Giraffe Day!!!…Photos of these fantastic animals…
Yesterday was a very special day for us here in Marloth Park. It began like so many others, with the quiet anticipation that comes from simply sitting outside and waiting to see who might wander through. There is always a sense that something could happen, but there are no guarantees. That is part of what makes these moments feel so genuine. You cannot summon wildlife. You can only be present and hope that, for a short time, your worlds overlap.
As the morning unfolded, a family of three giraffes made their way slowly into our garden. A mother, a father, and a youngster, moving with that unmistakable grace that always seems slightly unreal. Their long legs carried them carefully across the uneven ground, their heads rising above the trees as if they were part of the landscape itself. They began to graze almost immediately, pulling leaves from the tops of branches with a calm and deliberate rhythm that spoke of patience rather than urgency.
What struck us most was how long they stayed. Hours passed, yet they remained, drifting in and out of the garden as though it were simply another natural stop along their path. The youngster stayed close, occasionally stepping forward with a bit more curiosity, then retreating back toward the safety of the adults. There was a lesson in that behavior, a reminder that young animals learn not through instruction but through observation and proximity.
Giraffes in the wild carry a personality that is often misunderstood. From a distance, they can appear almost indifferent, as though they are detached from everything around them. In reality, their calm demeanor hides a deep awareness of their surroundings. Every movement is measured. Every pause has purpose. They are not rushed creatures, and there is a certain confidence in the way they exist within their environment.
The mother displayed a steady vigilance throughout the day. While she fed, her eyes seemed to scan constantly, taking in subtle changes that we would never notice. There was no visible tension, but there was no carelessness either. It was a quiet form of protection, one that did not rely on aggression, but on awareness and presence. The father, larger and more imposing, carried himself with a different kind of energy. There was a calm authority in the way he stood, often positioning himself slightly apart, yet never truly distant.
What fascinated us most was the way they interacted with one another. Their communication was subtle, almost invisible if we were not paying close attention. A slight tilt of the head, a shift in stance, a gentle step closer or further away. There were no dramatic displays, yet there was a clear connection between them. It felt like watching a conversation unfold in a language we could not hear.
At times, it seemed as though they were aware of us in a more direct way. They approached closer than we had ever experienced before, closing the distance with a cautious curiosity. There were moments when they paused and looked in our direction, and it felt, at least to us, like eye contact. It is impossible to know what they truly perceive in those moments, but the feeling of being acknowledged, even briefly, is something that stays with us.
Giraffes are often described as gentle, and while that is true, it does not fully capture their complexity. They are independent yet social, cautious yet curious. They do not seek interaction, but they do not always avoid it either. There is a balance in their behavior that reflects a deep connection to their environment. They move through the world without disrupting it, taking what they need and leaving the rest untouched.
As the day slowly came to an end, the family began to drift away, just as quietly as they had arrived. There was no sudden departure, no clear signal that it was time to go. They simply moved on, step by step, until they disappeared back into the bush. The garden felt different afterward, not empty, but changed. As if it had briefly been part of something larger, something we were fortunate enough to witness.
Moments like these stay with us. Not because they are dramatic, but because they are honest. They remind us that the wild is not something separate from us, but something we are allowed to experience, if only for a little while, when everything aligns just right.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, July 6, 2016:
Entering and exiting South Africa?…Be aware of newly required form to be submitted 24 hours before travel…
Click this link to access the required entry and departure form for South Africa.
There is something about crossing a border that has always felt quietly ceremonial to us. Whether arriving somewhere new or returning to a place that feels like a second home, there has always been that brief pause, that in-between moment. It was never perfect, of course. Standing in line, juggling passports, searching for a pen that worked, filling out those small paper forms that always seemed slightly outdated. Still, there was something simple about it.
Now, in South Africa, that moment has changed, and not necessarily for the better. As of July 1, 2026, every traveler entering or leaving the country is required to complete an online traveler declaration before they travel. What used to be a quick task handled at the border has now been pushed back into our personal time, becoming yet another thing to remember before a journey even begins.
The system applies to nearly everyone. It does not matter if you are a returning resident, a first-time visitor, or simply crossing a land border for a short trip. Air, land, sea, and rail travelers are all expected to comply. There are very few exceptions. It feels broad, almost overly so, as if no distinction is made between a seasoned traveler carrying little more than a suitcase and someone transporting goods of real concern.
