Month: May 2020

Meet Nugget Junior

This morning while gardening Jackie photographed

rose Emily Gray, a highly scented rambler gracing

the back drive border out of sight in this shot;

clematis Doctor Ruppel climbing the weeping birch;

a row of blue irises with the bonus of a yellow stowaway in the bag of bulbs;

Nugget,

and his son Junior, still not qualified to wear the red jersey.

After lunch I managed the photoshoot.

On the kitchen corner of the patio we have delicate magenta gladioli Byzantinus blending with deep blue verbena Vectura and pink pelargoniums,

in turn reflecting similarly hued diascia potted above cascading Erigeron.

Nearby stands this peach rose we inherited.

Ornamental alliums of a number of varieties are gradually un-peeling throughout the garden.

Nugget attempted to encourage his son to feed from the suet pellet tray, but the youngster was deterred by my wandering around

the vicinity of the wisteria arbour.

I therefore focussed on this from above, showing how the rose Paul’s Scarlet and the clematis Star of India are poised to replace the fading pale blue blooms.

Later Jackie came in for her camera when Nugget and Junior both occupied the tray. Unfortunately they were gone by the time she returned.

Later, Nugget left Junior to his own devices while he flew off with a pellet for the next brood. Apparently robins are such prolific breeders that they can produce 3 to 5 clutches of up to five eggs a year. As soon as the youngsters earn the red jersey they are chased off by their father, so Junior will soon go and find someone else’s garden.

The marigolds in the Oval Bed continue to proliferate.

In the Rose Garden For Your Eyes Only is bushing out nicely, while Gloriana towers above it;

Schoolgirl vaults the arbour;

and flamboyant Festive Jewel,

sprightly Summer Wine and middle-aged Madame Alfred Carriere

carelessly cavort in concert.

This evening we dined on minted lamb steaks, boiled new potatoes; crunchy carrots and cauliflower; and firm Brussels sprouts with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the El Zumbido Garnacha, Syrah.

 

 

After His Bath

Today’s brisk north east wind carried a much cooler breeze than the sunshine promised. Fooled by this deception we took a circuitous route taking in

Keyhaven Harbour at low tide on our way home.

Some moored boats sat on dry land;

others, with buoys bobbed

on the rippling shallow surfaces while winds whistled through their bristling masts.

A lone oyster catcher picked its way among the drying weed,

 

like this black headed gull

quite unfazed by a black crow’s attempts at menace.

Several of the walkers who stepped out along the open freezer that was the sea wall commented on the tingling temperature.

There was not much activity at the end of Saltgrass Lane with its bridge to Hurst Spit over which

gulls swooped no doubt wondering why two gentlemen kept their prescribed distance.

One of the black headed birds rested on a rock contemplating

a cluster of yellow wild flowers on the opposite bank.

It is always risky for me to disembark with a camera while Jackie stops along a narrow winding lane like the one named

Agarton, because if any other vehicle comes along she will have to drive off and wait for me at the next available spot. Today we were lucky. Until we ventured into Lymore Valley.

There a most unpleasant stench beset our nostrils.

Rounding a bend we came nose to tail with a waste disposal tanker draining a domestic septic tank.

There was no way round it and Jackie was forced to back up until she found a place to turn. Difficult to do when you are holding your hooter.

Later this afternoon Jackie embarked upon a necessary watering session in the garden, where Nugget was having difficulty taking a bath in the somewhat reduced water feature. She refilled it and turned to her tray of potted plants. Her familiar followed her and indicated that he would rather swish around in that while keeping her company.

Looking rather tatty after his bath,

he was determined to hide. “Where’s Nugget?” (77) and

eventually emerged a little drier

to gather provender

for his offspring.

In addition to these pictures of her resident robin Jackie photographed the rose Paul’s Scarlet now scaling the wisteria arbour.

Fortunately The Culinary Queen prepares plenty of her delicious pasta arrabbiata for us to enjoy a repeat sitting today and other days. She drank Hoegaarden with her helping and I drank more of the El Zumbido Garnacha Syrah with mine.

The Nuggets

Today the sun took a breather and the wind gradually increased.

This morning Aaron brandished a bramble he had found growing in one of our dead stumps.

Yesterday Jackie had photographed

the viburnum plicatum sprawling across the West Bed;

the Brick Path;

the view from the lawn looking past the eucalyptus and through the gazebo;

and a group of poppies, irises, and honesty brightening a corner of the Phantom Path.

Intending to weed it today, she also produced one of her “before” images of the brick section of the Oval Path.

In the event, Aaron did the weeding and I photographed the result

I printed our friend copies of the bramble picture above, and one of him mowing Laraine and David’s lawn next door.

Then, following John Knifton’s suggestion, I made an A3 print of the VE Day Street Party featured yesterday. Framing will need to wait until the lockdown has ended.

