What week is it again?
Brrrrr, what a cloudy cold front! Though humorously it's the days that have only turned colder, the early morning is actually a few degrees Celsius warmer.
I finished quite the adventure book! SHACKLETON'S BOAT JOURNEY; sticking true to my love of sailing stories this is the true account of a group of men who survived their sailing adventure out of the Antarctic after their ship the Endurance was crushed and sunk. Most mornings I make like a dassie and bask in front of the wood stove, reading about men suffering from frostbite and dooming icebergs, while drinking coffee until the sun peaks over onto the front patio. Out there is a usual communal gathering of the dogs, birds, and myself as I look out for the actual dassies warming up their marmot-like bodies on the cliffs.
Mon.-Wed. Andy and I worked on a barbed wire fence that was flattened by men pushing cattle through. It's in what they call "an exclusion zone" to prevent cattle from eating all the vegetation and kicking rocks off of the cliffs, which deters birds and other animals from living on the cliffs. My Great Outdoors folk may enjoy hearing that plumbago covers the cliff faces with blooms in the warm months. So we fixed the fence and built a style for people to cross over. I attempted a time lapse, but they're blurry and Jason stood in front of the camera half the time. He's not THAT cute of a dog. Okay, yes he is. At one point I slipped and cut up my arm on the fence. Minimal blood, no scars to match Brittany's under her eye. :0)
Sunday night I move into the impi hut, which is a traditional style of an African hut. It's behind the house, which means I will be more exposed to the sounds of South African nights. I barely hear anything in the room I'm in now, except for the rooster crow at 3AM and on. I've been stashing a hoard of firewood for myself, and am excited for the temporary "space of my own."
Saturday I began counting dassies on the cliffs behind the house. There use to be tens of thousands at the reserve alone but in the 1980s they went through a massive population crash. They're pretty neat little creatures. They look like the marmots of the U.S. but are most related to elephants and manatees. They are unable to regulate their body temperature well, so they adapt to their surrounding temps. Basking in sun when it's cold, and retreating to cool shade in the heat. The Alcocks use to keep orphaned dassies (they're a popular prey, especially before the crash), and Joy said they would snuggle up around Richard at night. I attempted some self photos of sitting on a boulder, graphing out the cliffs, but again Jason stood in front of the camera through most of it.
We're still eating the warthog meat. It's too tasty. A kudu is on the list for the next. They want to make bull tongue (smoked beef jerky) and salamis with most of the meat. I had a pellet gun lesson the other day. But it's safe to say that as of now, much of my character keeps me a little ways away from feeling comfortable with the idea of killing my own food. In any case, a little more target practice is needed. I can't argue, it may be a good skill to have in my field.
The python is still around the vineyard. She was sprawled across the road today, but by the time I checked on her she had moved into the taller, warm grasses. We're in hopes she is hunting rats. Walking by her a couple days ago she let out a loud hiss that sounded like a breathing technique used by yogis. I almost peed myself. It was so exhilarating to be hissed at from this wild, beautiful creature!
All is well. To my family please tell my grandmothers "Hello" for me and that I love them very much. And the same to Colter and Enslee! These blogs are so frequent and long because I miss sharing these stories with you all. I couldn't have had the confidence to do this without all the love and support I am blessed to have from family and friends.
I finished quite the adventure book! SHACKLETON'S BOAT JOURNEY; sticking true to my love of sailing stories this is the true account of a group of men who survived their sailing adventure out of the Antarctic after their ship the Endurance was crushed and sunk. Most mornings I make like a dassie and bask in front of the wood stove, reading about men suffering from frostbite and dooming icebergs, while drinking coffee until the sun peaks over onto the front patio. Out there is a usual communal gathering of the dogs, birds, and myself as I look out for the actual dassies warming up their marmot-like bodies on the cliffs.
Mon.-Wed. Andy and I worked on a barbed wire fence that was flattened by men pushing cattle through. It's in what they call "an exclusion zone" to prevent cattle from eating all the vegetation and kicking rocks off of the cliffs, which deters birds and other animals from living on the cliffs. My Great Outdoors folk may enjoy hearing that plumbago covers the cliff faces with blooms in the warm months. So we fixed the fence and built a style for people to cross over. I attempted a time lapse, but they're blurry and Jason stood in front of the camera half the time. He's not THAT cute of a dog. Okay, yes he is. At one point I slipped and cut up my arm on the fence. Minimal blood, no scars to match Brittany's under her eye. :0)
Sunday night I move into the impi hut, which is a traditional style of an African hut. It's behind the house, which means I will be more exposed to the sounds of South African nights. I barely hear anything in the room I'm in now, except for the rooster crow at 3AM and on. I've been stashing a hoard of firewood for myself, and am excited for the temporary "space of my own."
Saturday I began counting dassies on the cliffs behind the house. There use to be tens of thousands at the reserve alone but in the 1980s they went through a massive population crash. They're pretty neat little creatures. They look like the marmots of the U.S. but are most related to elephants and manatees. They are unable to regulate their body temperature well, so they adapt to their surrounding temps. Basking in sun when it's cold, and retreating to cool shade in the heat. The Alcocks use to keep orphaned dassies (they're a popular prey, especially before the crash), and Joy said they would snuggle up around Richard at night. I attempted some self photos of sitting on a boulder, graphing out the cliffs, but again Jason stood in front of the camera through most of it.
We're still eating the warthog meat. It's too tasty. A kudu is on the list for the next. They want to make bull tongue (smoked beef jerky) and salamis with most of the meat. I had a pellet gun lesson the other day. But it's safe to say that as of now, much of my character keeps me a little ways away from feeling comfortable with the idea of killing my own food. In any case, a little more target practice is needed. I can't argue, it may be a good skill to have in my field.
The python is still around the vineyard. She was sprawled across the road today, but by the time I checked on her she had moved into the taller, warm grasses. We're in hopes she is hunting rats. Walking by her a couple days ago she let out a loud hiss that sounded like a breathing technique used by yogis. I almost peed myself. It was so exhilarating to be hissed at from this wild, beautiful creature!
All is well. To my family please tell my grandmothers "Hello" for me and that I love them very much. And the same to Colter and Enslee! These blogs are so frequent and long because I miss sharing these stories with you all. I couldn't have had the confidence to do this without all the love and support I am blessed to have from family and friends.
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