At its core, the form is about declaration. You are asked to list what you are bringing in, what you are taking out, and what you are carrying in terms of goods or currency. On paper, that sounds reasonable. In practice, it introduces a level of overthinking that did not exist before. Suddenly, you find yourself second-guessing what matters, wondering if you have missed something, questioning whether a simple oversight could cause delays later.
Then there is the timing. The declaration must be completed within 24 hours before departure. That might not sound like much, but for those of us who travel often, who are already managing flights, documents, accommodations, and the general unpredictability of movement, it becomes one more obligation layered onto an already full process. It is not difficult, but it is inconvenient, and that difference is felt.
What makes it more frustrating is the shift in where this responsibility now sits. Instead of handling it at the border, where it naturally belongs, we must remember to do it in advance. Forgetting is not an option. There is no friendly reminder handed to you as you wait in line. It is entirely on you, quietly waiting in the background until you either complete it or realize too late that you have not.
The intention behind the system is clear enough. It is meant to modernize the process, to create efficiency, and to allow authorities to understand movement before it happens. In theory, that sounds like progress. But in reality, it feels like a trade-off, where convenience for the system has become an inconvenience for the traveler.
Sitting here now, thinking about the next time we cross a border, I do not picture that familiar scene of filling out a form while waiting our turn. Instead, I imagine opening a laptop or phone, trying to remember login details, double-checking entries, and hoping everything has been submitted correctly. It feels less like a simple step in the journey and more like a small administrative hurdle that cannot be ignored.
There is no doubt that, over time, this will become just another part of travel. We will adapt, as we always do. But that does not mean it will feel any less frustrating. Travel already comes with its fair share of logistics, and this is simply one more layer added to the process.
And perhaps that is what stands out the most. Not that the system exists, but that it takes something that was once quick and contained, and stretches it into something that lingers. Another reminder that even the smallest parts of travel are becoming more structured, more controlled, and just a little less effortless than they used to be.
We never have any customs declarations since we don’t purchase anything significant that would require customs duties while we are in South Africa. Nor do we carry much cash when entering or departing the country. ATMs worldwide provide us wth all the local currency we need.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, July 5, 2016:
Wishing all of our American friends and family around the world a happy 4th of July as the USA celebrates its 250th anniversary of independence…
Today marks 250 years since the United States declared its independence, and there is something about that number that feels almost difficult to absorb fully. Two and a half centuries. It stretches far beyond a single lifetime, beyond generations of families, beyond the countless individual stories that have shaped what the country is today.
As we sit here, far from the place where it all began, the distance somehow adds to the reflection. There is a different perspective that comes with being away on a day like this. You think about the origins, about a group of people willing to step into uncertainty, to break away from what was known, and to create something entirely new. It could not have been easy, and yet they did it with a sense of purpose that still echoes all these years later.
The Fourth of July has always carried a certain energy. It is often filled with gatherings, familiar foods, flags waving in the summer air, and fireworks lighting up the night sky. But today feels different. The 250th anniversary brings with it a deeper awareness of time. It invites a kind of reflection beneath the celebrations. It asks you to consider not just what the country is, but what it has been through to arrive here.
Over the past 250 years, the United States has experienced moments of triumph and struggle that have shaped its identity in ways that are both inspiring and complicated. There have been periods of growth and innovation that changed not only the nation itself but also influenced the world beyond its borders. At the same time, there have been challenges that forced the country to confront its own ideals and question how closely it has lived up to them.
For those of us who have spent years traveling, moving from place to place, and seeing the world through different lenses, a day like today becomes even more layered. You begin to see the United States not only as home, but as part of a much larger global story. You meet people in other countries who have their own perceptions and experiences tied to what America represents. It adds depth to what might otherwise feel like a purely national celebration.
There is also something personal about it. When you think about 250 years, you cannot help but think about the generations that came before, the choices they made, the lives they lived, and how those decisions ripple forward into the present. It becomes less about history as a concept and more about connection. A recognition that the present moment is built on countless moments that came before it.
Sitting here today, there is no grand celebration around us, no fireworks overhead, no crowds gathering in shared excitement. Instead, there is a quieter acknowledgment. A sense of appreciation mixed with reflection. It feels more introspective than festive, and in some ways, that seems fitting for a milestone of this size.
