One lot of fossils
And another lot!
A coffee break 500 metres from the start of the walk!
The hills above Claret
Whatever project, outing or entertainment that we have undertaken in the past two weeks, it feels as though it has been dogged by downpours. We can set off with blue skies above and come home in a deluge, or race out to the car wearing jerseys, jackets and carrying umbrellas and find that an hour later, we are shedding layers faster than a snake shedding its skin.
We don't begrudge a drop of rain though, because we still recall those terrifying days back in Africa when we started farming on the same day that the three year drought commenced. We'll take as much rain as the Good Lord wishes to chuck at us, but we would love a dab of sunshine now and then just to get the washing dry.
Yesterday was one of those days when we set out armed with rainwear and stout walking shoes, half expecting to have to turn back. However, our compatriots were made of sterner stuff, and with their faces turned to the drizzle, they shoved the map into their pocket, pointed up at the range of hills ahead of us, and we all put our best foot forward.
They do say that the Lord takes care of fools and lovers, and although we probably fell into the first category, he did smile on us, because by midday, we had the majority of our clothing tied around our waists, and were able to stand atop the hills above Claret and enjoy wonderful views in all directions while passing around the suntan cream.
There were two things about the walk that will always stick in my mind. One was the sight of a field of vines battling to force their way up through piles of rocks on a steeply sloping field where the wind must have battered them constantly.
"These vines will produce some of the best wine in the region" announced Georges who knows about these things, and he proceeded to fascinate us with all sorts of interesting facts and figures about the importance of keeping the vineyards flourishing, modernised and competitive. Thank heavens for Georges because he is in the business of working with the wine makers who need to be gently but firmly introduced to modern business practices in order to stay in the game. It can't be that easy to guide these dyed-in-the-wool vignerons away from the old ways that were deemed to be good enough for their fathers and grandfathers, but I truly think that Georges is the man for the job.
The other fascinating discovery, apart from the wealth of butterflies and wild flowers, were the rocks that we found high on the hillside, with the clear marks of fossilised seashells embedded in them. I had visions of Noah parking his ark on top of one of the surrounding peaks while all around him lapped the mighty flood. It seemed impossible that the valleys that lay beneath us had once been buried deep under the ocean. It was at this point that eating the picnic and drinking the flask of coffee became essential so that we could replace the weight in the backpack with a large rock that was embedded with just such a fossil. Well done to my dear old fossil who then carried it back down the hill. It was definitely a worthwhile exchange for the last of Terri's delicious Easter Eggs!
There can be few nicer ways of spending a Sunday than sharing it with good friends, sunshine, a nice dog and a picnic. There was no feeling of having to get a particular number of kilometres under our belt, and no large group to keep up with. Just five people ambling along, chatting, laughing and enjoying the beauty of the surrounding countryside.
But yes - you guessed it; by the time we drove back home, it was tipping it down with rain once more. Never mind, it will be good for the wild flowers and for those hilltop vines.
