Timmy in a Trough, Birds in Drawers & Bees in Nectar

When we decided to move to Tau Farm, we knew we were going to be living a little differently.

What we didn't quite anticipate was just how much of the local wildlife would decide to move in with us.

We've barely unpacked and already have resident squirrels, geckos, bats, birds, zebras, kudu, wildebeest and enough other visitors to make us wonder whether we bought a farm or opened a very exclusive wildlife resort.

And apparently, we're responsible for catering.

It started with the birds.

We put up nectar feeders because, well, if you're going to live in the bush, you may as well encourage the birds to come and visit. It was going beautifully until we discovered that the bees had found the nectar as well.

And they were VERY enthusiastic about it.

They somehow managed to get themselves into the feeder and were literally submerging themselves in the nectar. We panicked that they were going to drown, so out came the nectar and we went into full bee-rescue mode.

Clearly, the bees needed their own feeding station.

So we ordered little flower feeders, filled them with pebbles and nectar, and even added a little bee ladder to the bird bath.

At this point, we're not sure whether we're running a farm or a wildlife rehabilitation centre.

The delivery of the bee supplies was also a significant milestone for us.

We'd genuinely believed we'd moved so far off the grid that courier companies would take one look at our address and simply say, "Nope."

Then a courier arrived.

And another one.

And another.

It turns out most of them actually venture into our conservancy.

This was dangerous information to discover.

Buckle up, online shopping. We're back.

The residents we didn't order

Some of our visitors, however, don't require a delivery.

One afternoon, we had our own little zebra rescue.

We heard a strange noise but couldn't work out what it was. Eventually, we noticed all the zebras looking towards the same area.

Then we saw two tiny ears sticking out of our feeding trough.

A baby zebra had somehow been shoved into it and couldn't get himself out.

A call to the local community brought help, and soon we had a little rescue operation underway.

Michelle ended up holding his tiny head while the team grabbed his legs and gently pulled him out.

And then came the moment that melted us.

His mum came over.

She was making those little zebra noises and coming closer, and we'd like to think she was saying thank you.

We're choosing to believe that.

We called him Timmy.

We still see Timmy and his mum almost every day along the fence line, and there's something very special about seeing him happily following her around knowing that, for one brief moment, we got to help.

Meanwhile, Bruno has his own wildlife diplomacy

Bruno has taken his role as farm security very seriously.

Perhaps a little too seriously.

He has a complicated relationship with some of the wildlife, which seems to alternate between "I am the protector of this property" and "Actually, perhaps we should go inside."

One morning, he had a rather intense encounter with a wildebeest.

It appeared to be a meaningful moment between two species.

Unfortunately, Bruno was pooping at the time.

The wildebeest stood there and stared directly into his eyes.

Bruno finished what he was doing, looked slightly traumatised and ran inside.

We're not sure exactly what happened during that conversation, but they shared a moment!

Bruno later tried to restore his reputation with a huge male kudu at the fence.

He barked.

His tail was wagging furiously.

The kudu couldn't have cared less.

In fact, while Bruno was putting on his best impression of a fierce farm dog, the kudu casually gave himself a little pedicure.

It was almost insulting.

Bruno's confidence is clearly bigger than a kudu.

His judgement, however, remains questionable.

We thought the house belonged to us

We're slowly making the main house feel like ours, putting up mirrors, pictures and all the things that turn a house into a home.

The squirrels weren't particularly impressed with the drilling.

They scattered out of wherever they'd been hiding, leaving us wondering exactly what else is living behind the walls.

Then we discovered that it isn't just the squirrels who have decided our furniture is available for occupation.

While doing up Lioness Rest, we moved some bedside tables onto the veranda at Tau's Den.

Yesterday, with the weather coming in, we decided we needed to move them inside.

Bruno started sniffing one of the drawers.

We opened it.

There was a bird's nest.

With two perfect little blue eggs.

So, naturally, the bedside table is staying exactly where it is.

We're putting up our bush camera to find out who our little tenant is.

Apparently, we don't own the furniture anymore.

We merely provide it.

The wildlife also has strong opinions about gardening

We've started planting some vegetables, although we're keeping it fairly small scale while we get the beds properly prepared.

We've even been recycling empty toilet-roll holders into little planting pockets for seeds.

It's early days, but we're hopeful.

Our other gardening project hasn't gone quite as well.

We put up our new farm sign and decided the rock planter underneath needed some love. We removed the ugly cage around it, cleared out the struggling plants and replanted it.

It looked fantastic.

For about two days.

Then the zebras and kudu discovered the new lush plants.

There are no lush plants left.

Round one went decisively to the wildlife.

We've replanted it with something aloe-like and slightly thorny.

We are now conducting an experiment to see whether the animals prefer plants without spikes.

Our money is on the animals.

Feeding time is a serious business

We've also learnt that moving a wheelbarrow around the farm is basically the wildlife equivalent of ringing the dinner bell.

You move the wheelbarrow inside the property, and suddenly animals start appearing.