The United States at 250 is not a simple story. It is not something that can be summed up easily or neatly. It is a country that continues to evolve, to adapt, and to face new challenges while carrying the weight of its past. That complexity is part of what makes it what it is.
And so today becomes less about a single moment of celebration and more about a pause. A moment to look back, to consider the journey, and to recognize that the story is still unfolding. Even from afar, there is a sense of connection that remains strong, shaped not only by where we are, but by where we have been and what continues to tie us to that place.
Two hundred and fifty years is a long time. And yet, in many ways, it feels like the story is still just getting started.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, July 4, 2016:
Update on dangerous Cape buffalo in Marloth Park…
“UPDATE: THE DAGGA BOY’S JOURNEY HAS COME TO AN END
Sadly, the Dagga Boy(Buffalo) that wandered out of the Kruger National Park into the Marloth Park area has been put down.
After efforts to manage the situation, the difficult decision was made in the interest of public safety. While this is not the outcome many were hoping for, it serves as a reminder of the challenges faced when wild animals move beyond protected areas.
These magnificent animals belong in the wild, and every effort is made to protect both wildlife and the communities they interact with.
A sad ending to an extraordinary journey.
Rest well, Old Warrior
“There is a tendency for many of us, especially those who visit national parks as we do, to view wildlife through a romantic lens. We arrive with cameras in hand, eager to capture a perfect sighting, a lion in golden light, a herd of elephants crossing the road, or a lone giraffe silhouetted against the horizon. In those moments, everything appears as it should be. The animals seem free, untamed, and thriving in a vast wilderness. But the reality, when observed over time and with a more thoughtful eye, is often far more complicated and, at times, deeply unsettling.
In places such as Kruger National Park, as magnificent as it is, life for wild animals is rarely easy. Survival is a constant struggle. Food is not guaranteed. Water sources dry up. Injuries go untreated. An animal that limps today may not survive the week. Predators hunt not out of malice but necessity, and the scenes that unfold can be difficult to witness. A kill is not always swift. The suffering of prey animals can linger, and the sounds alone are enough to stay with you long after you have left the bush.
Even beyond the predator-prey dynamic, there are other harsh realities. Droughts can devastate entire regions, leaving animals desperate. We have seen emaciated antelopes wandering slowly, their ribs sharply visible, even here in Marloth Park, searching for sustenance that is not there. Waterholes become crowded and tense, with competition increasing as resources diminish. The strongest survive, while the weak quietly disappear.
Human impact, even in protected parks, cannot be ignored. Fences, roads, and increasing tourism alter natural movement patterns. Animals are forced to adapt in ways that are not always beneficial to their well-being. In some cases, they become habituated to humans, approaching vehicles or camps in search of food. This often leads to dangerous encounters, not only for people but also for the animals themselves, who may ultimately pay the price for behavior shaped by our presence.
Poaching remains another tragic aspect of life in many wildlife parks around the world. Despite ongoing conservation efforts, animals such as rhinos and elephants are still targeted. The loss is not only individual but also deeply affects social structures within the species. A herd that loses a matriarch or a calf experiences disruption that can last for years. These are not isolated incidents but ongoing threats that add another layer of hardship to an already difficult existence.
In other parts of the world, the story is much the same. Whether in Africa, Asia, or South America, wild animals face mounting pressures from habitat loss, climate change, and human encroachment. Forests are cleared, migration routes are blocked, and traditional feeding grounds disappear. Animals are left to navigate a world that is changing far faster than they can adapt.
And yet, despite all of this, there is resilience. Animals continue to live, to raise their young, and to follow instincts that have guided them for generations. There are moments of peace and beauty that remind us why these places matter so much. A mother nurturing her young, a herd moving together in unity, birds calling at sunrise. These moments are real, but they exist alongside a harsher truth.
To spend time in the bush is to witness both sides of this reality. It is a privilege, but it also comes with a responsibility to see beyond the surface. The lives of wild animals are not idyllic. They are fragile, often difficult, and sometimes heartbreaking. Recognizing this does not diminish their beauty. Instead, it deepens our understanding and, hopefully, strengthens our commitment to protecting what remains.
