Lazy Sunday

If you haven't noticed, there has been a big empty spot in my blog for the weekends. Chalk it up to not having very good internet in my little cottage or just not having enough time in front of the computer, but I thought that I would break with tradition and share a snippet from this past weekend.

Sunday was one of the nicest days that I have had in the valley thus far. Elgin's normally relaxed vibe ascended to a whole new level at the Gower's vineyard. Though most of the valley is enwrapped in a country charm, no estate has quite as much carefree charisma as the Gower estate. You drive up to do a tasting and wonder if you have trespassed onto a quaint family farm. The tasting house, (and I purposely used the term "house,") is filled with the an endearing hodge-podge of personal memorabilia that you would expect to find in someone's living room, and you can always expect a tasting to be drawn out to include drop-ins by the whole family. True to the intensely laid-back hospitality of the winery visits, the family put on a sunday afternoon luncheon amongst the trees.

I walked up to the winery not sure what to expect, and was greeted by the sweetest sound of all-- banjo cords raising a southern call. Though South Africa has a wide range of music, it falls decidedly short in the arena of Bluegrass and acoustics. You can imagine my surprise, then, when I heard not just a banjo, but a picked guitar and a harmonica floating on the summer haze. I had to pinch myself for a moment, to make sure that I had not been transported to an oak-filled lawn in Tennessee or thereabouts. The band's name is The Blacksmiths, and they are one of the few bluegrass bands in the country. While I was equally impressed by all, I came to find out that their banjo player is internationally recognized for his adroitness with a finger pick. For the whole of the evening, I was enwrapped in their music, and I kept trading chairs in order to get closer and closer to this transportive four-some.

After the music stopped, I went up to thank them for their playing, and, to be expected, they were thrilled to hear my American accent. I spent the next half an hour with them, going through my library of bluegrass music on the i-phone and discussing the merits of festivals like Strictly Hardly and Telluride. Although, I'm sure they would have preferred a toothless North Carolinian, straight off the slat-wood porch, I think they settled for an overly enthusiastic Texan.

With the amazing soundtrack in place, the mood was set and there was no where for this

party to go but up. The weather cooperated gloriously and there was a dappling of sunshine through the trees along with a cheerily ginger breeze. Big wooden tables had been set up in the small clearing and each was laden with a spread of cured meats, wheels of cheese, fresh bread, home-made spreads, fresh summer salads and, of course, in South African style, plates of freshly braai-ed meats. Suffices to say that this was a pure dionysian retreat-- there was no shortage of food, wine, or fantastic company. Everyone was in a posture of complete adherence and satiated laziness. Slung back over the chairs, people sat with their wide brimmed country hats and let the music and the charm of the afternoon hold sway.

Arriving at 1 pm, I didn't know what to expect, packing up at 8 pm, I didn't want to leave. It was truly one of those glorious days that float by in a perfectly lilting bliss; we watched the sun dip behind the hills wondering where the hours had gone. So, with a short dip in the dam and one last sip of wine, I went on the road home, pleasantly drained by a lazy sunday afternoon.