Over the last two weeks I've alluded to an unfolding drama involving our local tourism association. I admit that I've had no small part to play in it, and one of the reasons I've gone into battle, so to speak, has because mere members get the mushroom treatment. For those not familiar with the expression, a polite explanation tranalation is being kept in the dark and fed fecal matter. It's a treatment to which I don't take kindly. Especially when I pay fees to be a member, get no benefit, let alone see how the fees (and other income) promotes tourism to our area.
For the first time in years, mine was not a lone voice. There was a chorus of voices singing from the same hymn sheet.
What happened? Well, it's still happening because the newly voted in committee members don't believe in treating members like mushrooms.
Signs?
It's no secret that I love the real fungus and about three weeks ago, I shared my delight when The Husband discovered a crop of iKhowe (beefsteak) mushrooms in the garden. For the next couple of days we hoped for more. Alas, no more appeared.
Then, yesterday as I was leaving for an appointment - an important one about potential work (I'll come back to this) and my usual Saturday afternoon thing, he stopped me and told me to look into the vegetable garden.
And there: three new 'shrooms. They'd popped up between our leaving for the market at around 8 am and 3.30pm.
Two of them are almost perfect, but the third literally had to push himself up from under a rock.
I leapt out of the car, regardless of probably being late for my meeting. Happily, I managed to snap them and The Husband harvested them before they'd had too much damage from the other residents in the garden.
Why am I taking this as a sign?
Because something amazing comes out of dark, black spaces, having turned waste into the most delicious food.
I said to someone the other day that my market pal and I have eaten the proverbial poo when we decided to collaborate with the tourism authority. Also having had to "pivot" (I hate that word), thanks to Covid and the economic situation, I feel that in my quest to find decent - paying and meaningful - work - I have also had to do the same.
I didn't really think about it as I drove down the road, but I did head down full of happy delight. It also meant that my step was lighter as I headed in to the local discuss the possibility future work with a relatively new arrival in the village.
The minutiae are not important, but one detail is: we share a birthday. A discovery that predated any discussion of work.
So, what happened?
I'm being introduced to the rest of the team at 9am tomorrow morning. One other is also a villager, while the others are located elsewhere in the country.
Real work, easing into what he sees is a potentially long term association, will begin this week.
He is also a recently elected member of the tourism committee and one of the bristles in a new broom trying to sweep clean.
I choose to believe these are all good omens. On day 13. Read the post script below...
Post script: I am trying to participate in 
I've made it to day 13!
Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa
Photo: Selma
Post script
If this post might seem familiar, it's because I'm doing two things:
- re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I am adding them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine....?
- and "re-capturing" nearly two years' worth of posts.
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- Join Hive using this link and then join us in the Silver Bloggers' community.
Original artwork:
- lastly, graphics are created using partly my own photographs, images available freely available on
and Canva.