It is always sad to see that even the loss of a single Cape buffalo, as happened yesterday, can weigh heavily on those of us who spend time observing and appreciating these animals. Each life in the wild has meaning, not only within its herd but also to those of us who have come to respect its presence. Watching them day after day creates a quiet connection. When one is gone, it is impossible not to notice the absence. It serves as a reminder that life in the bush is fragile and that every moment we witness is both special and fleeting.
I especially feel this after the recent loss of my favorite wild animal, Norman, the nyala, who had become an integral part of my enchantment with the bush. I miss him each day.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, July 3, 2016:
Warning!!!…Dangerous animal roaming the roads in Marloth Park!!!
This morning, the message below from the rangers in Marloth Park made its way across social media, catching the attention of both residents and the steady stream of holiday visitors. During this busy school holiday season, when the park feels more alive with human activity, the warning carried a noticeable weight. A new danger, they explained, has begun to move among us, angrily and with purpose. It was a reminder that even in familiar surroundings, the balance can shift. We are urged to remain alert, to respect the wildlife, and to proceed with a level of caution that never drifts into complacency.
“Good morning.
The Rangers have issued a general warning that an aggressive rogue BUFFALO BULL (DAGGA BOY) has broken through the KNP fence and is roaming around in Marloth Park!
It is currently moving around in Olifant next to the Lionspruit fence towards Wildgoose!
The Rangers are on site trying to guide him away from the public!
Please do not try to chase or confront him or get in the way of the Rangers! The bull is VERY AGGRESSIVE and could charge at vehicles or people, or attack!
YOUR LIFE WILL BE IN DANGER!!
Your full cooperation is appreciated!
For all inquiries, contact the Rangers:
Rangers 082 802 5894.”
Cape buffalo are not like the other animals we so often admire from a comfortable distance. They do not startle easily, nor do they retreat simply because a human presence is near. There is a confidence about them that can feel unsettling, especially when they wander into areas where people live, cook, and go about their daily routines. In places like Marloth Park, where the boundary between wilderness and home is intentionally blurred, this creates a delicate balance that can shift in an instant.
We have learned, sometimes through uneasy observation, that buffalo are deeply unpredictable. One moment, they may appear calm, grazing quietly, their massive bodies swaying gently as they tear at the grass. The next moment, without any obvious trigger, their posture changes. A raised head, a fixed stare, a subtle shift in stance, and suddenly the air feels heavier. It is not always aggression, but it is always a reminder that they are not here to coexist on human terms.
What makes them particularly dangerous in populated areas is their sheer size and strength, combined with a tendency to stand their ground. Unlike some animals that flee at the first sign of disturbance, buffalo may choose to confront what they perceive as a threat. A person walking too close, a vehicle approaching from the wrong angle, even the sound of voices carried on the wind can be enough to provoke a reaction. And once that reaction begins, it unfolds with startling speed.
There is also something deeply protective in their nature. Buffalo move in herds, and within those herds, there is a strong sense of unity. If one feels threatened, others may respond. It is not uncommon for a single animal’s agitation to ripple outward, creating a situation that escalates far beyond what one might expect from a solitary encounter. In a human setting, where fences, pathways, and buildings limit movement, this can quickly become dangerous.
We have heard stories from locals, told in quiet voices, about encounters that turned serious in seconds. A man stepping outside at dusk, unaware of a buffalo standing just beyond the edge of his garden. A cyclist rounding a bend in the road finds himself face-to-face with a bull. These are not exaggerated tales meant to alarm. They are reminders that living alongside wildlife requires a level of respect that never fades into complacency.
Even from our veranda, where we often feel like observers rather than participants, the prospect of a buffalo’s presence changes everything. Conversations pause. Movements slow. We find ourselves watching more carefully, not out of fear alone, but out of an understanding that this animal operates on instincts far removed from our own. There is no negotiation, no shared language of intention.
 |
| Our photo from Kruger…A lonely-looking Cape buffalo. |
And yet, there is something profoundly humbling about sharing space with such a creature. The danger is real, undeniable, and demands attention. But it also reminds us that we are visitors here, even when we settle in and begin to feel at home. The buffalo does not adjust to us. We must adjust to it, learning to read the subtle signals, to keep a respectful distance, and to accept that not every moment in the bush is meant to be comfortable.