Unfortunately, we were gardening one afternoon and had the wheelbarrow out.

The animals arrived.

There was no food.

It was a false alarm.

We're sure they went away muttering amongst themselves.

When we actually put feed out, however, they came almost running.

And this is where you realise you've married the right one. Who would go out and feed animals, and then bring animal poop back for your compost heap…he is a keeper.

The soundtrack is something else

Of all the things we've experienced, the evenings are probably our favourite.

On the boundary of the neighbouring farm is the Kevin Richardson Foundation, and we've had lions along the fence line.

We also hear the hyenas coming from that direction.

So you can sit on the deck with a glass of wine, watching the sun disappear, while somewhere in the distance the jackals start calling and the hyenas answer.

That was a dream.

Not a "one day it would be nice" dream.

A proper, I can't believe we actually get to experience this dream.

And sometimes we still sit there and look at each other as if to say:

"Did we really move here?"

We did.

Even our mornings have changed

Mornings are slower now.

Our bed looks out over the garden, with the nut house, nectar feeders and bird feeders all within view.

The hornbills and squirrels arrive for breakfast, and the bird feeders become a full-blown feeding frenzy.

Even Bruno lies on the bed watching it all.

Sometimes the birds fly straight into the house.

We've already had a hornbill do exactly that.

Cue us running around with a fishing net trying to rescue a very confused bird.

Thankfully, we got him safely back outside.

We're starting to think wildlife rescue wasn't listed anywhere in our original farm responsibilities.

And then there is the part they don't put in the brochure

Of course, farm life isn't all lions, sunsets and glasses of wine.

There is the pool.

The pool is still a saga.

If you ask Darryl about it, his official response would probably be:

"That F$%^ing pool."

We're persevering.

We're hoping that by summer we will have a beautiful blue pool to swim in rather than a large outdoor chemistry experiment.

Then there's the solar geyser.

Showering with a solar geyser when the solar isn't exactly solaring is sobering.

We feel like we're training for Bear Grylls: Tau Farm Edition.

The septic tank has also started bubbling.

We don't even want to investigate that one yet.

We've tackled the irrigation system too.

We switched on the irrigation borehole, opened all the sprinkler outlets, and heard

water bubbling away.

But nothing was coming out.

Eventually, Darryl stuck his finger into one of the outlets and discovered the problem.

There were no sprinkler heads.

Of course there weren't.

We're on it.

The Wi-Fi has also developed what can only be described as a personality disorder.

We have a plan.

Whether the Wi-Fi agrees with the plan remains to be seen.

We still have to work

Every now and then, reality reminds us that we haven't actually retired to the bush.

We both still work full-time.

Darryl spends more than half of his week in an office, while Michelle has the privilege of working from the farm unless she's out doing a site inspection.

Recently, Michelle had to get on a plane to Durban for work.

She had mixed feelings about leaving.

Part of her was happy to get back to the city for a day, and part of her was already wondering what we'd miss while we were gone.

One day off the farm isn't too bad though.

And the work is always welcome.

But there is something slightly surreal about boarding a plane after spending your mornings watching hornbills and zebras from your bed.

And then it rained

The farm had been incredibly dry.

We hadn't had a drop of rain since moving in, and the land desperately needed it.

Then came the cold spell.

And it absolutely bucketed down.

For the land, it was wonderful.

For a self-confessed tinkerer who likes nothing more than being outside doing something, it was a little harder to embrace.

Being stuck inside, unable to get out into the garden, move things around, plant something, fix something or generally fiddle with something was a completely new feeling.

We're not sure we like being contained.

But watching the rain soak into the dry earth, knowing how desperately it was needed, made it impossible to complain.

We may have bitten off more than we can chew

And then there are the bats.

We have some resident bats who have decided that parts of our veranda make excellent accommodation.

We're going to try to encourage them to move naturally with a little peppermint oil, outdoor lighting, and a bat box.

Because despite our irrational fear of some of the creatures we encounter here, there is one thing we're very clear about:

Nothing gets hurt if we can help it.

We're learning to share this place.

The gecko can have the shower area.

The bats can have somewhere else.

The birds can have the bedside table.

The squirrels can have whatever they're doing behind the walls.

The zebras can have the plants.

And apparently the bees can have their own little spa.

Perhaps that's what Tau Farm is teaching us

We came here thinking we were changing our lifestyle. What we didn't realise was just how much the farm would change us.

We're learning to slow down, laugh when things go wrong and accept that, around here, the wildlife generally has the final say.

The zebras eat the plants. The birds claim the furniture. The squirrels have questionable tenancy arrangements. The bees have their own spa. And Bruno is still trying to convince the kudu that he's in charge.

Some days are chaotic, some are frustrating, and some are simply magical.

But then the sun comes up, the animals arrive, the birds start singing, and we sit with our coffee wondering how this became our life.

We may have moved to the bush, but judging by the number of creatures now living here, the bush clearly moved in with us.

And honestly, we couldn't be happier about it.