this was one of those moments when you feel honoured.  How often do you get a large bird of prey sitting right outside your window?

Farm life can really be special at times.  And, if Mr Kafka is on the money, I will hopefully never grow old.