AND THE GRASS WON'T PAY NO MIND......

What a week. Terror in Boston, chaos in Somalia, earthquake in China, flooding in Eastern Cape.....

But in Binga the Sacred Ibis, and the Brown Hooded Vultures continue to fly in unconcerned formation across the great lake to the "Binga Spa" at the bottom of the garden. As we walked down at sunset to investigate the occupancy at the "Spa", a small croc scuttled into the water, a hippo grunted melodiously as we walked past his pool, and the "Spa" was a hive of industry.

We still have not worked out quite why dozens of Ibis and Vultures gather daily on this particular part of the lake. Perhaps it is because the salts, sulphur compounds and minerals in the water that seeps into the lake here from the Binga Hot Springs higher up the escarpment?

Occasionally a mischievous Fish Eagle would fly past just to disrupt the peace at the Spa. Those birds gently and quietly "taking the salts" would fly away awkwardly in great droves only to return later when the threatening bird had passed on his way.

Why the Ibis and the Vulture? Why these two species only? With the occasional egret in amongst them? What benefits would they obtain from these sulfur springs that no other bird was interested enough to join the fray?

A curiosity indeed but the lake was at peace with itself, the grasses and reeds still brilliant as the rains have been good to the lake this year. The sunlight sparkled on the gently lapping waves, the fishermen brought in their nets sporadically, also enjoying the relative cool of the Binga sun.

The internet was not working which was a blessing in disguise and the horrors of the outside world faded into obscurity.

The only threat to peace and tranquility was the rustle of the Coucal in the reeds, the elegant murmurs from the Trumpeter Hornbills, and the bickering of the family of monkeys in the canopy above, with one eye on us and one eye on the dish of navel oranges on the veranda table.

The brilliant colours of the coleus brought a dramatic touch to the rich background of olive and reed greens and the Sabi Stars peeped curiously out of their prickly lairs.

The capenta rigs still stream from the Croc Farm harbor every evening, and line up in optical illusionary neat rows along the horizon as far as the eye can see, hoping for a good catch as the moon waxes fast and furious.

We realized that we had lost the battle with the hippos as they have created a vast wallowing pool under the Ficus Leratus. The Lake is still very high and they have become addicted to our delicious ferns and ornamental grasses.

I think Neil Diamond must indeed have been on Lake Kariba in early winter when he wrote this song.

'Listen easy, you can hear God calling
Walking barefoot by the stream......
And the time will be our time
And the grass won't pay no mind

Young bird flying, and a soft wind blowing
Close my eyes, hear the flowers growing......


And the time will be our time
No the grass won't pay no mind'