Escaping the rat-race

 

My husband and I couldn't have made a better decision than moving out of the city.
 
Parys is a small town in the countryside in the Free State province.  It is just over an hour's drive from Johannesburg, with a population of almost 11,000 (according to the 2001 census).  Coming from Randburg, with its population of 133,000, this is honest small-town living for us.
 
What makes Parys special?  I guess the most important thing is that we now own a house.  After 16 years of renting, during which time we could have almost settled a bond, we were lucky to have found a dwelling we could call our own.
 
Living in the countryside means we get to see the night sky.  No city lights to dim the beauty of planets, stars and other heavenly bodies.  Before moving here, the last time I saw the Milky Way was when I visited the Johannesburg Planetarium as a child.
 
On Monday, I watched squirrels quarrel over something next to the road on my way to meetings in Johannesburg.  When I came home on Monday afternoon, a small dog was rolling in the middle of the road in Parys.  The children still walk barefoot in the streets.  Yesterday a man's child opened the car door and slammed it into my car.  He immediately apologised and offered to have the small scratch buffed.  One of the local antique stores keeps a piece of furniture for me.  Not on layby terms; they're just keeping it for me because I explained that I want it but need to save for it.
 
I again realised how blessed we are to be away from the rat race of city life.  As I stood on the balcony of the television room on the first floor watching the dogs sniffing at the Speckled Pigeon (Columba guinea) on her nest (with two eggs, so by the way) on the other side of the railing, I heard a strange sound.  'Hoo-huuu' ... 'Huu-ho-huuu' ... I tilted my head as if it would improve my hearing, and there it was again.  Ominous.
 
Unsure of what I heard, I called my husband.  At first, I thought it was the pigeon warning the dogs to stay away from her nest.  But suddenly, the sound moved to the right, a bit softer, probably further away.  'Hoo-huuu' ... 'Huu-ho-huuu' ... My husband heard it too.  An owl, maybe?  It was his guess.
 
Why could I not think of an owl?  Ingenious!  Now I know why I married him - for his brains.
 
Off to the bookshelf, I disappeared.  Well, not really the bookshelf but rather the six boxes with books, still not unpacked since April.  I scratched for Ian Sinclair's Birds of Africa and paged to the section on owls.  Goodness!  How does one identify a bird you did not see?  Reading and interpreting the explanation of each owl's voice listed in the book.  One stood out - that of the Spotted Eagle-Owl (Bubo Africanus).  The Spotted Eagle-Own has a legal status across Southern Africa and, according to Sinclair, can be seen everywhere from desert to woodland and gardens.  
 
Escaping the rat race is one of the best things I've done so far.  And tonight, I once again realised why Parys.  Why not?