Once upon a time, a long long, long time ago when sending faxes was the fastest way to communicate over the seas, phone cards were king and road maps were the travellers best friend along with clear precise and detailed directions: a lowly farm girl (with over a decade long tap root that had grown through drought, heat and afternoon thunder storms, into the soil of Africa) fell in love with a Handsome Caring Capetonian City-Boy Prince. Prince of a farm in the Natal Midlands … She was yet to discover it was a developing farming enterprise (not generational – means, a lot of development financial capital, wildly beautiful – means, very hilly and suited to a beef operation – which in turn means income twice yearly), but her prince none the less.
They met at a local water fountain (watering-hole … OK …. Night club ….OK …..local dingy hang out …), he was surrounded by fellow knights (in their mothers eyes..) but stood out because of his obvious maturity (studying agriculture was fourth of his post school ventures … this followed civil service or marching for Magnus as it was “affectionately known”, completing a diploma in marketing, and overseas travel ….) and his infectious smile that would pucker his eyes into little post-box slits …(for the younger generation a post box is used in the delivery of snail mail…)
Her HCCCBP opened her world to exquisite tastes, glorious sights and fabulous adventures all the while encouraging her “country class” ideal she strove for. She always had a feeling of fighting to fit in to this world and along with her “country class” she also adopted a “fake it till you make it” approach to life along with “all the gear and no idea”. After a little turbulence, where it felt like she was nursing her life along like an oil guzzling, smoke belching VW beetle, she felt she had life purring along like an automatic hybrid or a family safe volvo. The turbulence can be depicted in two short moments in her life but, believe her, when she adds that there were in fact a lot, lot more. The first was on a fancy dinner outing with the in-laws to be, and their closest family friends for an adult dinner date … she ordered a starter called carpaccio to go along with her well-done steak. The other was enjoying the social side of Kings Park (the rugby stadium after a Sharks game) drinking her old brown sherry surreptitiously hidden in the tell-tale brown paper packet. The fact that her HCCCBP decided to make a princess out of her took tablespoons of magic. Helped by his tenacity and taurian stubbornness and the acceptance – dare I say affection – of his parents and siblings.
The HCCCBP and his beautiful princess (beautiful in a nearly 50 years old, brought up three boys, carrying some farm related injuries, allergic to Mother nature … kind of way ) live happily (generally but not always, this relates to the farm admin and monthly account payments that the princess “is in charge” of) ever after in their castle (three bedroom farm cottage with cracked window panes (three boys + balls) , skew paintings (to busy to haul out the spirit level) and leaks in the thatch roof (depending on the direction of the rain) on the farm in the Natal Midlands. The added magic to this story is that they have managed to bring up three handsome, caring, generous, gorgeous perfect boys!
Pink Farm Chick 