In the end, the presence of Cape buffalo in human areas is not simply a matter of risk. It is a reflection of the fragile line we walk between appreciation and intrusion. Each encounter asks something of us: awareness, patience, and above all, respect. Without these, the consequences can be swift and unforgiving, a reminder that the wild does not bend, even when it briefly overlaps with our own world.
We will keep you updated on this event as it unfolds.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, July 2, 2016:
The amazing tree frog…More new photos…
There is something magical about tree frogs in South Africa, especially as the seasons shift and the nights lose their summer warmth. We tend to think of these delicate little creatures as permanent residents of the warm, humid evenings, clinging to reeds or perched near outdoor lights, patiently waiting for insects to drift by. But when temperatures drop, their lives change in ways that are both subtle and remarkable.
Unlike mammals, tree frogs do not hibernate in the traditional sense, yet they enter a state very close to it. In the cooler regions of South Africa, particularly in places where winter nights can be surprisingly cold, these frogs slow their metabolism to conserve energy. It is less a deep sleep and more a quiet retreat from the world, a waiting period that allows them to survive until warmth returns. They are often found in the most peculiar places, here in Marloth Park.
As the air cools, tree frogs begin searching for safe, hidden spaces. They may slip beneath loose bark, tuck themselves into crevices in trees, or burrow lightly into leaf litter where the earth still holds a bit of warmth. Some species take advantage of manmade structures, finding shelter in thatched roofs, garden sheds, or even the corners of outdoor furniture. Wherever they settle, the goal is the same. Protection from temperature extremes and a place where moisture will not completely disappear.
What fascinates me most is how their bodies respond. Their metabolism slows dramatically. Heart rates drop. Breathing becomes almost imperceptible. They are still alive, still aware on some level, but everything is reduced to the bare minimum required for survival. It is as if they place themselves on pause, trusting that the world will soften again in time.
Moisture plays an important role in this process. Tree frogs rely heavily on their skin to maintain hydration, and during these dormant periods, they must avoid drying out. The microclimate of their chosen hiding spot becomes critical. Too dry, and they risk dehydration. Too wet and cold, and they may struggle to maintain balance. Nature, however, has a way of guiding them to just the right place, a pocket of stability in an otherwise unpredictable season.
In some cases, particularly in milder areas like the Lowveld, where Marloth Park is located, they may not fully retreat for the entire winter. On warmer days or after an unexpected rain, you might still hear a faint call at dusk or catch sight of one moving slowly along a branch. These brief appearances feel like quiet reminders that they are still there, simply waiting for the right moment to return fully.
Their survival strategy is not dramatic. There is no grand migration or visible transformation. Instead, it is a lesson in stillness. They conserve, they hide, they endure. And then, almost overnight, when the rains begin and the air warms, they reappear. The silence gives way to a chorus. The stillness becomes movement. Life resumes as if it had only been gently paused.
Sitting outside on a cool day or evening, it is easy to forget that just a few meters away lies this tiny creature patiently waiting on the interior edge of the outdoor refrigerator door. In a world that often feels fast and restless, something is grounding about that. They do not rush the seasons. They adapt, quietly and effectively, trusting in the pace of the environment around them.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, July 1, 2016:
New 22 hour flights to Australia…
From Travel + Leisure Magazine found here:
“These New 22-hour Flights Will Connect Australia to the World Like Never Before
Beginning in 2027, travelers will be able to fly nonstop between Australia and two of the world’s most important cities, according to Edward Russell, published on June 23, 2026
The journey to Australia will be a bit shorter starting next year as Qantas Airways launches its long-awaited nonstop flights between Sydney and London.
Qantas will kick off the ultra-ultra-long-haul route in October 2027, according to the carrier, making it the longest nonstop flight in the world. Following that, the airline plans to debut nonstop flights between Sydney and New York.
The routes, part of the airline’s almost decade-old “Project Sunrise” to offer nonstops to Sydney, will still clock in at nearly a full day: up to 22 hours for the more than 10,000-mile Sydney-to-London route and just a bit less for the about 9,950-mile Sydney-to-New York route. But even those lengthy flight times are faster than the connecting options; Qantas claims the nonstop flights will save travelers up to 4 hours off the fastest one-stop alternatives.
