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Could try harder

Posted on May 28, 2016 by fynbosblog Leave a comment

The blog has suffered because I’ve gone back to school. I’m doing a Masters in Philosophy in Coaching (MPhil means you do a significant research piece, that’s for next year). Weeks like this one, spent at the business school, are intensive and in between there’s lots of study and lots of writing. Along with launching my new business there’s just about time to run but not much time to write about it.

One of the subjects I was thinking about tonight on the run was the challenge of confidence and humility in business leaders, and specifically in myself as a leader and a coach. I’d say I don’t have enough of either. Confidence isn’t too hard to think about. I don’t want to waffle on so in a nutshell, in many ways confidence is everything, it allows you to be grounded and forget yourself so that you can immerse yourself in the flow of whatever it is you are doing. Lacking an edge of confidence might not be a bad thing though. In my case it’s the endless “could try harder” I got as a child instead of positive reinforcement in the form of praise. Yet it gives me an edge, makes me work a bit harder. I’m a bit of an Avis type: I may not be No 1 but I try do harder.

Humility as a notion is altogether more difficult. I’m trying to uncouple the notion from the famous role models like Mandela, Ghandi and Mother Teresa. They may be shining examples of humility but it’s a public and political humility. The kind I’m trying to understand is a humility that a great business leader or star sportsman or woman can epitomise. Utterly genuine, held in a context of great work or great sporting success. How can you develop and encompass that humility? Indeed what is it?

These are the questions the study leads me to consider…

The evening was mild with heat from the warm day beating up into the cooling air and as we ran along the path at the very top of the farm we came across one of my favourite flowering bulbs, the gold and brown Gladiolus maculata. Elegant and queenly, the flower heads arched into the path in front of us.

Gladiolus maculata

The small brown Afrikaner

The Eriocephalus africanus is early this year compared to last – as are many flowers – the warm wet autumn must have a lot to do with it.

Eriocephalus africana

Wild rosemary

As we ran down the mountain Maebh paused and the last rays from the west caught the ghostly tips of her coat, illuminating her in the evening light.

I have so many other flowers to post, but this magical evening run deserved a blog to itself.

Irish Wolfhound

Jemima Chew and the francolin

Posted on June 2, 2014 by fynbosblog One comment

It’s been a while since I’ve posted a blog and I think I may be struggling with a little writer’s block. There has been so much travel, work, report writing, negotiating still more work, over the last few weeks, to say nothing of trying to keep a semblance of normal life, that the runs and the flowers have faded to the background. Back on a plane now, headed to Nairobi, not a destination that’s particularly attractive at the moment, Time to write a blog. The lovely thing about this time of year is that every day is so different.

Unlike most of the continent we do have four proper seasons and now we are headed from autumn to winter. I’ve talked before about how our autumn is more like spring in the Irish world I come from. Here it is the relentless heat that stifles growth and shrivels the landscape. So once the rains fall and the temperature is mild, the landscape becomes green, birds start courting and building nests and though winter is cold and damp, it is also fecund and bears the promise of life to come.

One silly Cape Francolin (a partridge-like bird) decided to build her nest on the shores of the dam, where the undergrowth is thick and a willow tree grows overhead. Jemima Chew found her, of course, and she flew into the willow tree and refused to budge; presumably reluctant to leave her eggs (it is a little too early for chicks). Jemima spent the entire day barking at her, running around the willow tree, ferreting in the damp waters and generally causing havoc. The bird still didn’t budge. At one point, when Peter and I went to inspect the cause of all this commotion, Jemima Chew had actually managed to climb onto the lower branches of this willow tree, defying both gravity and the limitations of her portly figure. I had left my iphone in the house so we have no evidence of this unlikely event. Luckily night brought the irresistible temptations of a warm fire and a good dinner and the by next morning the francolin had learned some sense and was gone. Birds are not stupid.

While we were there we saw the first arum lilies of the season. These lovely lilies are indigenous here and will grow all winter long anywhere damp, the wetter the better. Roadside verges are covered in them, a joy to behold. The gleaming whiteness is quite hard to photograph, but these are the first.

The first Aurm Lily of the year

Another fynbos bulb that likes damp places is Chasmanthe floribunda. I grew up knowing this as Montbrecia – it grows wild in the hedgerows of Ireland (a damp, mild climate if ever there was one). Oddly in Ireland it also flowers in May and June, justifying my claim that the Cape autumn is a kind of spring. Botannical names get changed to bring more global consistency and perhaps this is one that has been changed. When I look up Montbrecia it shows up as Crocosmia and looks exactly the same, so I’m a bit confused. Not an uncommon feeling when it comes to naming fynbos with pinpoint accuracy.

