Virgin lands call

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In my home, most Sundays are devoted to the garden. The compost pots have to be raked and switched; the plants examined for pest and disease, burrows in the ground filled with rocks and stone shards to discourage rats and snakes, water plants have to be ruthlessly removed…even a moderate sized garden such as ours is hard work. Especially as my husband and I, don’t agree on many things.

There is the banana flower for one. My husband is of the school that says leave it on the stalk till the bunch is almost ready. Whereas, I believe that the banana flower ought to be removed as it saps the nutrition to the young bananas. Both of us quote respective grandparents to claim the veracity of our respective theories and eventually settle on a compromise.

But when it comes to trees, my husband and I have a shared vision…we like to see them standing tall and straight with a crown of leaves and home to all the birds there are.

For as long as I can remember I have always wanted to live in a village. And then I chanced upon Bilishivale. When we first went looking for it, we turned back thinking we had lost our way… The road meandered alongside an enormous abandoned quarry, empty tracts of land, fields, a few vineyards, and a choked up lake… And such was the glory of its insignificance that I fell totally in love.