Vanessa Hudson, Qantas Group CEO, described the new flights as overcoming the tyranny of distance that travelers to Australia face.
“Since we first flew the Kangaroo Route in 1947, where we stopped seven times on the way to London, every generation of aircraft has taken a stop out of the journey,” she said in a statement. “Today, we’re taking out the last one.”
Qantas will continue operating one-stop options to both London and New York when the new nonstop flights begin. London flights stop in Perth and Singapore, while New York flights stop in Auckland.
The new ultra, ultra-long-haul flights will offer plush accommodations for travelers on a dedicated fleet of new Airbus A350S. The first class will feature six private suites with a separate reclining seat and a full 80-inch bed in a 1-1-1 configuration, in addition to a plethora of other amenities. Business class will feature 52 lie-flat suites in a 1-2-1 configuration with privacy dividers and an 18-inch entertainment screen. And the 40 premium economy and 140 economy seats all feature 13.3-inch personal screens and USB-C outlets.
In a first for Qantas, the A350S will feature a “wellbeing zone” for all passengers regardless of where they sit, with refreshments, space to stretch out mid-flight, and a guided on-screen movement program.
The new nonstops will not be cheap, even in economy class. Qantas estimated that travelers will pay as much as 30 percent more for flights than for one-stop options.
Qantas, at least for the foreseeable future, will have a monopoly on these ultra, ultra-long nonstop flights. No other airline plans to compete with the carrier, instead sticking to traditional one-stop gateways such as Dubai, Los Angeles, or Singapore.”
For world travelers like us, especially when heading all the way to Australia, the convenience of long, direct flights makes a meaningful difference. Cutting down on layover time feels like reclaiming small pieces of our journey. We have never been fond of sitting in airports, watching the clock, waiting for the next boarding call. There is something far more satisfying about settling into a seat, knowing that with each passing hour, we are steadily getting closer to our destination.
Even though long flights can be tiring, we have come to prefer them. There is a rhythm to being in the air, a sense of movement and purpose, that makes the time feel well spent. In many ways, it shortens the emotional distance as much as the physical one.
Tonight, we shift gears for Quiz Night. Our Bush Baby teammates are under the weather and staying home, which will certainly change the dynamic. Still, we were invited to join the General Electric team, and we happily accepted. It is always enjoyable to meet new people, share a few laughs, and see where the evening takes us.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, June 30, 2016:
There was no post on this date in 2016.
Excellent anniversary dinner in the bush…
- To
Celebrating our 35th anniversary of meeting in 1991. It was a great day!Our 35th anniversary of meeting was indeed a special day. Then again, every day we spend together feels special in its own quiet, steady way. Perhaps it is the quality of our lives, constantly moving yet somehow grounded, or perhaps it is simply the comfort that comes from knowing one another so well after all these years. Whatever the reason, there isn’t a day that goes by that we don’t recognize how fortunate we are to be sharing this journey.
As we sit here now on the veranda, cherishing what can only be described as a perfect sunny day, the bush seems to put on a show just for us. Before our eyes, five species wander in and out of view as if they have all agreed to gather at once. A kudu moves gracefully through the trees, its long horns catching the light. Not far behind, our friend Hal, the wildebeest lingers, his heavy steps stirring the dust. A shy duiker appears briefly, pausing just long enough to remind us how much we might have missed if we had looked away. Several bushbucks stand alert in the distance, while a warthog ambles along with its usual determined stride.
What could be more magical than this, especially on a day like today?
Moments like these settle deeply within us. They remind us of why we chose this lifestyle, why we continue to embrace the unknown, and why we remain so grateful for each experience, no matter how big or small. It would be easy to focus on the inconveniences that come along with living this way, and yes, there are always a few. But more often than not, those minor annoyances become part of the story, something we learn to work around or accept.
Take the insects, for example. As the weather warms, they arrive in numbers that are hard to ignore. With no screens on the veranda doors, which we keep open day and night while we are outside, they come and go as they please. We have learned to adjust. The bedroom door stays closed at all times, and the windows are rarely opened, not only because of the insects but because of the ever-present risk of baboons and monkeys finding their way inside and leaving chaos behind.
