My grandfather grew pecan nut trees on his farm in White River when I was a young girl.  We’d go there for school holidays and enjoy the wide-open spaces and the fun of riding on the back of his bakkie, barefoot and carefree as only city kids can be when let loose from school and the confines of city boundaries.

Those funny oval-toothed nutcracking pliers were always placed next to a bowl full of pecan nuts, in almost every room, in that farmhouse.  They sat and stared at me, with their wooden handles tempting my childhood fingers to fiddle with them and then to put a little finger between the smooth metal teeth, trying to crack open a fingernail.  And then, once I realised that actually the pecan nut, not my finger, was the prey for the tool, I understood my underdeveloped hand muscles were tantalizingly too weak to squeeze the pliers tight enough to break the shell and release the sweet and tasty nut held within.

Oh how I prayed for my little hand to grow strong enough overnight that I could crack that nutshell on my own, without hunting down an adult to help me. And when I could pounce on an unsuspecting parent or grandparent it was always sadly a, “Not now, Darling, it’s nearly lunch time,” or “After you’ve eaten all your dinner, Dear, I’ll help you.”

My hand finally did grow strong enough over time, not miraculously overnight though, and I was then able to eat my fill of pecans whenever I wished. Sadly, the allure of cracking the inside of the shell faded away until it became nothing more than a childhood memory whenever I see either a pecan nut or a pair of nutcrackers. And now, pecan nut pie is generally the closest I get to pecans with my own pair of nutcrackers sitting untouched for years.

But when I encountered two rather large tortoises ambling along looking for food when my dog and I were visiting a secluded farm in the Klein Karoo, I was immediately reminded again of pecan nuts and my inability to crack open the shell to release the hidden gem held within.  I watched with amazement at the beauty and skill of these prehistoric creatures as they teased my 21^st century, city dog by weaving in and out of their shells.  She playfully barked and tapped at their shells while they shyly ducked in and out of their campers, sometimes sitting on their undercarriages and other times making a wild “dash” for the safety of the thorny bushes or rocks.

And as canine toyed with reptile, I thought of myself and reflected on how many times, over all my years, I had encountered my own moments of feeling preyed upon by canines.  I recalled the many fears I’d faced that made me retreat into my own mobile camper shell I metaphorically carried as protection on my back.  I wondered at the times I’d perceived friend as foe and had retreated, or the times I’d made a dash to external safety rather than use my own safety cover for protection.

And I wondered too about the number of times I’d been the canine, tapping at others playfully or malignantly, causing them to retreat rather than come out and enjoy the sunshine.

How often do we do that to ourselves and to others?  How often is it that our perception of circumstances is seen as a danger that shrinks us rather than releases us to freely enjoy beautiful, delicious new adventures and experiences?

In each encounter, in every situation, we, and only we, can make the decision to try as hard as possible not to retreat; to choose the option that brings freedom and joy to ourselves and others, rather than capture. It’s not easy, because it’s our fear that comes out to protect us which sometimes is a good thing when safety really is at risk.

Yet when fear is there just to limit our ability and hold us back from tasting the deliciously fresh experience, stopping us from exploring the new treat on offer, that’s when we have to make our difficult choice.  If we’ll courageously stay receptive. If we’ll foreclose on the camper shell and head on out to give ourselves a chance to taste that delicious nut of new, of brave, of courageous. What fresh chance and experience will unfold for us? What new romance on life will become ours for the taking?

Ask yourself, what’s in my shell?  Is it really as good as the great new unknown that’s on offer if I step outside and beyond my shell?