LETTER FROM KLEINMOND

December brings GP number plates, throngs of relatives, and socially accepted day-drinking to Kyra Tarr’s seaside home town of Kleinmond in the Western Cape.

Ilike winter. The colder and wetter it is, the deeper I huddle into my cocoon of warm beverages, broody Brontë novels and Harry Potter reruns. And in any case, since the “big C” struck and social activities wound down, my hermit party of one hasn’t felt out of place.

I remember high school English lessons with our teacher, Mrs Crossman, as she taught us Shakespeare’s Macbeth – a tragedy about a power-hungry general, which is quite bleak from the outset. “The microcosm is reflected in the macrocosm!” she’d say, shaking the book at us for emphasis. Or, as I understood it, the miserable weather was an apt reflection of the turmoil unfolding in Macbeth’s heart and the world at large. Likewise, winter’s chill seemed to me an appropriate reflection of life under lockdown.

Maybe Shakespeare was on to something, I mused as I filled my overworked kettle for yet another cup of coffee this morning. Spring days were breaking warmer and earlier, and I couldn’t help feeling a little brighter myself.

Like most small coastal towns, Kleinmond exists for summer. Although it’s predominantly residential these days, there’s no denying the holiday energy that sweeps in with the first inland number plates of December. The Spar’s parking lot spills into the street. Shirts and shoes become optional. Ice-cream vendors sell granadilla lollies on the beach, and restaurants turn over draught beers to haggardlooking parents, matching the rate of toddler tantrums per hour. (About ten…)

When I think back to my childhood summers in Kwazulu-Natal, I remember the comforting scent of Nivea sun cream mixed with salt water and the cling of Peaceful Sleep, and the bliss of climbing into cool, crisp sheets after a day in the ocean. Mind you, it’s easy to spend hours in the warm Indian Ocean… Kleinmond’s Atlantic takes some getting used to, no matter how ardently Wim Hof tries to convince my stuttering heart and numb limbs that cold water submersion is good for the body.

In Kleinmond, summer nights are citronella candles, kameeldoring braais and the sound of laughter from our neighbour’s yard drifting in through the kitchen window.

Although summer no longer represents the unbridled freedom of a two-month school holiday, it still has a special allure. Bills and responsibilities which, in my older sister’s words, are “unspeakably boring” seem to matter less in summer, and there’s an unspoken collective understanding that drinking cider during the day is “festive” and not a reason for concern.

Forget Bryan Adams’ “Summer of ’69”; true December classics include the annual fight about who’s hosting family Christmas this year and whether to invite that one uncle who nobody talks to because he’s on post-divorce girlfriend number five. Naturally, she’s only after his money, never mind the fact that she’s a lawyer herself. The truth must never get in the way of a good story! Then there’s the indepth analysis of all the grandkids’ respective study choices and, shame, that one cousin who’s still single and subjected to pitying looks and consoling arm pats by all the aunties.

“Your time will come, bokkie,” Tannie Tinnie will say. “Girls are getting married later and later these days.”

Be still my feminist heart.

It’s mid-morning now and my office in the attic has me feeling like a baked potato shoved in the oven. I get up, stretch, and make my way to the garage. All this reminiscing has reminded me that it’s time to retire the old gas heater and dust off the standing fans. For all of summer’s joys, it does give rise to the Great Mosquito Resurgence.

Next, I drag the heavy blankets off the beds and pack them away in the cupboard until next winter. I shove my boots and jerseys to the back of the closet and eye my shorts and sandals sceptically. I haven’t shown my knees in public for six months; the results could be terrifying for all. After some reorganising and clearing away the nasal spray and Efferflu-C tablets on the counter, I can begin to believe it: Summer is here.

The final winter item I pack away are my concerns. They’ll keep until next year.

Spring days were breaking warmer and earlier, and I couldn’t help feeling a little brighter myself.