In the warmer months, repellent becomes part of our daily routine. We apply it throughout the day and again before bed, a simple act that offers some comfort. Each evening, while we sit outdoors enjoying dinner, Tom sprays the bedroom, so the time we spend outside doubles as time for the fumes to dissipate. It is not a perfect solution, but it works for us.
There is always a balance to be found. On the one hand, there is concern about chemical exposure; on the other, the very real risks that come with mosquito bites and sleepless nights filled with the constant buzzing of insects. It becomes a matter of weighing one against the other, of deciding what allows us the most peace of mind.
And really, isn’t life itself a balancing act?
We are constantly adjusting, shifting our priorities between work and play, relationships and independence, health and indulgence, planning and spontaneity. Each choice we make contributes to the overall picture of our lives, shaping not only what we do but how we feel about it all. Happiness may come and go in fleeting moments, but contentment, that deeper sense of satisfaction, feels far more attainable when we learn to manage that balance.
As we reflect on these years together, and on this day in particular, it becomes clear that contentment has been one of our greatest achievements. Not because everything has been perfect, but because we have learned to appreciate what is right in front of us, even when it requires a bit of compromise.
And that, in the end, is what defines the quality of our lives.
May you all find your own version of that balance, and with it, the kind of contentment that carries you gently through each day.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, June 29, 2016:
South Africa’s school holidays have begun until July 22…Not much wildlife around…But we are!…Celebrating a special anniversary…
School holidays in South Africa carry a feeling that is hard to explain unless you have lived through them, season after season, watching how the pace of everyday life shifts. It begins before the actual break arrives. You can sense it in the conversations at the shops, in the slower pace at the petrol stations, and in the way families begin preparing for time together. There is an anticipation that settles in, especially in places close to nature, where holidays are less about schedules and more about space.
For many families, school holidays mean travel. Cars are packed to the brim with coolers, bags, and often far more than anyone truly needs. Roads leading out of the cities become busier as people head toward the coast, the bush, or small towns where life feels simpler. In areas like Marloth Park, you start to notice new faces arriving, a steady flow of visitors who bring with them a different kind of energy.
Children, free from the structure of school days, seem to expand into the space around them. Mornings are no longer rushed. There are no uniforms to press or lunches to pack in a hurry. Instead, the day unfolds slowly. Kids ride bikes along dusty roads, swim for hours if there is a pool nearby, or wander, discovering things that would go unnoticed during busier times. There is a natural return to simple pleasures, the kind that do not require planning.
In wildlife areas such as Marloth Park, the holidays take on an even more unique character. Families sit outdoors longer, watching animals come and go as if they, too, are part of the routine. Children learn patience without realizing it, waiting quietly for a kudu or a warthog to approach. These moments become small lessons, not taught in classrooms but absorbed through experience. It is not unusual to see families gathered together in the late afternoon, drinks in hand, sharing stories while keeping an eye on the bush.
Of course, there is also a livelier side to school holidays. Restaurants, bars, and gathering spots become busier, filled with laughter and conversation. People who may only see each other once or twice a year reconnect as if no time has passed. There is something comforting about this, a sense of community that feels stronger when everyone has stepped away from their usual routines. Even simple outings feel more meaningful because they are shared during this break from everyday life.
For some, holidays are not about travel at all. They are about staying home and enjoying the quiet. Without the constant demands of school schedules, there is time to catch up on things that often get pushed aside. Families spend more time together in ordinary ways, cooking, talking, or just sitting without feeling the need to rush off to the next obligation. These four-times-a-year holidays have their own kind of richness, one that is easy to overlook but deeply satisfying.
Grand events or strict plans do not define school holidays in South Africa. They are shaped by moments, by connection, and by a shared understanding that this time is meant to be different. It is a pause, not just from school, but from the pace of life itself, offering a chance to breathe, to notice, and to be.
Often, we find ourselves complaining about the lack of wildlife during the holidays, missing the quiet times we have come to treasure. But when we pause and look around, it is impossible not to smile at the sight of children riding bikes, families laughing, and people fully embracing this magical place. The energy is different, yet still meaningful.
On another note, today marks thirty-five years since we first met. In many ways, we celebrate this day even more than our wedding anniversary, since it was the moment everything began, when we first laid eyes on one another and knew something special had begun.
Be well
Photo from ten years ago today, June 28, 2016:
