There is something absurdly gratifying about freshly washed clothes. I'm not referring to laundry that comes out of a tumble dryer, smelling of scorched fabric. I'm talking about washing that has been flapping in the African sunshine, crisp and slightly crinkled, with the clean, faded scent of laundry detergent.
I find the gaiety of a laundry line equally appealing. Old man's pyjamas hanging alongside baby's vests, and ladies lingerie next to men's boxer shorts. A picture of domestic harmony. Naturally, the sight of laundry hanging over a wire fence on a Karoo farm, is far prettier than the Laundry hanging over the balcony of a council flat in London.
There is a vast difference, I feel, between poverty and squalor. Our Karoo volk don't have large bank balances; nor do they have mortgages. Their homes, though a little shabby, are cleanly white washed and picturesque. They work hard for their daily bread, but it's work done in an unpolluted, pleasant, country environment. They also enjoy the added benefit of Karoo lamb, with their daily bread on the side. Their Luxuries are few; Boxer tobacco, home brewed beer, and the time off to consume both liberally.
It has often occurred to me that, we should implement the Israeli Kibbutz system here at Langbaken. Surely people would jump at the idea of a working holiday on a Karoo farm? We are exceedingly blessed to live in a relaxing, peaceful environment, and I'm happy to say that in spite of the fact that we do work hard it's never tedious, and airing ones laundry is nothing but satisfying. Madam Brattex