As I sit by my window in the office, I watch the fuckery of plot life unfolding in front of me.
Last week, the plot across the road was sold to a family. A bare piece of land between nowhere and neverends with nothing on it except a load of free range veld grass.
I watch them quietly out of the corner of my eye or from under the brim of my wide floppy hat. I keep wondering if the realization has hit them yet, but then it is early days still.
Their first setback came in the form of water. They bought it before establishing if Jesus had blessed the ground with an underground river. Three attempts later, all to a depth of approximately 75 m and at a cost of two kidneys and a lung, no water came to the surface. We have no access to municipal water, so without water, there is no plot. I thought they would pack it up after this setback, but they have proved to be tenacious types.
A few water storage tanks were delivered, and then a huge water tanker arrived. I was impressed. Then, overnight, a few tin shacks were erected, and quickly after that, a boundary fence. All the neighbors watched, and immediately, somebody lodged a complaint with the local municipal council. The owner was issued a 30-day warning to remove the said shacks (now equipped with generators and satellite dishes). So, there has been a hive of activity. I can only presume the owner is hoping to erect a permanent dwelling in 30 days. Bricks were delivered, but they were unceremoniously dumped at the entrance of the plot, approx 200m from where they should be as the truck driver was not willing to venture into the grasslands. Jesus heard the plea for water, and the heavens opened up. Rain in one night came to 60 mm. The earth was flooded, and access became a huge problem.
This morning, my first WhatsApp message was from Lennie, “Madam, we can’t flush the toilet.”
Oh damn. The French drain must be swimming in the water we received in such abundance last night. This means no truck can access the property, as the paddocks will be drenched, and all vehicles will have to be fitted with water wings to make their way down the road. Let’s not even talk about the access road to the plot.
I load the dogs, call in reinforcements in the form of another scrawny friend, and make my way to the plot, knowing today is going to test my inner strength.
To be honest, not everybody drives a Goanywherevehicle. I think they wish they did, as I saw a lot of people attempt the “walk-on-water with their vehicles” bit, but no success. The main road to the stables had two vehicles stuck in the mud, and on the plot with the new neighbours, I saw a small family car going nowhere, firmly lodged in mud all the way up to the top of the back tires. There was a utility vehicle trying to put a “band-aid-on-a-broken-bone” by towing the family car out, but it finally got itself wedged so deep in the mud they all had to exit out of the passenger door. All of this is happening as we are emptying the French drain with buckets, which was a task bordering on torture, watching the drama unfold in front of our eyes while smelling like shit. Not too long after the new neighbor is standing at my fence, waving his white t-shirt like a flag, signaling for help.
I nod to Lennie to go and see what he wants, and Lennie comes back saying they want help to push their cars out of the mud. I look at the guys and tell them it’s up to them. They can continue with the unpleasant task of emptying the cesspool or assist the neighbour, to which they elect to assist the neighbour. “It will be quick,” Lennie says. Hmmm…
Forty-five minutes later, the guys arrive back, covered in mud and defeated. Cars are so firmly wedged in the turf-like soil they might become permanent fixtures. We all cluck our tongues in sympathy and continue with the water shit bucket method.
Not too long after that, I see a tow truck race down the sodden road, flinging mud in the air as if it is a clay pigeon shooting range. The tow truck driver has a cigarette dangling from his mouth, his arm is hugging his door through his open window, and his hairstyle looks like Elvis has been resurrected. Now it’s getting interesting. We all take a breather and watch the next episode of “I want a plot gone bad.”
The tow truck driver is determined to impress his small audience of dogs, cats, donkeys, geese, horses, and humans all watching him with bated breath as he downshifts and accelerates at the same time, making his way to the two stuck in the mud vehicles. Yes, our animals are all congregated around us, watching our bucket antics with interest. I think they were hoping we would find an underground stash of food.
Going back to the neighboring spectacle with the Elvis impersonated tow truck driver, things are looking up. The tow truck made it to the little family car and has now secured the towing line between the two vehicles. These people have got money, I think. Jislaaikit, they even get a tow truck to come and free the imprisoned vehicular bodies. “Net so!”
As fate would have it, life and mud were not going to be so easily defeated. We had finished emptying the cesspool, had dug and built new surrounds, made trenches for the water to not form a dam, and they were still struggling.
I left there that afternoon with three forlorn vehicles, all positioned in the grassland. Mother Nature: 3, new neighbors: 0. Siestog.
Makes you wonder… if it is all said and done, would the neighbor like to rewind the clock and undo the purchase of the plot?
As for myself, I don’t know if I would have proceeded with such abandon if I knew what was lying in wait for me. Years later, and I am still learning and being outwitted on a daily basis. Be careful what you wish for….but for me, I am exactly where I should be.
At the end of the day, we managed to clear the pool somewhat. We also made our own engineering buggery to ensure that any excess rainwater would rather flow into the paddocks and not fill the French drain. One can only deal with so much shit in one day. Never mind the fact that all the animals wanted to either peek inside, climb inside, or assist with the building efforts. I lost my voice screaming obscenities at them, waving a plastic bag like a weapon did not deter any of them either. In actual fact, it just caused more mayhem as everybody immediately thought “Sweets!” I think our roadshow also captured the attention of the neighbors as I saw them watching from a distance. “Yes, we are all a little mad here.”
We are all in the same boat. Plot life is a challenge. It doesn’t seem to get easier, just more challenging while you are trying to find yourself.
But then…
Some late afternoons, we leave the farm and take the long way going home. The long way is all back roads. No tar road, just gravel flanked by long grass and sometimes a lot of water to contend with. But we are in the Goanywherevehicle, and it can really go anywhere.
I wind the windows right down, and the dogs hang their heads out. The car is an automatic, so I just take my foot off the accelerator, and it goes forward at a snails pace. Aboo has the two windows in the rear as he likes alternating, Belle sits in the front because she is the queen, and Fuzzy bounces between her seat and mine. Stinky sits on my lap, perching with his two little front feet on the top of the door on my side, and his head resting on the door as he peers outside. The dogs’ ears all make pointy flags in the gentle breeze, and they enjoy the moment with their eyes closed. They all look like they are smiling.
I love it. I love the smell of the grass and the open fields, the stillness of the late afternoon, the sun setting, and my dogs’ obvious enjoyment. The feeling in the car is one of peace and utter happiness.
I think this is as good as it gets. It’s the whole package for me. Taking the long road home in great company after a day spent with all the animals that I love so much.
Can’t dispute it. This is pure happiness captured in time.
