June 2018 – derrickjknight

Idiosyncratic Titles

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Late this morning Becky and I checked on the chimney pot planter she had successfully refreshed yesterday. She was able to photograph the results;

and I photographed her doing so.

Bees were very active, and I was unable to resist recording this one in a cosmos.

We returned to the house and Becky added her input to this post. So expert is she with Microsoft computers and so adept at mobile phone photography that it was a pleasant experience for me to instruct her in the use of DSLR and loading pictures onto the iMac for transfer to WordPress. Naturally I gave my daughter a free hand in the process, and would therefore hope readers will forgive her idiosyncratic titles for some of the galleried images.

This afternoon we watched the World Cup football knockout match between France and Argentina. Soon afterwards Jackie returned home, having enjoyed three days with her sisters in a static caravan at Bowdens Crest Caravan and Camping Park at Langport in Somerset.

Jackie would have been proud of the excellent chicken curry with special rice that Becky produced for the three of us this evening. This followed vegetable samosas. I drank Patrick Chodot Fleurie 2016. Jackie had already drunk her Hoegaarden beforehand, and our daughter abstained.

Orkney Stories

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This morning I finished reading a book worthy of one of Pauline’s bookmarks. This is George Mackay Brown’s ‘The Golden Bird’. That title is one of two Orkney stories combined in a John Murray publication from 1987.

As beautifully crafted as our NZ friend’s work, these stories tell of his Island home during the last quarter of the 19th century, when he traditions of centuries were beginning to be threatened. The eponymous title tells of the slow decline of the island community and the tensions of isolation within it. The next ‘The Life and Death of John Voe’ takes as its theme the story of a typical Orkneyman who sails the seas and returns to his roots to end his days. A voe, incidentally, is a small bay or creek in the Orkneys and Shetlands.

The writer, who spent all his life in the Orkneys lives, breathes, and conveys the essences of the hardy, taciturn, folk; the savage seas; the rugged landscape; and the essential isolation of the time. With spare, simple, poetic, language, Mackay Brown enthrals and informs the reader. Perhaps the most beautiful passages are left to the final stages of the second story. He is justifiably considered one of the great Scottish poets of the 20th century.

The portrait of the writer inside the dust jacket is by Jessie Ann Matthew.

Somewhat later I toured the garden in order to check on irrigation needs.

I was encouraged by the sight of yesterday’s droopy pansies revived by the water I had given them.

A variety of day lilies

and miniature knifophia thrived in the beds.

The red Bottle Brush plants are now blooming.

The red Super Elfin rose is ascending the Gothic arch,

and most of the plants in the various pots and hanging baskets are still benefiting from the soaking administered by the Head Gardener. It looked as if I was due for an easy time.

In the heat of mid-afternoon I undertook another check. This suggested it would be beneficial to water the patio and its surrounding containers. I therefore did that, mostly with a hose. Eventually I ran out of steam and could do. no more.

Soon afterwards Becky looked further afield and noticed droopiness in a chimney pot. She photographed the ailing plants and administered liquid refreshment.

Later, Elizabeth came for a visit and Becky cooked for the three of us. She produced an excellent meal of Cumberland sausages; mashed potato; tasty onion, mushroom and red wine gravy; cabbage fried with black pepper and nutmeg; and a tin of sweetcorn because she couldn’t find any carrots to julienne and glaze.

Father And Daughter Time

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Becky and I are enjoying what is the only extended period of time we have spent alone together in our lives. There is much joint reminiscing and exchange of information, especially concerning my past, that is really quite new.

At one point, I accompanied Scooby, who wandered up the Gazebo Path, into the garden.

Having paid particular attention to hanging baskets and other containers, Jackie had thoroughly watered the garden before leaving yesterday.

In today’s baking heat, some plants, particularly the pansies in the first of these images, displayed considerable signs of thirst, so I managed to distribute the contents of a can or two.

Russell crow was not in evidence today, but Becky did spot a mouse in the compost trug outside the kitchen door. She freed it into the flower bed.

This evening Becky produced a tasty, well-filled, Spanish omelette which we enjoyed on trays in front of the television while we watched the 2nd XI World Cup football match between England and Belgium which was so thrilling that I am typing this when there is still 25 minutes to go. I drank Doom Bar.

Russell Is Definitely Imprinted On Jackie

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I was first in the garden this morning. I wanted to check on our crow.

This is a good year for hebes, as exemplified by this one in the Dragon Bed, where the crow was not.

Our avian visitor was not along the Shady Path.

He was neither to be seen on the Brick Path;

nor in the Rose Garden, with its poppies and carpet roses, including the white, scented, Kent;

nor anywhere near the New Bed sporting clematises and erigerons.

The day lilies and geranium palmatums at the south end

and the phlox in the West Bed all reported his absence.

Silly me. I should have begun my search nearer the house. There he was, foraging among the paving stones. He was so keen to follow me about

that it took me a while before I could gain sufficient distance to focus on him with a long lens.