During a telephone conversation with Mum she told me that the outfits she had made for Chris and me for that occasion would not have been velvet as I had thought, because that would have been too heavy. It would have been material from her “rag bag” – probably an old coat. Her method was to turn the worn out garments inside out and wash them before creating the new ones. She explained that the reverse side of the material then looked in pristine condition – something that would not be possible today. As I reminded her the washing would have been done by hand, because she had no washing machine.

This afternoon Jackie was again beset by members of the Nugget family.

The only one who stayed for a chat when I was poised with my camera was Nugget himself.

We may be in a position of referring to the family as The Nuggets  in memory of

https://youtu.be/KnLhCXo_xfM

from the 1940s and ’50s.

Mrs Huggett was played by Kathleen Harrison who lived to be 105, and who Jackie knew in her last few years.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s rich red spicy pasta arrabbiata with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Carinena El Zumbido Garnacha Syrah 2018.

 

 

Old Curtains Or Blackout Fabric

Jackie continued refurbishing hanging baskets

and containers such as those she is watering here.

At the moment most of these involve cuttings she has preserved over the winter. We have heard today that garden centres are likely to open again next week, thus offering the opportunity for more variety – not that the Head Gardener has, thanks to Ferndene Farm shop, been completely devoid of bedding plants like these

calibrachoa awaiting a resting place.

Oak leaved geraniums and

Palmatums have survived in the open.

The burgeoning red climbing rose is now rapidly overhauling the fading wisteria;

while the nearby Chilean lantern tree is nicely lit.

Snow White Madame Alfred Carriere now relaxes with Summer Wine rouge above the Rose Garden where

the tiny Flower Power is having its strongest showing yet,

and the lyrical Shropshire Lad has found his rhythm.

A bustling bumble bee, hastening to reach its pollen count, scatters the microscopic yellow grains.

This afternoon I received an e-mail from our sister-in-law Frances wondering whether Mum had made Chris and my VE Day street party suits

from old curtains or blackout fabric. I had always thought velvet, but to ascertain the material’s origin I suggested Mum might remember.

Later  I scanned ten more pages of Agnes Miller Parker’s

elegant illustrations to H. E. Bates’s “Down The River”.

While I was working on this, Jackie began preparing the Cryptomeria Bed and found herself virtually surrounded by what seemed the whole robin family. Nugget, Lady, and two or three fledglings were all in attendance.

This evening I produced a meal of fillet steaks, mashed potato, carrots, cauliflower, cabbage, Brussels sprouts and runner beans. Modesty prevents me from mentioning its quality. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Shiraz.

“Where’s Jackie?”

Jackie spent much of the day tending to her hanging baskets and other containers, while I wandered about dead-heading and picking up debris for the compost bin.

I did, of course, have my camera handy. We have two new poppy varieties on display.

One is Californian;

the other I cannot name because it is a self-seeded volunteer which didn’t introduce itself.

For the first time this year geum Mrs Bradshaw has found a happy place in Margery’s Bed.

Another new bloom is clematis Warsaw Nike.

The Dr Ruppel I have been picturing recently scales the right hand side of the nearest arch spanning the brick path;

another is announcing its presence against the weeping birch trunk.

Jackie worked in the shade beyond these rhododendrons.

Here are some views of the Rose Garden.

In this one, “Where’s Jackie?”

After lunch Jackie worked

beneath a copper beech canopy

casting cool shadows.

Russel Crow, patrolling the roof of the house, panted like a dog to combat the heat.

Nugget did periodically investigate pickings from the pots, eventually taking off in search of fresh meat.

From this perch on the west side of the garden his food came in the form of flying insects at which he darted far too fast for my trigger finger – and for the wings of his prey.

The last two of these images show, on our right of Nugget’s plumage a little black mark which definitely identifies him.

This evening, on the patio before dinner, we noticed a nest of baby spiders, mostly clustered together.

Later, we dined on Jackie’s succulent sausages in red wine; creamy mashed potato; crunchy carrots; tender runner and green beans with cabbage; and firm Brussels sprouts. with which I drank The Second Fleet Limestone Coast Shiraz 2018.

Whispering In The Wisteria

Late this afternoon I listened to the deceptively sweet trilling of a rival robin issuing war cries from a tree in the garden of No 5 Downton Lane whilst I stood in the Rose Garden photographing

lemon yellow climber Summer Time;

aptly named Altissimo glowing against the clear blue sky;

Madame Alfred Carriere draped over the entrance arch;

pinkish Penny Lane scaling the potting shed;

glorious Gloriana;

clustered Crown Princess Margareta;

and florid Festive Jewel.

On my way back towards the house I admired the species tulip and Japanese maple juxtaposition in the Palm Bed

and passed another peony opened in the Dragon Bed.

Down the Head Gardener’s Walk I rounded the greenhouse which still accommodates plenty of pelargonium cuttings,

and came upon Nugget, too currently domesticated for battle, gathering supplies from his food tray, now suitably wired against blackbirds.

