“…and the nights were cold.”

“I had a farm in Africa at the foot of the Ngong Hills.

I have a farm in the middle Kootenays, at the foot of a mountain.

The Equator runs across these highlands, a hundred miles to the north, and the farm lay at an altitude of over six thousand feet.

The ferry runs across this very water, valiantly struggling against the pull of the current, and the farm lies tucked in a northern corner.

In the day-time you felt that you had got high up; near to the sun, but the early mornings and evenings were limpid and restful, and the nights were cold.”  (Isak Dinesen)

In the day-time, I feel the crackle in the air from the raging power-lines, and in the evening the breeze blows through my house. And the nights are cold.

I’ve always maintained that Amelia Earhart is my heroine. A spunky, attractive woman who took a prominent role in a male-dominated occupation. She was also extremely intelligent and creative. Have you ever read her poetry? And what better way to seal your persona in an enigmatic mystery for eons to come, then to disappear of the face of the earth? Who wouldn’t want to emulate this charming and delightful woman who is always pictured with a carefree breeze ruffling her hair in such an appealing way? But for sheer romantic-heroism, for shiver-inducing images that are created with beautifully picked and impeccably placed words, I seek out Karen Blixen. A woman who accepted adventure and remained refined in the face of life’s sordidness. Despite great heartbreak and devastation, she continued to be a woman who could tell a great story.

I’m off to the library. Hope they have “Winter’s Tales”, because I need to read a wonderful story told by a valiant woman who tilted at her own futile windmills.

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2 thoughts on ““…and the nights were cold.”

  1. I love ‘Out of Africa’ … in fact, I dream of that life. Someday when I have a farm high in the veld, I hope you’ll come sit with me on my veranda and we can watch giraffes wander past my front yard.

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