He remained firmly on the ground, so I didn’t feel he thought I was his Dad.

This all changed when his mother came out. He was on her in an instant.

No longer was it funny. Not wanting to be pecked again in the young bird’s effort to provoke her into regurgitating food for him, Jackie shoved him off and rushed inside. He followed her in and resumed his onslaught. The same thing happened when she went outside again.

The creature is definitely imprinted on Jackie. Perhaps fortuitously, Shelly, a little later, arrived to take her sister off to Somerset for the annual three day camping trip the three sisters share. We will see what effect the absence will have on Russell.

Russell? Well what else should we call him?

This afternoon I watched the momentous World Cup football match between Germany and S. Korea. After this, Becky arrived to take over administering to her Aged P while her mother is away. This will be the first time ever we have had a few days on our own.

We dined on Hordle Chinese Take Away fare.

How She Suffers For My Art

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Early this morning, while I was catching up with my WordPress reading, Jackie rushed in with the small camera, having photographed a young crow on the roof of the garden shed.

I abandoned my computer, grabbed the DSLR, and limped into the garden. Jackie had provided her new friend with a crust of bread lit by the dawn sun,

which it soon eschewed for something more to its taste.

She coaxed the bird down from the roof, and was delighted when it made her “feel like Long John Silver” from R. L. Stevenson’s ‘Treasure Island’.

Her face was then to register a whole gamut of emotions, from pleasure, pain, apprehension, courage, and a touch of agony.

When she could tolerate no more my Lady transferred the tormentor to her outstretched hand.

Jackie tells me that the pecking is what the young birds do to the parents in order to encourage feeding. She was amazing in her tolerance of the attentions of such a savage beak closing on her ear and tugging at her hair.

Young avians do not instinctively know they are birds. They are known to ‘imprint’ onto an early carer. Crows, in particular, are such creatures. Imprinting onto a human may promote a human identity. The corvine variety are able to recognise faces. I wonder which of Jackie’s will be in the memory bank.

Some time later, our new family member trotted indoors and wandered about. I perched it onto the end of my crutch and led it outside. It kept returning. The consequences were the need for a hunt for bird poo to clean up, and an eventual decision to keep the doors closed.

Jackie continued her mammoth garden watering sessions and her infant kept landing on her head and shoulders until, in desperate self-defence, she turned the spray on young Crow.

This evening we dined on Hordle Chinese Take Away fare. Drinks on the patio had included Jackie’s customary Hoegaarden and a miniature bottle of Argentinian Malbec for me. I had saved some to accompany the meal. Jackie hadn’t. I couldn’t resist checking on our little bird who was finishing his second slice of bread on the shed roof.

While Mrs. Knight was collecting our food we were hit by a power cut which continued until 10.30 p.m. This meant my post was late into the ether, but I consider myself lucky to have managed it at all.

“Ursula Andress, Eat Your Heart Out”

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Late this gloriously hot and sunny afternoon Jackie drove us to Eyeworth Pond in search of ducklings.

Cattle chewed the cud on the verges of Canterton Lane.

We made good time to the pond, but an equine trio delayed us taking the last right turn.

A delightfully friendly couple enjoying a picnic in the shade pointed out several paddles of ducks and ducklings. Strong pigments splashed over the surface of the water and the shallow bed.

Jackie alerted me to the arrival of a couple of ponies and a foal. If only I could have made the constantly twitching youngster aware that the flies he was desperately trying to escape were taking off from the flanks of the mare to which he clung.

The young lady by this time had entered the water attempting to catch tadpoles. As I took a couple of these shots I exclaimed “Ursula Andress, eat your heart out”.

This evening we dined on a thick crust pizza to which the Culinary Queen added more cheese and salami, served with plentiful fresh salad.

Bookmarks To Treasure

I had a shower this morning.

Only those who have for any length of time been confined to strip washes and a head over the kitchen sink can fully appreciate the joy expressed in that statement.

At the southern end of the garden stretches the Back Drive which, as far as I am concerned might have been Antarctica for the last few weeks. I have usually opened the gate at the bottom for Aaron on a Sunday morning so he can bring his van in without having to jump out to open it. This morning he was able to drive straight in.

I have to admit to having dozed off on the odd occasion during the second half of England’s World Cup Wrestling match against Panama this afternoon.

It is not my birthday for a fortnight, yet yesterday I received what looked like a card from our good friend Pauline https://thecontentedcrafter.com Well, at this time there has also been Father’s Day and the need for Get Well cards. I received a get well card from Jessica and Imogen and a Father’s Day card from Louisa, both before Dad’s Day. I opened them both. One a little early. I considered Pauline’s, all the way from New Zealand, must be wishing me well, so I opened it this morning to find that it was

both for my birthday and for getting better. A beautifully crafted handmade card came with three wonderful bookmarks. Now I have a dilemma. I normally leave bookmarks in books as a surprise for the next reader. How can I possibly do that with these?

