Lake Heritage – what lies beneath?
For some it’s just a big lake, I guess what lies beneath depends on your point of view.
For me, the memories, dreams and imaginings of a six year old girl lie there, buried under all that semi stagnant water.
Looking over the lake at Zwartkops
The man made dam wall
I can see visions of a three story, castle-like house perched on the banks of the Crocodile River. One of the most picturesque picnic spots ever, with its lush green grass looking so inviting alongside the river, in the shade of the multiple swaying willow trees.
This was home
I can see her now, wading knee deep (on skinny six year old legs) in the river, to catch and corral the fresh water muscles, reprimanding them when she’d left them unattended to gather more and came back only to find the first lot escaping her stick corral fences.
Happy days
Avid and incredulously watching a visiting Dutch family going wild on the rope swing, letting go at the high end and bombing into the water. Something she herself had never done, being too short to reach the rope, and probably a bit too scared to plummet into the dark waters. (Not that she would ever have admitted the scared part)
A few months later, on the banks just upriver from the rope swing, where she caught and landed her first barble, ugly whiskers and all. Not something she planned on doing in a hurry again. The animal lover in her cringing at the whole hook removal process.
And the day when she, her older brother and their best friend paddled up river, only to find a huge willow tree had fallen across blocking their passage, and the boys decided to hop out onto the trunk and go explore. Leaving her abandoned in a canoe which she had never paddled by herself. All she could imagine was getting wedged and drowning in the barrels of the low level bridge downstream. Nearly in tears when she spotted her dad down on the peninsula and shouted for his help and he taught her from a distance how to paddle. She ended up parking the canoe with a welcoming crunch in the sand near his feet, beaming the biggest grin of accomplishment.
Those nights when she would ask her parents, as she was being tucked into bed, to point out where the huge rain spider was, and being happy when she knew it wasn’t in her bed, but on the wall a mere meter or so away.
That bitter cold winters night her Dad came to wake her to show her the porcupine who was fossicking around the back garden. With his scary rattling of quills.
I can see the change in her, from when they moved from town to the river. She didn’t know about walking in the bush and could hardly keep up with her family, most walks ending in her being carried on her Dad’s shoulders. One day something clicked and she started walking. A few compliments later, and that was it, striding out tirelessly as fast as her little legs could move.
Playing “spot the Nightjar” hidden amidst the curly leaves at the base of a Bluegum tree.
How her love of wild plants grew the more the family walked the veld. Picking leaves or flowers off certain plants and taking them home to correctly identify them had her sprouting Latin names like a botanist. (Usually to impress visitors I might add) Things as tongue tying as: Xerophyta retinervis, Combretum erythrophyllum or Scadoxus puniceus. (Did that impress you??)
The timeless days when her elder brother and her, built cushion forts in the lounge. Hiding happily in tunnels where they believed no one could see them, until some silly movement sent the whole thing tumbling down, and they had to start again.
These were days of innocence, when six year olds didn’t know about cell phones, computer games, malls, or brand named clothing. When days were filled with simple things.
How I wish I could go back.
(Lake Heritage was built on the Crocodile River at Heia Safari Ranch in Muldersdrift. I believe the house is still there, under all that water, I know both the tennis court and jungle gym are still standing, and stick out the surface of the water)