Chasmanthe floribunda, or Montbrecia or Crocosmia

There is a particular light we see here in winter that charms me most of all. It happens when the sun is setting in the West/North West and a mist comes off the river down in the Paarl valley on a perfectly still evening. At a certain moment the setting sunlight catches the mist and turns the whole valley into gold. I only ever see it once or twice a year and it is enthralling. Last week we had such an evening and this photo is taken from the balcony. Hard to catch the magical glimmering golden light in a photograph, yet there is something of it captured here.

A golden evening

The next morning greeted us with cool cloudy weather pierced by the odd shaft of sunlight and a double rainbow.

As we ran up the mountain we saw the first wild rosemary – Eriocephalus africanus. This stunning herb grows commonly all over the farm and soon the air will be scented with its flowering. The tiny while flowers are a delight to behold and we’ll see many more of them in the months to come.

Eriocephalus africanus, wild african rosemary

The Phylica is now in full flower everywhere and I noticed that the tiny flower heads have opened, each one a little flower in its own right. So pretty.

Phylica eriocoides

Philosophical musings, buchu and wild rosemary

Posted on July 13, 2013 by fynbosblog Leave a comment

I don’t remember all that much about my schooldays, more important things have happened since. But I clearly remember one lesson. Mr Clifford, the science teacher, was explaining the structure of an atom. Someone asked the inevitable question “but if we can’t see it, how do we know it is there?” “Ah”, said Mr Clifford tapping the table in front of him, “but how do we know anything is there, how do we know this table is here? But”, he said, “that’s philosphy.”

That question really caught my imagination, and years later when I was studying philosophy at Trinity College Dublin, I read Bertrand Russell’s The Problems of Philosphy where that question about the table comes under discussion. As does another question: that of truth and knowledge. Simply put, I know all bachelors are men because that lies within the very meaning of the word men “bachelor”. Similarly, can I know that all swans are white? No, I have to keep seeing swans and noting their whiteness. One day I’ll go to Australia, or the zoo, and see a black swan. Whiteness is not a defining factor of swans; that was Russell’s point.

It was buchu that led to these musings as the dogs and I ran this morning. We grow buchu commercially and I always have the notion that buchu flowers are white. As we peaked at the highest point of the run and headed down the moutain (always a very happy moment in the morning run) I suddenly saw this flash of lilac.

Buchu – in this case a hybrid of Agthomsa Crenulata, with an unusual mauve coloured flower

I stopped at once, and low and behold it was a little buchu plant, a hybrid from the farm, with lilac coloured flowers. They were hard to photograph in the dim morning light – I can’t wait for the days to lengthen so that photography becomes easier in the early mornings when I run. Where did this purple come from?

In referring to the books, buchu, or Agthomsa as it is properly known, can indeed flower in mauve. Rather like a swan can be black.

The buchu harvested on our farm is mostly a hybrid. The oils are distilled from the leaves and is used in the European food flavouring and perfume industry, mostly for its strong blackcurrent flavour and smell. Here in South Africa it is used medicinally, it is one of the oldest medicinal flowers in the Cape, indeed in the world. Personally I believe in its natural anti-inflammatory and anti-oxidant properties and I love its aniseed, fennel like flavour and drink a cup or two most days.

Agthomsa crenulata hypbrid: this plant is farmed here and harvested for its essential oils

The other highly aromatic plant on the farm at this time of year is the wild rosemary. This grey scrubby bush used to irritate me, but no longer. Running my hand down the leaves and smelling the rosemary scent, seeing the lands full of shrubs and this exquisite, delicate flower has become a winter joy.

Eriocephalus africanus or wild rosemary

Wild rosemary has taken over this land on the lower slopes of the farm

We are enjoying a mid-winter break at the moment. Winters in the Cape can be long and stormy and sometimes quite cold. This year we are enjoying a warm July. Here in Africa the temperatures are as warm as an Irish summer – over 25 degrees during the day. It’s a bit confusing for the poor plants though and I’m sure we’ll see some strange flowering dates as a result.

The mornings are clear and lovely. As we ran we saw the first rays of sun over the Simmonsberg to the South West. A joyous morning.

The first rays of sun on the Simonsberg

Magnificent Proteas, more water and some new finds

Posted on June 30, 2013 by fynbosblog One comment

There is a lot to share so today’s blog is all flowers and less about the run.

Up until now I’ve been going by the flowering dates shown in my reference book but I’m now not so sure. I know from the records I’ve kept over the years that the different weather can mean flowering even in the garden here can vary by a month or six weeks from year to year, so why not the fynbos.

