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Rustgevonden, Leeupoort, Thabazimbi (2026)

21/03/2026

Astrophotography at Rustgevonden in Leeukruin, Limpopo. The video showcases the Witch Head Nebula, Pleiades Cluster, Orion & Running Man and Horse Head Nebu...

15/03/2026

Day 66: Bush vibes, broken branches & smaller jeans… apparently.

Time for a little life update from the mud capital of the bush.

First things first: the rain. The endless, dramatic, slightly personal-feeling rain. At this point the road is less “road” and more “advanced off-road training course.” I’m fairly certain if the whole bush thing doesn’t work out, I now qualify as a professional rally driver. Sliding around corners in the mud while pretending it’s intentional is a skill, people.

And then there’s the cold creeping in. I can *literally* feel winter approaching… in the ache of my big toe. Apparently that’s what happens with age. I was always told wisdom comes with age, but nobody mentioned the *forecasting toe* that comes with it. If this keeps up I’ll start offering weather reports.

Despite the great mud era of 2026, we had an absolutely fantastic stay at Rustgevonden – our place of peace and love in the bush. There’s something about being surrounded by the beauty of the bush that resets your soul (even if you need a tractor to get out afterwards).

*Rescues update time!*
Yes… I said *rescues*. Plural. Because apparently we don’t know how to do things halfway.

Our beloved Bush Baby Nova is doing *FANTASTIC*!. He is growing ridiculously fast and before we know it he’ll be a fully grown little acrobat of the night where he belongs. And as if one tiny nocturnal chaos goblin wasn’t enough… he now has a friend! A second bush baby named *Mi-Q* has joined the adventure. The two of them together are already plotting world domination (or at least the destruction of our sleep schedule).

We’re also still hoping for good news about *Pou-line*. There’s no update yet, but we keep hoping she’s simply hiding away with her babies somewhere safe, healthy and doing exactly what clever bush moms do best.

Below are some of our favourite moments from the weekend. Mud, bush magic, broken branches, tiny rescues and all.

We hope you enjoy them as much as we do.

Wishing everyone a wonderful **bush-vibes kind of weekend**.

With Rustgevonden love 🌿

*P.S.* My jeans still don’t fit… which is very rude considering how much mud-sliding exercise I’ve been doing.

27/02/2026

🎵Daars ’n g*t in die grond… en die groen gras groei daarom🎵 🌱

So loop ek vanoggend en neurie daai ou liedjie in my kop terwyl ek huis skoonmaak hier in die bos. Dis stil. Net voëls, wind en my eie gedagtes. En toe — *blahm!* — tref dit my soos ’n emmer koue water.

Dit was nie net ’n kinder-rympie nie.
Dit was ’n waarskuwing vir wanneer jy groot word.

Laat ek verduidelik…

Hierdie storie gaan oor Piet en Susarie. Jy ken hulle mos. Hulle was al in baie stories. 😉

Een nag kry Piet een of ander briljante idee. Die volgende oggend is hy vroeg op, graaf oor die skouer, ernstig soos ’n man met ’n missie.

“Wat maak jy?” vra Susarie.

“Ek gaan ’n g*t grou. Moenie worry nie, watch net!”

Min weet Susarie daardie g*t gaan vir die res van haar lewe werk beteken.

Aanvanklik gebeur daar niks. Die g*t lê net daar. Onooglik. Stowwerig. Halfpad. Soos baie “briljante idees” maar is.

Weke gaan verby.
Piet sê niks.
Doen niks.

Susarie kan nie meer kyk na die kaal kol in haar erf nie. Sy plant bietjie gras om die g*t. Gee dit water. En *wa-la* — die groen gras groei daarom.

Nog tyd gaan verby.
Die g*t bly.

Terwyl sy tog nou al moet kyk na die ding, besluit sy sy kan hom net sowel mooi maak. Sy ry dorp toe. Koop potgrond. ’n Mooi boom. ’n Paar plantjies. Selfs klippies vir versiering.

Nou is daar ’n boom in die g*t,
die g*t in die grond,
en die groen gras groei daarom.

Maar dis nie al nie.

Susarie water die boom.
Sy snoei hom.
Sy beskerm hom teen wind en weer.
Teen goggas.
Teen droogte.

Jaar na jaar kyk sy hoe daai boom groei. Takke. Blare. Vrugte.

Hoor jy dit?

🎼
Daars ’n vrug aan die tak,
die tak aan die mik,
die mik aan die boom,
die boom in die g*t,
die g*t, die g*t in die grond…

En wie sit by die braaivuur en vat krediet vir die pragtige skaduboom?

Piet.

Want hy het mos een dag ’n g*t gegrou.
En geweet Susarie gaan al die werk doen.

En net daar spoil ek toe my eie kinderdae-herinnering.

Want dis mos maar net die lewe.

Daar’s altyd iemand wat EERSTE die g*t gegrou het —
en iemand anders wat in die agtergrond al die werk doen.
Water. Snoei. Dra. Bou. Onderhou. Red.

Die g*t was dalk die begin.
Maar die groei?
Die vrugte?
Die mooi?

Dit kom van die een wat bly om die werk te doen.

So ja…

Jou g*t, Piet. 😌

Ek los julle maar met die gedagte vandag want hoekom sal ek myself nou aleen sit en opwerk!

Lekker week vir almal.😁

Rustgevonden-liefde 🌿

18/02/2026

Day 41 – Bush Vibes, Broken Branches & “Smaller” Jeans

Well. The last ten days have been… character building.

Danie was overseas most of these days, living his best international life, probably eating decent food and sleeping uninterrupted, while I have been home holding down the fort like a slightly dramatic but determined bushveld general. He has returned in one piece and with an added touch of flu. I will however make sure he survives!

First up – I bravely ventured to **Bush Babies Monkey Sanctuary** all by myself. Because why not? What could possibly go wrong when one woman goes to visit adorable primates without adult supervision? It was magical. It was wholesome. It was me bonding with monkeys and pretending I’m basically Jane Goodall with better mascara. (I dont wear mascara but what-ever)

And then… I got what I thought was food poisoning.

Plot twist: it wasn’t a quick in-and-out episode. It has been a full-blown 10-day stomach saga. A long-term relationship. A clingy, emotionally draining, zero-benefits situation. I have spent more time negotiating with my digestive system than I have negotiating wedding décor. At this point I would like to formally break up with whatever microscopic gremlin has taken up residence in my body.

Which brings me to wedding planning stepmom life.

Let me just say: being part of this season is SUCH a privilege. Watching my stepson and his beautiful fiancée build their day is honestly the sweetest thing. They have been unbelievably kind and patient with me. Which is good… because I have an overactive creative brain that does not understand the concept of “subtle.”

In my head I’m building floral installations that can be seen from space. I’m redesigning seating charts at 11pm. I’m mentally adding fairy lights to things that absolutely do not require fairy lights. Every time I get a “small, simple idea,” my brain goes, “Yes… but what if we add drama?”

I have to physically restrain myself from running off with my own Pinterest board and accidentally planning an entirely different wedding. Luckily, they gently smile at me like, “We love you… but please sit down.” And I do. Mostly.

Now, about this diet.

Friends. The diet is not dieting.

My lifestyle is simply too much fun. Too much bush braais. Too many “just a little taste” moments. Too many glasses raised to love and life and surviving stomach bugs. My waistline has apparently decided that even ten days of illness is not a convincing enough argument to shrink. It’s like my jeans are watching me and whispering, “Cute that you’re trying.”

But I refuse to quit. I WILL get photo-ready. Even if it means wrestling my metabolism like a warthog in mating season. Those wedding photos will not defeat me.

Meanwhile, the planned changes at Rustgevonden are officially underway. There’s dust, there’s movement, there’s progress. It feels like watching the bush after the first rain – messy, hopeful, full of promise. Before we know it, it will all be complete, and we’ll wonder how we ever lived without it.

And then… Pou-line.

That sneaky queen has produced FIVE brand-new peacock babies. Five! She clearly did not consult me about capacity planning. They are tiny, dramatic, fluffy miracles. Here’s hoping they survive and grow into the full-blown feathered chaos agents they were born to be.

So here we are.
Husbands abroad.
Monkeys bonded.
Stomachs humbled.
Wedding magic brewing.
Jeans still suspiciously snug.
Peacock babies multiplying.

If there’s one thing the bush teaches you, it’s this: storms pass, stomach bugs eventually pack their bags, and new life always pops up when you least expect it. The broken branches make way for fresh growth. The drought makes the rain sweeter. And sometimes the peahen just quietly doubles the population while you’re distracted.

Onwards we go.
Positive vibes.
Wild hearts.
And always, always… Rustgevonden love 🤍🌿

08/02/2026

A Very Unplanned Day at Bush Babies Monkey Sanctuary

I woke up this morning feeling… *ehhgg*.
One of those days.

My husband is overseas, our boys are grown and living their own full lives, and I suddenly felt my age in a way that was hard to shake. That quiet, uncomfortable feeling of standing still while everyone else seems to be moving forward at full speed.

I considered moping in bed for the day—truly considered it—but then, almost out of nowhere, I gave myself 15 minutes.

Fifteen minutes to get up, get dressed, and get out of the house.

No plan. No destination. Just movement.

I grabbed my camera, a hat, and slathered on sunscreen “just in case.” And then I drove.

Somewhere between being directionless and trying not to overthink, a memory popped up: I had brought my son to Bush Babies Monkey Sanctuary in Hartebeespoort years ago, back when he was still in primary school. Without much debate, I turned the car and decided—*that’s it, I’m going.*

And wow… am I glad I did.

From the moment I arrived, I felt lighter. I was greeted by the most beautiful orchard of fruit-bearing mango trees, dappled sunlight, and the unmistakable feeling of being somewhere quietly special. Walking into the sanctuary felt like stepping out of my head and into a living, breathing reminder of why these places matter so much.

Going alone was a little daunting at first, but that feeling didn’t last long. Our guide, Sam, was an absolute gem. He jumped in without hesitation—taking all the photos my husband would normally have taken—allowing me to simply *be* in the moment. He answered every question with patience, shared the stories of how these animals ended up here, and explained why sanctuaries like this, though sometimes controversial, are not just important but necessary.

This place is a direct result of human failure.

Animals bought as pets because they’re “cute,” only to be abandoned when they become messy, demanding, or inconvenient. Animals that, heartbreakingly, often outlive the people who once claimed to love them. Bush Babies Monkey Sanctuary steps in where we don’t—and does so with compassion, education, and deep respect for the animals in their care.

Spending time up close with these monkeys isn’t just enjoyable; it’s grounding. It’s humbling. It’s a reminder that conservation isn’t an abstract idea—it’s hands-on, emotional, and urgently needed.

I arrived that morning feeling stuck, invisible, and a little lost.

I left feeling grateful, present, and quietly restored.

If you’re looking for something meaningful to do in Hartebeespoort—whether with family, friends, or bravely on your own—I cannot recommend Bush Babies Monkey Sanctuary enough. It’s not just a visit. It’s an experience that stays with you long after you leave.

Thank you to everyone involved for caring, for educating, and for showing up when it truly matters.

Rustgevonden love🍃

07/02/2026

# # # Wanneer jou eie kop besluit hy’s ’n inbreker

Soos vroeër genoem: ek is huidiglik alleen tuis. Onder **normale** omstandighede hanteer ek dit soos ’n kampioen. Ek is nie bang vir my eie skaduwee nie, ek slaap lekker, en die bos is my happy place.

Maar hierdie week?
Hierdie week het besluit om *nie* normaal te wees nie.

Daar is vreeslik baie ongewenste aktiwiteit in die omgewing, en “veilig voel” was duidelik nie op my weeklikse to-do lys nie. Die gevolg? Ek is hiper-waaksaam, effens op my senuwees, en luister na elke geluid soos ’n speurder op haar eerste moordsaak.

Ek sluit myself toe as ek by die huis is.
Ek dwaal nie rond in die bos nie.
En ek hoor **baie meer geluide** as wat daar realisties behoort te wees.

Wat my nou bring by **gister**.
Ag, liewe gister.

Ek was heel dag in die huis. Ek het probeer skoonmaak, maar halfpad deur die proses breek ek my mop. En daar was *geen* manier dat ek daardie aaklige grondpad sou aandurf net vir ’n mop nie. Prioriteite.

So sit ek toe vasgevang in:

* die warmste huis in Suid-Afrika,
* lugreëling op volle blast,
* waaier aan,
* TV in die agtergrond vir emosionele ondersteuning.

Teen vroegmiddag begin ek ’n hoofpyn ontwikkel.
Nie ’n “ag shame” hoofpyn nie.
’n **Doef-doef-doef** hoofpyn.

Onthou daardie detail. Dis belangrik.

Teen die aand probeer ek slaap. Die kop lol. Ek word kort-kort wakker. Teen **twee-uur** word ek wakker van iets wat **presies** klink soos iemand wat op die stoep loop.

DOEF. DOEF. DOEF.

My hart skiet weg soos ’n springbok met ’n pensioenfonds. Ek spring op, sit die kameras aan, oë so groot soos pierings.

Niks.
Net ek.
En my verbeelding wat duidelik oortyd werk.

My kop klop nou soos ’n techno-klub, maar ek besluit om dit af te slaap.

Vier-uur raak ek vas aan die slaap. Ek droom iets snaaks — so snaaks dat ek myself wakker lag. Eers ’n sagte giggle… toe ’n **klipharde lag**… en *woeps*—oë oop.

En toe hoor ek dit.

So duidelik soos ’n parade:

Links (doef)
Links (doef)
Links, regs, links (doef doef doef)

Ek begin paniek. Swets onder my asem. Gryp my foon. Kamers aan.
Weer eens: **niks**.

Toe ek uiteindelik weer begin asemhaal, luister ek mooi. Want daardie geluid was eg. Hard. Regtig.

Ek draai op my sy om weer te probeer slaap.

En daar’s dit weer.

Links (doef)
Links (doef)
Links, regs, links…

En toe tref dit my.
Soos ’n nat vis teen die gesig.

**Ek hou myself al die hele nag wakker.**
Die voetstappe was my eie kloppende hoofpyn.
Wanneer ek draai, klop dit harder.
En elke keer jaag ek my eie bloeddruk op — soos iemand wat vir haarself skrik maak en dan verbaas is dat sy skrik.

Mens kan darem maar simpel wees soms.

Anyway.

Die bos bly steeds my gunsteling plek.
Dis net soos die lewe: stil, mooi, maar as jy te lank stilstaan en luister, begin elke tak klink soos ’n leeu.

Vandag gaan ek myself beter besig hou.
Sodat ek vanaand kan slaap.
En nie weer deur my eie kop gearresteer word nie.

**Rustgevonden liefde** 🌿💚

’nInbrekerIs

’nByklank

’nInbrekerDisMyPols

07/02/2026

Day 36: Bush Vibes, Broken Branches & Not-So-Smaller Jeans

It’s been one of those weeks. The kind filled with wedding nitty-gritty, travel prep for Danie’s Munich adventure, and the emotional rollercoaster that comes with being gifted a 3D puzzle of the Hubble Telescope.

Now, let me just say this: giving Danie a puzzle and expecting me not to get involved was wildly optimistic. He tried to build it without me. He failed. My inner child, my control issues, and my deep, passionate love for puzzles simply would not allow it. I apologized several times for hijacking his toy, but in the end we both got to play, so no harm done

Fast-forward to me being home alone for what feels like forever (okay, a week… but still). Without Danie around, my routine has completely collapsed. Instead of “finding things to do,” I’ve chosen the far more committed path of moping… and eating. And eating. And then eating some more. The tiny bits of weight I had bravely lost have found their way home, brought friends, and clearly plan to stay. My jeans noticed before I did.

On the bright side, Danie did manage to visit Insartalsternwarte — which is just a fancy way of saying he got to play with a very big telescope in another country. I’m happy for him. Truly. Although considering how freezing cold it is over there, I’m not entirely convinced it was worth the loss of feeling in his fingers.

Despite broken branches, broken diets, and questionable life choices involving snacks, one thing remains true: bush life is still the best life. We are counting the days until we’re back at our beloved Rustgevonden. Even more exciting — the building project has officially kicked off! Two more months and it should be up and running. We cannot wait to share the results.

Watch this space 🌿
Rustgevonden love 💚

30/01/2026

Day 27- Bush vibes, broken branches and smaller jeans:

Here’s the thing about choosing bush life — it doesn’t come with an “easy mode,” it comes with *character development*. One minute you’re dodging koedoes and negotiating with zebras about who gets right of way, the next you’re expected to show up in the city like a fully functional adult who *definitely* didn’t just reverse half a kilometre because the road politely… disappeared overnight.

Yes, it’s chaotic. Yes, it’s muddy. Yes, sometimes the g*te, the animals, the weather and the universe all wake up and choose violence **before 7am**. But also? This life makes you tougher, funnier, more adaptable and slightly feral in the best possible way. You don’t quit — you adjust. You laugh. You tell the story later with dramatic hand gestures and a “you won’t believe this” tone.

And the diet? Listen. Progress isn’t linear — sometimes it’s asleep in the kitchen making sandwiches and generously sharing them like a carb-fairy with good intentions. If you didn't catch that a new level of food lover has made her appearance and apparently I now sleep-eat.... that's right... I now go around making sandwiches and dont remember eating them... so yeah....
I do however offer to share with my husband and the cat sooooo..... Even *sleep-me* is clearly a giver, and that counts for something 😂

As for Dough-Less… some relationships are just not meant to be. Not every journey is ours. Not every starter needs starting. And honestly, choosing peace over sourdough chaos is growth. Imagine waking up to a sleep-baked loaf? No thank you. We draw the line there.

So here’s your reminder: you’re not failing — you’re *living*. Wildly. Authentically. Occasionally covered in mud, crumbs and sarcasm. Smaller jeans will come. Balance will come. But this life? This bush-meets-real-world magic? That’s already a win.

Always, always ending with **Rustgevonden love** 🤍🌿

26/01/2026

**Day 23 – Bush vibes, Broken branches & Smaller Jeans**

Our last update was on Day 17 and although *technically* very little has changed, we have still been full-on hustle-and-bustle mode. It’s Monday. I am tired from weekending… which makes absolutely no sense, but here we are.

Let’s talk about the diet.
Ah yes. The week of *pure torture* that has achieved… drumroll please… absolutely nothing 😒 . Not a gram. Not a whisper of progress. Not even a sympathy dip on the scale.

Meanwhile my husband is losing weight like I’ve locked him in a small room and only slide him tiny mouthfuls of food under the door to ensure he doesn’t perish. Honestly🙄. The audacity🙄🙄🙄. The injustice🙄🙄🙄🙄. The sheer *rudeness🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄* of it all. I, on the other hand, am doing pretty much exactly what he’s doing and yet my body has decided: *“No thank you, we’re good.”*

This has made me want to throw a full-blown teenage tantrum — complete with eye-rolling, stomping and dramatic sighing — because I do not merely want results… I want to **over-achieve**. And right now, that is simply not happening.

So instead, I will continue blaming:
• My hormones
• The lack of a thyroid
• The alignment of the moon
• Mercury doing that weird backwards thing

Anything, really — **except** the possibility that I’m not trying hard enough. Absolutely not. We don’t speak that language here.

In the meantime, we had a wonderfully busy weekend catching up with friends and with those we have *chosen* to make our family (sorry guys… you didn’t really have a choice in the matter 😌). Full hearts, good laughs, and the kind of connection that reminds you why life is meant to be shared.

We are missing our boys terribly. Their lives are just as busy as ours — wedding planning, planned trips, work — all conspiring against us being able to simply walk up to them and hug them just because we can. But they do know we love them. Endlessly. Fiercely. Always.

Pou-line is still my favourite bird.🦚
Rua is still my favourite kudu.🦌
And the bush is still my favourite place to be.🌳🌳

So honestly? No real complaining from my side.

**Bush motivation for the week:**
Just like the bush doesn’t rush growth — neither should we. Trees don’t panic if they don’t grow overnight. They stand, they root, they weather storms… and they grow when they’re ready. Progress isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s just quietly happening underground.

And with that, we carry on.
Same humour. Same grit. Same love.

Rustgevonden love🍃

**P.S.**
I also completely forgot to mention **Dough-lass**, my sourdough (non) starter — which honestly tells you everything you need to know about how that relationship is going.

At this point I think sourdough life has decided it is **not for me**. We are heading into what feels like eternity and I still haven’t managed to start *anything*… except an unnecessary, emotionally draining, completely one-sided relationship where I give, and Dough-lass just… exists. Barely.

I feed him. I encourage him. I Google things at 10pm. And in return?
Silence. No bubbles. No rise. No effort.

Much like the scale this week — Dough-lass and I are clearly on the same emotional journey. 😌🥖

21/01/2026

**Suurdeeg, verlies en lesse uit die natuur**

Dit is met groot hartseer (en ’n effense verligting) dat ek vandag moet aankondig: **Bread-Pitt is nie meer met ons nie.**
Mag hy rus… ver weg van my kombuis af.

Bread-Pitt was my eerste suurdeeg. My trots. My projek. My “kyk-wat-kan-ek-ook-doen” oomblik. Ek het hom gevoer, gekoester, dopgehou soos ’n eerste kind… en toe, soos enige oorwerkte mens in die bos, het ek hom **vier dae lank alleen op die kombuistoonbank gelos**.

Vier. Dae.....

Teen die tyd dat ek weer sy pot oop gemaak het, was dit nie meer ’n suurdeeg nie – dit was ’n **tiener met ’n houding en ’n liggaamsreukprobleem**. Die stank het my brein laat kortsluit. Ek het vir myself gesê: “Gee hom nog ’n dag, miskien herstel hy.”
Maar my neus het gesê: “Nee Cindy, los dit. Dis klaar.”

En so het Bread-Pitt gesterf. Nie aan hongersnood nie. Nie aan swak gene nie.
Maar aan **verwaarlosing en my eie oormoed**.

Die waarheid is: suurdeeg-lewe is nie vir almal nie. Dis ’n verbintenis. Dis amper soos boslewe – as jy nie elke dag kyk, luister en aanpas nie, dan gaan die natuur net sê: *jammer, maar jy is uit.*

En ja, ek weet, suurdeeg kom nie voor in die natuur soos ’n koedoe of ’n kameelperd nie… maar dis seker so naby aan ’n natuurlike reaksie as wat ’n mens in ’n kombuis kan kry. En soos die bos my al so baie keer geleer het: **jy kan moeite insit, sorg dra, liefde gee – en tog werk dinge soms net nie uit nie.**

En dis oukei.

Want soms is die grootste les nie om aan te hou vasklou nie, maar om **oor te begin**.

Mag ek dus aan julle voorstel: **Dough-Less.**
24 uur oud. Reeds sy eerste rys gehad. Vars. Vol belofte.
Nog nie ’n attitude nie. Nog nie ’n reukprobleem nie..... ek sê maar nog nie want ek weet dit kom🫣

Ek kyk nou met nuwe respek na hierdie borrelende pot lewe en besef: oor begin is nie mislukking nie – dis groei. Net soos in die bos. Net soos in die lewe.

En as dit weer gebeur, dan het ek darem al geleer: moenie kommer nie, as jy hom vier dae alleen los, kan jy net weer begin...die dood is ook deel van die natuur 😉

Rustgevonden-liefde 🌿

**

20/01/2026

**Day 17: Bush vibes, broken branches and smaller jeans**

Well hello again.
It’s been **7 full days** since my last update and if you follow our page, you’ll know we didn’t exactly sit still in that time. Apparently I’ve manifested a new calendar system where **my week officially starts on a Tuesday and ends on a Thursday**. Monday is just emotional admin and Friday is clearly a suggestion. So… well done to me. 🌿

**This week’s diet update:**
Still not great. I’m struggling, and with us traveling so constantly, sticking to it feels harder than it should be. Making the right choices seems more complicated when you’re living out of a bag and your routine is basically “where are we sleeping tonight?”. And yes, I am still being *actively insulted* by the scale. However—small mercy—it **is going down**. Slowly… very, very slowly. But it’s not going up, so I’m taking the win and moving on before the scale hears me celebrating and changes its mind.

**Bread-Pitt update (deep sigh):**
I have failed dismally. I am, without question, a horrible sourdough mom. I abandoned him for four days when we went to the bush (I forgot him on the kitchen counter). I came home to something that looked and smelled like it had been emotionally neglected and left to fend for itself. We will clearly have to restart.
That said—because denial is one of my strongest character traits—I’ve convinced myself to give him **two more days** before we officially call it and commit to another full 14-day restart. Hope springs eternal. Or something like that.

The bush, as always, has been good for us. Danie managed to do a bit of stargazing—just a tiny bit—since the weather isn’t exactly cooperating with that particular hobby right now. We still had beautiful game sightings and managed to capture some stunning shots of a storm rolling through, which felt like a gift in itself.

And storms… they’re funny things. You can choose to stand frozen in fear, focusing only on the thunder and the uncertainty, or you can step back and see the beauty in the clouds, the light, the drama, and the renewal that follows. Life works much the same way. Perspective doesn’t change the storm—but it changes how you live through it.

Bush life has a way of reminding us of that. It slows you down, grounds you, and teaches you to respect both the calm and the chaos. And honestly, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Ending this update with gratitude, muddy shoes, tired bones, and a very full heart.

**Rustgevonden love. 🌿**

Rustgevonden

21/03/2026

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27/02/2026

18/02/2026

08/02/2026

07/02/2026

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