Window on George

When I lived in the Free State, I was known as the Rose lady by most, and the Boob lady by a select few.  But every year when we travelled down to Wilderness, I became She who stalks the Varkore and Heather    Varkore, (Arrum/Aaron/Arram lilies)  growing wild in the fields, forests, ditches, gardens,  everywhere.  and then of course, the heather.   Every time we drove past it, we promised ourselves we would stop and take photos on the way back.   But then the sun would be on the other side of the road, and the heather would be in the shade.   Up and down we would go, arguing about where the turn-off was.   Before or after the toll gates.   In BlouKrans Pass or GrootRivier Pass or between the two or just past it.   Until Janie (in the back seat) could take it no more.   Hence the  donnerse heide . A quick stop at The Heath, a walk in the lavender labyrinth, a few sprigs in the handbag And then we would be off again, in search of mauve, purple, pink and t