I didn’t go to sleep while watching the highlights of the fifth One Day (cricket) International between England and Australia.

After this we dined on a rack of pork spare ribs in barbecue sauce, served on Jackie’s superb vegetable rice.

Snatching Snoozes

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In ‘The Card Case’, I spoke of the client who had no money to pay my fee, but brought me the occasional small gift, all of which I have treasured for almost 30 years. I am not a science fiction fan, so I have not read many of his paperback books. One of these is Poul Anderson’s ‘The Makeshift Rocket’. I finished this short novel this morning. It was a surprisingly entertaining work. Light-hearted, with a touch of dry humour, once I had ceased trying to decipher the author’s attempts at reproducing Danish and Irish spoken English, I enjoyed the book.

Afterwards I photographed garden views from upstairs windows and from the stable doorway.

Having decided to reduce the codeine element in my pain relief, I struggled a bit today. On the other hand it may have been the amount of walking on uneven terrain I undertook yesterday. Consequently I spent the afternoon alternately dozing over snatches of World Cup football and having brief forays into the garden.

A new day lily has forced its way through the soil to join the marigolds beside the greenhouse.

Geranium palmatums lead us past more day lilies in the Palm Bed to the eucalyptus and beyond.

Urns, like this stone one Jackie has planted up at the end of the Brick Path,

and the pottery one standing on the filled in well, counteract what she call “The June Gap”, when there is not normally much colour around.

The hanging baskets on the kitchen wall and the two clematises in pots on the corner serve the same purpose.

Rose Ballerina dances in the bed beside the entrance to the Rose Garden,

where such as Rosa Gallica and Mama Mia continue to splash their colour.

Hydrangea Swinging Sixties is another plant in a pot,

opposite which Linaria and Valerian vie for space in the Oval Bed.

My final trip up the garden was via the Phantom Path to join Jackie taking a break on the decking. There I passed the Cryptomeria Bed with its clematis, geranium palmatums, and hot lips; a penstemon in Margery’s Bed; a planted pot on the corner of the Gazebo Path; and Florence sculpture with her basket of bacopa.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious chicken jalfrezi and splendid special fried rice. She drank Hoegaarden and I didn’t.

A Matter Of Scale

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In ‘What’s In The Folds?’ I featured an introduction to Solent Grange. We returned to the site this morning to develop the theme in better light.

The cyclists ahead of us on the lane from Keyhaven give an indication of the narrowness of the Solent Way where the development is situated;

the small van in this picture has just passed the totally over the top entrance,

which, although beautifully crafted with skilled brickwork and well moulded statuary, is far too large for its position.

Further scale is provided by this couple walking their dogs. We chatted for a while. Their view of the pretentiousness of these structures was similar to mine. The woman had had a knee replacement a year ago and was very well now. The further sets of pillars to the right are those that on the day of our last visit bore a pair of white lions equal in stature to the sculptures on either side of the entrance which, according to the developers, is to be gated.

(Update 22.4.23: Sometime in the intervening years local opposition has resulted in the removal of these monstrosities.)

https://www.royalelife.com/milford-view describes ‘Solent Grange by Royale [a]s a fabulously-located luxury bungalow development for the over 45’s.

Later this afternoon we took to the forest. On such a hot day, ponies, like these just outside Brockenhurst, cluster for shelter beneath trees. Foals tend to lie sprawled panting on the grass. It was Jackie who noticed that in this group it was the grey, happy to cast a shadow, that didn’t mind the sun.

In a garden across a green some distance from the road at East Boldre can be seen a rather spectacular verdigris coated sculptured fountain devoid of water. Given the surrounding space the proportions do not offend. It is, perhaps, all a matter of scale.

My choice of Tesco prepared meals this evening was beef lasagna. Jackie, who also provided good helpings of fresh salad, chose ham and mushroom tagliatelle

A Wee Bit Harsh

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Early this morning, in the front garden, I photographed nasturtiums;

double petunias in a hanging basket;

clematis Mrs N. Thompson, now taking over from the pink roses on the trellis;

and another, Ville de Lyon, draped over the fence.

Moving to the patio, I admired the various planting groups, including planters and hanging baskets along the Kitchen Path.

A brief sojourn in the Rose Garden revealed, among others, the miniature Little Rambler, clematis Arabella; Creme de la Creme; a bee in a poppy; and Jackie’s new creation, Rosa Canoris Forkii.

This made me determined to return later and join Jackie in a lengthy dead-heading session. I have to admit that I did get carried away with tracking bees and hoverflies, but, nevertheless, I thought the Head Gardener’s observation that there was more photography than dead-heading being carried out, was a wee bit harsh.

This afternoon I dozed through two World Cup football matches. It doesn’t much matter which they were.

Before dinner, we enjoyed a drink on the patio. I saved some of my Doom Bar to accompany Jackie’s splendid chicken jalfrezi and boiled basmati rice. Having finished her Hoegaarden, Jackie had the pleasure of watching me.