A ripping good time

Last week began in the picturesque surrounds of Kingsvale Farm close to Bedford in the Eastern Cape, and in the hospitable arms of Ken and Simone. Ken had recently left behind the big city and the rock ‘n’ roll life of an environmental consultant in order to take the reins of this farm, which his ancestors first established in 1855. As he proudly showed us around the impressive backdrop to his new career choice, it was difficult to question Ken’s decision. The girls revelled in the freedom of farm life; seeing goats being sheared, lambs being nursed, swimming in reservoirs, and generally burning themselves out every day. 

Leaving our gracious hosts behind we headed to the ominously named Wildcoast. Having not planned our arrival into Morgan Bay particularly well, the brewing storm was about to make us pay. On what was somewhat of a gusty evening, we emerged from the regular bathtime routine carrying three towel-clad and shivering cherubs, just in time to watch a couple of splintered fiberglass poles rip through our tent canvas.

As the situation unravelled in front of us, we very quickly adopted the calm composure of a man who had just been set on fire. After a civilised and constructive discussion about our life choices, we hastily found the most sheltered position available to us and set up tent number two, which itself was a bit of a challenge. The pleasing consolation to all this being that the youngsters found the whole thing to be most entertaining and rather enjoyable.

One night in and one tent down; welcome to the Wildcoast, rookies. 

Ken’s new office
Our wonderful hosts, Ken and Simone. Most probably quite pleased to have their quiet house back
Evelyn had a little goat. Its fleece was white as snow.
Ken’s father, Gray. What Gray doesn’t know about farming in the Eastern Cape is not worth knowing
The crew is in town. Arrival into Morgan Bay

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