Stachys aethiopica, for instance, is supposed to flower in August and September, in the early spring. But we saw one in May and there are small groups of them in different areas at the moment. They are unmistakeable with their flower reminiscent of a pelargonium and distinctive mint-like leaves. Indeed they are a member of lamiaceae, the mint family

Stachys aethiopica

The red gladiolus has cropped up in a few places. There was one by the road when I left in early May that was easily photographed. The latest two are high on the bank above the drive, but worth sharing even if the photo isn’t great. The nearest possibility is gladiolus priorii, though in that case the flowers should be dull red and these are a vibrant scarlet. It should also have a distinctive and easily visible yellow throat and I can see no evidence of that in our flower. I will look again as the size, shape and flowering season fit. I need to look a little closer if one appears in a more accessible area. If not, we’ll have to wait until next year to be sure.

Gladiolus – unamed

The dogs and I had a wonderful run today and we visited the weir to see how much water is flowing. This is always a lovely place; the whitish trunks of the Ilex Mitis or Cape Holly, are magnificent and the permanent water flow makes it a favourite of the dogs.

An ancient Ilex Mitis with its feet in a permanent stream

Jemima Chew enjoying the water in the weir

While I’ve been away the magnificent protea trees have come into flower. They are tall and have spikey white flowers and silver leaves. I believe they are Protea nitida.

Protea – probably nitida

Near them stands this delicate pink protea. It is probably a nerifolia, though the flowers are barely bearded and a paler pink than most of the nerifolio on this farm.

Protea nerifolia – a very pale pink specimen

Flowers found in the forest that abutts the farm are included in our blogs as they are on our regular running route. We’ve seen Ursinia paelacea before and there is lots of it along the forest roads.

Urisinia palaecea

Not everything is easily identified. This little clump of yellow daisy-like flowers is lovely and quite distinctive but I can find no record of them. Suggestions welcome.

A mystery flower – yellow daisy-like flowers are the hardest to identify

As we ran into the forest the path is lined with Leucadendron salignum. There are hundreds of these all over the farm. At this time of year they glow in the dark, another plant that seems to absorb the sunlight and render it back to us on the darker days. Today was bright and they gleam in the early winter sun.

Leudadendron gleaming in the winter sunlight

13 May 2013

Posted on May 14, 2013 by fynbosblog One comment

There are days when I bound up the mountain followed by happy dogs, fully of the joys of, not spring as it’s autumn here, but certainly the joys of life and the beauty of this place in the morning light. And there are other days, probably far more frequent, when the run is more of a plod, as the busy life we lead catches up, sleep is never enough and despite the glories to be found on the mountain it’s an effort to drag myself out there. Yesterday was one of those other days.

Luckily there was lots to photograph so I had plenty of excuses to stop and to take my time and the usual morning run took much longer than it should have.

The first excitement is that the wild rosemary is in flower. Like the buchu that we farm it is cultivated for the perfume industry. The shrub is a little nondescript thing, a few grey tendrils coming out of the ground, until it flowers and then these exquisite flowers emerge at the top of each branch. Very common, they are all over the place at the moment.

Eriocephalus africanus or Wild Rosemary
Many of the flowering fynbos have a long season – one of them is the fynbos version of salvia. It starts to flower in late November or early December and it’s still flowering prolifically now. There are several of these bordering the roads where we run and they are like friends we great every day for half the year. Coming towards the end of their season now and flowering as vigorously as ever.

Salvia chamelaeagnea

As we run, or should I say plod, up the path that goes through the olive groves to the top of the farm, we pass this fearsome, stunning shrub. I showed this photo to Peter, my husband and he wryly acknowledged that he knows it all too well. Like many South African farmers he likes to wear shorts and sometimes comes home with his legs ripped to shreds. This chap is one of the culprits. But look at what a stunning chap he is. I actually managed to get a shot of the small thorn-head in focus, grey with tiny spikes of gold set in little balls. A bigger version could be a medieval weapon of war. I don’t know what this is, there’s lots of it about and it must be pretty common and I will identify it sooner or later and post the name.

One of the most varied and most prolific fynbos varieties we have are the Ericas. You know this species as heather. The amazing thing about Ericas is that they grow all over Africa and Europe but 80% of the species grow in Southern Africa and there are 660 fynbos sub-species. Quite a few of these grow on this farm, so there will be plenty of Ericas in the blog. Here’s the first one, another long standing friend who flowers throughout the hot months, giving us lovely purple-mauve flashes on the mountain when all else is hiding deep underground away from the relentless sun. I don’t know which of the 660 this one is. Will have to get a book or two on Ericas – there are plenty more to come.

One of the 660 subspecies of Erica resident in the region

Finally, there I was, puffing along, when I saw a little group of tiny pink whorls. Pulled up and investigated. A little flower head with flowers tightly furled waiting for more daylight. I drove up later to catch them open. I haven’t identified it but it looks and behaves like Oxalis so that’s what we’ll call it. Completely different to the Oxalis I photographed a few days ago with their clover-like leaves, and that is the enduring joy of fynbos.