Montford Cottage

For a couple of weeks, George and I had been talking about taking a little getaway, so a few days ago, he called to reserve Montford Cottage, near the highest summit of Zomba Mountain. 

This morning we packed our binoculars, our camera, some food, and a few changes of clothes and set out on our little adventure. We had never been to this cottage before, but some time ago, we had stayed at a nearby one, so we knew the view from that height should be spectacular. 

Montford is a little house with a wide wrap-around porch, perched on a rocky crag and surrounded on three sides by outcroppings of rock and little gardens of wildflowers and beyond, deep evergreen forest.

By the time we reached the cottage early this afternoon, a wind storm was brewing. 

A fine cloudy mist was billowing over the precipice with gusts of spray blowing across the mountain ridge and swirling around the little cottage. We drove as far as we could onto the property. We could see the cottage some distance up on the crest, but from that point, we had a little hike to the cottage. We resolved to get all our belongings into the cottage before the rains came, but we knew that would take some real effort. First, we had to find the key-keeper, the custodian who lives in the tiny house by the cottage. Meanwhile, two vendors, one selling potatoes and the other a plate of raspberries, heard our vehicle along the road and before we could get parked, came to make a sale. 

We told them we were not interested, but if they would come and see us just before we leave, we would like to buy from them. The raspberry salesman left, but the persistent potato salesman followed us up to the cottage. We knocked on the custodian's door and called to him, but no one was home. 

We asked the potato salesman if he knew the whereabouts of the custodian. He told us he was somewhere in the neighborhood, but he would send his children to fetch the keys for us. At that point, we bought his bag of potatoes and thanked him. Within 5 minutes two happy children, a boy and a girl came bounding up the mountain like a pair of gazelles and dropped the keys in George's hands, both smiling brightly.

Now we could unpack the vehicle, and hopefully, get everything into the cottage before the rains started. George gingerly made his way down the steep, boulder-strewn trail to begin unloading.  The children, eager to satisfy their curiosity, stood near the truck watching George preparing to unpack. In that moment, he decided that it might be wise to enlist the children's help. 

He asked if they would like to help. Both agreed, and the trekking began. George stood by the truck and, one by one, handed off the cooler, the suitcase, the case of water. As each item arrived, I was standing on the porch to receive it. Before long, the truck was empty, and the job complete. We thanked them, then the children started to walk away. We called them back and gave each a 200 Kwacha note. They didn't know they would receive anything, so they were very pleased and stood for some time examining their treasures. 

By the time we unloaded our vehicle, visibility had decreased and the little cottage was being enveloped in a thickening cloud. From the front porch, we couldn't see Zomba below. In fact, we could barely see the trees 50 ft to the left or right of us! 

By nightfall, the strong wind was constant and was whistling through the trees, causing the curtains on the louvered windows in the cottage to billow out, especially in the bedroom. Brrr!  We put a few extra blankets on the bed, and I think we will be ok. We hired the custodian to chop firewood for us, and before long, George and I were sitting by a crackling fire, reading and sipping hot tea. Nice! 

And this is just the first day of our little adventure.