Happy Acres
Magaliesberg Mountains, circa 1970, Public Domain
There’s a magical place in the Magaliesberg, near my childhood hometown of Rustenberg in South Africa. It is called, Happy Acres. It was established around 1945 and I was pleased to discover that it is still operational. I’m sure it is still just as magical as it was then for anyone with eyes to see and ears to hear.
One quiet evening, I was drinking a cup of tea in the dark stillness of the living room. It was around two o’clock in the morning. I like to sit there sometimes when the house is quiet and the moon is full. I can look out at the luminous glow on the paddocks. Sometimes a tawny frogmouth sits on the swing outside. And then it’s just the two of us with the moon, the stars and our thoughts. My mind often wonders back to my life in South Africa. I try to make sense of where I am now and how I got here, like tracing breadcrumbs back to some obscure beginning. I have a need to make sense of life. Sometimes I drive myself crazy trying to figure it out, like a Chinese puzzle box that I’m trying to unlock. On this particular night, my mind travelled back to the eleven year old me and the place that was to plant the first little seeds in my heart, which had been dormant for so many years.
Mine was not a happy childhood. Not that I particularly understood it then. When one is a child, who’s to say what is normal or happy? I was an anxious child, with low self confidence, which I masked by adapting my behaviour to how I thought I ought to behave. This did not work well for me, since the adults I was trying to emulate were of my imagination or characters whom I admired in movies or models or pop stars. Hardly what I would consider to be role models today. I struggled to relate to children my age. I was more interested in adult company. I was eleven going twenty. Teachers disliked me. I was considered a problem child, often in trouble in my primary school years. Too big for my boots I was told. In didn’t understand it. I felt unsure and confused all the time. (I’ll spare you by telling you upfront that this journal is not about my unhappy childhood. I do not ever intend to share the details of my life then. I only mention it here to offer some context as to why I was so impacted by this one week in my young life.)
The Magaliesberg mountains are by no means as imposing as the Drakensberg peaks, but the range of quartzite cliffs dominates everything in its surroundings. It was, at that time, surrounded by cattle farms, citrus orchards, horse properties and vast stretches of bushveld. Early morning mists often hung in the valleys. The afternoons were hot and dusty. What I remember most is the peace I felt there and the vastness of the place.
It was my first school camp. Sleeping in close quarters with a bunch of girls in dormitories was a little daunting, but thankfully the attention was on the new girl in our class. Tanya was a novelty for the other girls, especially because she already wore a bra. None of us wore bras yet. I remember scrumptious meals; all my favourite starchy ones and lunches outdoors. We sang songs by firelight. We swam in the pool. We held evening concerts. We enjoyed free time by the little stream, dangling out feet in the water and chatting. This was all wonderful, but the magic, the heart seeds that I mentioned earlier, were planted by force much stronger and deeper than anything I could imagine or articulate at the time.
It is vivid in my memory. We hiked through golden grasses, about knee high and came to a spot among some gum trees where we sat on the ground with our pencils and worksheets. The guide began to speak and his words, like magic dust settled on me and in me. He pointed out the various grasses. He explained about various types of rocks. He pointed out and named the various trees…I was transfixed. Where had he come from? How did he know all these things? Who in the world told him? For the first time I recognised that there was more to the environment if one just took the time to notice. A whole new world opened up to me. That was only one session. There were to be many more.
On the days that followed, every day was a new adventure. I couldn’t wait for the little hikes. I especially enjoyed the lesson which took place amongst some ponds, if I remember correctly. We learned about pond-skaters and whirligigs and mosquitoes. We caught tadpoles. All the while we could watch them and poke at them while our guide was speaking; see exactly what he was referring to. I eagerly filled in my worksheets and took notes. I believe I felt like a scientist documenting very serious and important observations. Then there was the hike to local river. We crossed it with a rope bridge. Three ropes were tied across. Two for our hands and one for our feet. The water wasn’t very deep, but it was a little scary crossing the thing. The bridge felt higher than was comfortable for me. One had to step just right to reduce the wobble. Safely across, I remember swimming in the cool waters and walking along the rocks. I had never swum in a river before. It was exhilarating! We hunted scorpions on the rocky outcrops with glass jars, learning the difference between red ones and black ones and how the size of the scorpion and the size of it stinger signalled how poisonous it was. Unlike Australia, scorpions in South Africa are feared. Some can be lethal. But again, through our guide, we were taught a quiet lesson; that with the right knowledge one has less to fear and one can therefore not only enjoy, but also master one’s surroundings. I spent my nights in bed trying to memorise and hold onto what I had learnt. My heart was alive and thrilled.
And then it was over.
I tried for many months, possibly years, to keep the little seeds alive, but they slowly faded and went to sleep. I would pick up rocks and wonder what kind they were. I would find grasses, but I had no way to discover their names. No one ever did open up the world in that way to me again. I enjoyed science at school, received fairly good grades, but dropped the subject. The textbooks were dry. School was dry. It destroyed my love of learning and curiosity I had. I forgot about the seeds. I must have felt they were dead. Only when I began to home educate my own children, did the little seeds begin to awaken. And their long invisible roots, like a silver thread, lead my memories all the way to that magical place, Happy Acres.
Happy Acres is still operational and continues to lead discovery and interaction with the natural world through camps and leadership programmes. The educational material on their website is exceptional. I pray that their rich leagacy will continue for many decades.
