Where the Stars don’t Rush!

 

Where the Stars Don’t Rush

This weekend, we stepped out of the ordinary.

No long journeys, no highways stretching into the unknown—we simply packed up and camped close to home. But in truth, we traveled far. Far from routine, far from the noise, and deep into connection.

We didn’t need distance. We needed presence.

We laughed, rested, played. We sat where the stars don’t rush, where the fire doesn’t judge, and where the trees—oh, the trees—just listen. Quiet, patient, and wise.

We saw buck, mischievous monkeys, a regal fish eagle, and a symphony of birds.

And then, like a scene straight from a bushveld ballet—a caracal, sleek and silent, chasing a rock hyrax through the brush. A moment so wild, so unexpected, it stopped time.

Later, we slowed life down in our own way—some good old-fashioned target shooting, captured in slow motion. Not for the thrill, but for the stillness.

To feel the pause.

To remind ourselves that not everything needs to move fast to mean something.

The stars were more beautiful than ever, yes—but it was the family connection, the love, the joy in simply being, that made every second unforgettable.

This wasn’t just a break—it was a breath. A reminder that nothing is perfect, and nothing is permanent. And that’s okay. That’s life. That’s real.

It was also a test run—our first attempt at setting up for a longer caravan stay, a new chapter for me and my mom. A whole new season awaits us. Was it smooth? Ha! Not even close. It was messy, clumsy, full of forgotten pegs and borrowed patience. But we did it. We learned. And somehow, through the chaos, we loved every moment.

We’ve got one more practice run before the real journey begins. A few tweaks, a bit more duct tape, and a checklist that doesn’t get forgotten in the fridge—and we’ll be ready.

And you know what?

I still believe we’re on the right path.

It might be slightly uneven, with a few potholes and a questionable GPS signal, but it’s ours.

We’ve got coffee, campfire skills, and just enough stubbornness to make it through.

Who needs flawless when you’ve got family, laughter, and marshmallows that may or may not be slightly on fire?

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