Early summer is a beautiful time in the Cape’s Winelands. Today is a day for intentional laziness and ‘admin lite’ on a wine estate about an hour’s drive from Cape Town. The setting could not be more beautiful.
It is too early for visitors and the waiters are still putting out chairs and wiping off table tops. My laptop is open (a nod to the productivity gods) but it is already in sleep mode. I watch the silver light on the trees as they bend and sway in the wind. An embankment with star jasmine, vines, pelargonium and herbs. Birds everywhere with finches and sparrows on the lawns. Tall grasses with russet seed heads look top-heavy under ornamental citrus trees.
The garden is both deserted and animated.
I am on my second cup of coffee when the first visitors arrive. I pretend to work but write micro stories based on the snippets of conversation that drift my way. When I speak Afrikaans to the waiter, the Belgians at the adjacent table go quiet, listening for familiar words.
A women’s group arrives and settle down along the long and short sides of a table in what appears to be an established hierarchy. There are a few outliers, but most are in their late 30s and 40s. They wear simple A-line dresses that show off bodies shaped in pilates studios. They have an air of women who are practical and decisive but also pampered. They have breakfast and talk in a serious tone about entrepreneurship and the challenges of running a business from home. After the meeting, they order sparkling wine and the conversation drifts off to talk of baking flatbread and their husbands’ food preferences.
When it becomes too hot to sit in the garden, I pay my bill and explore the vast garden.
A long table under a pergola looks tempting for a half-hour’s work but there are too many bees.
Behind another hedge, I find a large climbing from for children. A magical skywalk through the trees, wooden lookout towers, PVC tubes and suspended cargo netting. A trampoline catches my eye. It is in the shade, and since there are no children about, a perfect place for a read (or short nap).
A splinter group from the women’s table arrive. They seem delighted at the idea of having unfettered access to a children’s playground. They climb the installation and ride on the zip line. We exchange pleasantries and for a short while we are children.
For no reason at all, I recall a poem a school teacher. We were probably ten or 11 and thought the poem was funny (the bit about sheep and cows staring; what do kids know). Now that I am older, I often think of W H Davies’ poem Leisure.
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
William Henry Davies (1871-1940)