Graaff Reinette: End to the rugby tour!

 

End of the Rugby Tour: Small Steps, Mighty Victories

We made it.

A smooth drive home, and my heart still full — even if my body now carries a few extra bruises and broken nails to prove the adventure.

(After all, what’s a real camp without a few battle scars?)

Just my daughter and I packed up — tents, caravan, everything — loaded the car, hitched the van, and pulled out without a hiccup.

Even the backyard mechanic’s wire-and-hope repair job held strong, bless it.

And yes, the road had a few more lessons to teach:

I saw something fly past the mirror — it turned out to be the plug flap torn loose.

But alone on a deserted Karoo road, I made the right call: keep driving, don’t stop.

Safety first.

(We’ll fix it later — we’re still close enough to get it sorted.)

There’s also a new noise in the car now…

Maybe a shock, maybe something else.

But again — better now, better here, while help isn’t far away.

I’m exhausted — but deeply proud.

Some real achievements this weekend!

Turns out…I actually can.

At the caravan park, people kept stopping me —

“You’re doing all this yourself?”

“Pulling the caravan alone?”

“With your elderly mother?”

The disbelief made me smile quietly inside.

Yes.

I’m doing it.

All of it.

And it’s just the beginning.

Even though we had to leave before the boys’ last game, I heard the news along the road —

the boys finally won a game!

And my grandson, Niko, scored a try — one of a few, but special all the same.

What a proud moment for him, for all of us — even from afar, my heart cheered loud enough to cross the Karoo.

Today someone at the rugby also came to me, confirming things I once doubted myself:

They knew my ex. They were his clients, and totally not impressed with him to say the least.

They told the stories.

And instead of sadness, I felt grateful — grateful I left, grateful I trusted myself, grateful that others saw the truth too.

The road home was a busy one —

trucks roaring past, stray animals crossing, potholes popping up like bad memories —

but I handled every mile with growing confidence.

Some might say they’re small victories.

To me, these are mighty ones.

Did something here speak to you?

Leave a comment if you feel moved, or simply sit with me in quiet.

If you’d like to walk this road with me, follow Nomadic Grandmother for new stories.

— x Elsabe

“The bruises will fade, the broken nails will grow back — but the pride of doing it myself? That will last forever.”