Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals

Growing up on Netherby Farm means that I am no stranger to real winters. Boston itself is nestled in the foothills of the Southern Drakensberg, which is located roughly 1500m altitude.

Winter in the most part of South Africa is dry- it is only the Western Cape region that has real rain to speak of (which is the reason we have fabulous South African wine). Generally, the winter nights are often cloudless, although there is some level of moisture in the KwaZulu Natal air, because I remember waking up almost every single morning at home and boarding school with the gardens covered in frost.

While Boston itself may be a cold little ‘dorpie’, Netherby Farm is notoriously so, and I truly sympathise with my Dad. He has risen at 4h30 almost every single week of his working life to attend to his faithful cows. I imagine those mornings are cloudless, the stars are bright, and in the light of the full moons, the winter lawn is silver. During the day, the dry, drab kikuya grass is dusty, but in the very cool of the morning, it crunches beneath his dairy boots.

Out on the farmlands, Dad’s cows would return to their pastures after the morning milk, to find that their water drinking troughs still frozen over. Back at home, I have (photographed) memories of my brother, sister and I holding spears of frozen ice. We had a water tank behind the kitchen that was in need of plumbing, as it dripped water from the base (which was above our heads). On cold winter mornings, the dripping water would have frozen in the sub-zero temperatures, forming icicle stalactites, which we would break off and play sword fights with, or pretend we were rhino’s, with long horns.

One of my Dad’s least favourite parts of winter is when the weather is so particularly shitty that the water pipes freeze overnight. Rural plumbing is nothing like city plumbing, and pipes are buried in shallow trenches, in the event that work needs to be done on the pipes, they are easier to repair. Needless to say, I have seen Dad positively grumpy on these mornings- there is nothing quite like 250 cows standing around, waiting to be milked, and you can’t reason with them- its a bit like me trying to reason with my Beth.

Of course, Boston winter would not be winter if it doesn’t snow at some point. The Nhlosane has a sprinkling at least once a year, and every third year or so, Boston will have a solid snowfall, that will be spoken about for months after.

My most favourite memories of the snow generally are of sitting in the lounge, fireplace burning damp wood, sipping good old frisco coffee and being allowed to watch the weeks’ video-taped television. I truly am not a fan of playing in the snow, and was always happy to be allowed to stay indoors when the weather was miserable.

You might stop and question then, how on earth did I come to be okay with moving to the harsh cold climes of Europe? Honestly,if a job comes to you like it did us, you don’t weigh your decision on weather, as much as you might disagree with me.

What memories do elude me from my youth, is what clothes we would wear to keep the cold out. Home made tracksuits and a blanket jacket spring to mind immediately, but little else. It is certainly a far cry from the rack upon rack that we now have in our cupboard.

Having spent some time in European Winters, Anton and I were grateful to still have some jackets bought back then- my mid-calf length charcoal grey coat from some semi-fancy Putney High Street shop, and Anton a ski jacket (which has somehow disappeared…). But for Alex and Beth, a stack of Woolies polar-fleece tops were just not going to cut it.

My darling Mum, however, was much more on the ball than I, and she sent my sister to Woolworths in June when she saw kiddies olive green and pink puffa jackets available. She very generously bought each of the girls one. Well done to Woolworths for a quality winter jacket, because the girls have worn them often, in rain or wind, and have not complained about the cold.

However,before the temperature plummeted to the 10 degree and below mark, way back in the first Auntumn cold spell, and we experienced having to commute in the rain, and the puffa jackets were just too much, I realised that we did not actually have rain gear. Its the great luxury of being able to drive places in SA- we never actually stood around in the rain, getting really wet.

After one of my little melt downs in September, Anton went to his favourite sports shop, and bought the girls a peach coloured rain coat, and early season ski-type boots, in bright purple.

The rain coats were used for about a month, and were replaced in October by Granny’s puffa jackets, until last weekend, when I saw a Roxy ski-jacket -yes, I agree, what does a surf clothes line know about ski clothes?- but the colours are just up Alex’s street and it was on sale, so we bought it for next season. (Or so we thought- she has worn it every day since then.)

If I remember, I pull a ‘pashmina’ out of the cupboard to keep my neck warm, which is when the girls realise they want a scarf, so they take over and I am left with a plain woollen one. Anton can’t qute fathom why I have so many scarves.

So far we have lost 3 single gloves, which is essentially 3 pairs.  2 were lost at school and one on the bus (the buses are so overheated, Beth starts stripping her layers off, and after a temper tantrum at some point, and a mad scramble to alight the bus, I confess, the lost purple glove could have beem my fault.)

Truthfully, I can’t really complain about the weather with much conviction. The winter so far has been relatively mild, the rain has not poured down relentlessly like I thought it would, the wind has not howled,and with the close proximity of the buildings to one another (and the amount of pavement), I have not seen much frost to speak of. A gentle sleet and a two hour drive to see the snow is all we have seen in that regard.

Until this week. This week has been very different-more of what I was expecting from European winter. Strangely, the mornings are the warmest, and my first pair of shoes is Solomans. Each time I return home, and have to leave again, I change my shoes for something warmer, often ending up at 5pm wearing Hitec boots. .

Still, no snow in the city, much to Alex’s disappointment!

I am told that this is quite normal for January,and could keep up like this until May. I do wonder though: what other jackets or shoes will I be buying between now and then.

Until next time, stay warm…