Vynand's late-night plans had dashed my hopes last weekend of departing the house together at 5:30am to explore the clifflines about 15km northeast for potential climbing opportunities. This weekend, however, he decided that a morning hike would be an ideal way to expedite his recovery from a lingering cold. Thus, after giving Vynand a chance to sleep in a bit, we departed with a backpack full of water, biscuits ('cookies' in local parlance), and some extra bags to return with what I hoped would be more avocados than we could carry.
Our path followed the left fork of the rocky dirt road that passes between humpback whale-shaped mountains just north of our the house. We followed the road steadily up from the arid valley into the mountains. As with the my previous journeys into the mountains two weeks ago, we passed quickly from dodging cactus spines to marveling at grand deciduous trees. In spite of my inability to actually identify the changing species, witnessing such evident change in such a small space of time is one of the best parts of hiking in the areas surrounding my village.
Despite hiking together mostly in silence, I certainly appreciated having Vynand present alongside me--even if doing so felt a bit less adventurous than hiking alone. Virtually all of my knowledge of the area's history and lore has come from conversations with Vynand. His English is among the best I've encountered in the village, a skill he honed during his work with seven different mines over the past ten years. He also has a remarkable ability to spot baboons far in the distance (including atop the mountain adjacent to the house).
As we drew closer to our destination, Vynand recounted the history of the landmarks we happened upon along our way--the foundation of the shop at which his father worked as a serviceman decdes ago, the small quarry where many villagers obtain flat stones for their walkways and driveways, and, lastly, the site of yet another abandoned mine headquarters, complete with dilapidated concrete buildings and empty swimming pool. Unlike the mine headquarters for the andalusite mine, which was largely intact until ransacked by local villagers 2007, the headquarters of this mine died a more 'natural' death resulting from a sharp drop in global demand during the 1970s for the mine's product--asbestos.
In the weeks since my first discussion with Vynand about the abandoned avocado orchard, the dearth of details combined with my obsession with avocados gave my mind's eye license to imagine a grove of dozens of untouched avocado trees abandoned by anxious Afrikaner farmers during the height of the freedom struggle in the early 1990s. Thus, I admit to being rather underwhelmed when Vynand pointed to two trees in a small clearing just past the mine headquarters. My initial disappointment deepened when, upon approaching the two trees, we encounted a 20-foot long wooden pole with a metal hook fashioned upon the end. It appeared that the avocado trees hidden among the mountains were not the best-kept secret in Ga-Mathabatha.
Like many a cloud, this one too had its silver lining. Despite being few in number, these two avocado trees were enormous--towering at least seventy feet above the ground. And in the high branches far above our heads were at least two hundred avocados, none lower than thrity feet from the ground. I immediately thought of my climbing rope, harness, slings, and quickdraws back at the house, which would enable me to safely climb high into the trees to retrieve more avocados than we could carry the 10 or so kilometers back to the house.
In his condition, however, Vynand was not exactly enthusiastic about making a return trip home only to return later in the afternoon. Instead, Vynand grabbed a thin, sagging branch far from the trunk of one tree and began to haul himself upward. To my amazement, the branch held and Vynand was able to climb easily to the second-lowest branch, which was at least twenty feet off the ground. I then handed him the wooden pole, and we proceeded to become a two-man avocado harvesting operation with Vynand hooking and pulling the avocados from their branches and me haplessly attempting to catch and/or avoid being hit by the falling avocados. After a few misfires resulting in a few unripe avocados splitting in half upon colliding mid-descent with low-lying branches, and thereby becoming baboon food, we quickly refined our teamwork and were able to come away with twenty avocados, some at least three times the size you'd find in your average North Carolina grocery store.
All twenty are now ripening in a canvas Weaver Street Market bag hanging by my window. Although tempting, I promise I won't eat them all.
1 comment:
Whitney and I had Avocado Cream popsicles this weekend made by some friends who are preparing to set up a stand in DC. They were delicious, if - dare I say - a bit too avocado-y. If you're interested I could probably get you a recipe!
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