Rooster Curry: Hail Caesar!

A Reminiscence

My father had an obsessive compulsion to farm that shamed even the fundamental imperatives of his DNA. Erroneously, my father equated farming with absolute personal freedom and consequence-less independence of will. This was a marred perspective courtesy of being raised impatiently on a Bushveld farm under the fickle yoke of an emotionally unavailable and authoritarian father. My father apparently never considered alternative routes to achieve his towering ideals. So, at a fortuitous point in his life, he leapt blindly when Fate dangled him the opportunity at owning the Greenbushes smallholding. And thus he became a willing and irrevocable servant of the soil and its blind, avaricious demands.

Most people have some preconceived idea of which animals rightly belong on or around a farm yard to officially qualify said yard as a “proper” farm yard . . .

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