He briefly whispered in the wisteria before heading off to his family.

Soon we will dine on chicken Kiev, roast potatoes, carrots, cauliflower, and green beans. I will refrain from eulogising the quality of the cooking just in case the menu items turn out to be soggy or burnt, especially as Jackie is currently drinking Heineken and I am busy finishing the Shiraz.

 

 

 

Antipodean Visitors

Warm sunshine was the order of the day.

Jackie spent much time in shade tending to potted plants, many of which have survived the winter but needed shaves and haircuts.

She has suspended some of these from the lopped cypress.

My contribution to the general maintenance was a little watering, weeding, and transporting debris to the compost bin.

Our first peony blooms are appearing

as are those of roses Emily Gray

and Félicité Perpétue, both along the back drive

which also sports splendid hawthorns.

Our Antipodean visitors include the bark-shedding eucalyptus,

several sculptural New Zealand flaxes,

and the Cordyline Australis now sending forth its bud stems.

Small white butterflies flutter everywhere at the moment. This one had the decency to keep still for a moment.

Currently flourishing clematises include the bosomy Marie Boisselot;

the robust Dr Ruppel;

the novel Daniel Deronda:

and this anonymous character.

This radiant rhododendron refreshes the Palm Bed.

Nugget and Lady continue jointly to feed their brood. It is now really only behaviour that enables us to distinguish between them. For example when one drops down onto the wheelbarrow with which Jackie is working, something with wings in his beak, cocks his head on one side; inspects the offerings she has on display, and flies off in disinterest, that is undoubtedly our friend.

I am fairly sure this in Nugget perched on his favourite patio chair.

The pair of them were collecting suet pellets at this point. Unfortunately I only photographed one of them. Nugget, we think.

Later this afternoon a fledgling robin swooped after Jackie as she entered the rose garden and began tipping spent compost onto the beds for mulch. In a flash this baby cocked his head and began the investigations exactly as his father had done a year ago. Soon we really will have an identification problem.

This evening we dined on more of yesterday’s crusty bread with her wholesome soup of chicken and bacon added to the Culinary Queen’s vegetable base.

Shopping During Lockdown

We were given to expect rain for much of the day. In the event the overcast clouds retained their moisture.

Soon after 9 a.m. we drove to Tesco Superstore in New Milton for our week’s shop.

I photographed the pink climbing rose on the front trellis.

The supermarket car park was almost full.

Jackie joined the queue that trailed around the back of the store. She tells me that all was quite orderly in the closely monitored establishment.

The woman with the trolley in the above picture was one of the majority

wearing neither gloves nor masks.

Some wore one or the other;

some sported both.

From my passenger seat I had plenty of time to study neighbouring cars’ special reflective effects, also including

this gentleman just arrived who hadn’t yet hoisted his face mask.

Jackie’s shop had lasted about 90 minutes. If we take that as an average

at least two gentlemen had waited a while for a pipe

or a cigarette.

One young woman had managed to procure Plenty toilet rolls.

Many of the fields along Christchurch Road are currently occupied by sheep and lambs. On our way home my Chauffeuse diverted along Lower Ashley Road where stopping for photography was possible.

As usual this aroused a certain amount of ovine curiosity.

Lower down the road a group of adults sheltered among trees around a serpentine stream.

Jackie had no sooner mentioned https://youtu.be/NeFqHXdXQyw

than these creatures turned tail and trailed off.

On the opposite side of Lower Ashley Road stands a pillbox, being a relic of World War II.

As Jackie observed, its presence shows how near we are to the coast. By 1940 there was a very real threat of a German invasion. These defence structures bearing slots for weaponry were intended to repel enemy forces.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s wholesome chicken, bacon, and vegetable soup served with crusty bread from the freezer. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden whilst I drank Benguela Bay Shiraz 2018.

 

An Appeal For Help

This morning was wet and dull.

Light rain glistened on the dimly lit garden foliage seen from the bedroom windows.

After lunch the sun smiled down and spread a little joy.

It was warm enough for Aaron to mow Mistletoe Cottage’s lawn wearing a T-shirt.

I wandered around at ground level noting roses including

Peach Abundance,

Margaret Merrill,

and Festive Jewel:

 

fuchsias such as Delta’s Sarah:

and the flowering pieris piercing the lawn.

Iris Reticulatas have penetrated the Weeping Birch Bed at the point where the honesty blooms are giving way to the soon to be transparent seed medallions.

Brightly burnished blowflies’ metallic blue bodies mutated into rusty red.

In the meantime Nugget continues his parental duties. So diligently is he zooming backwards and forwards to his nest which may well be in the garden of North Breeze, that he has lost interest in hiding. If his family is domiciled on our neighbour’s property, we will not consider him disloyal because we know that avian boundaries are not the same as ours.

“Where’s Nugget?” (76)

This afternoon, in order to prevent bigger birds from snaffling our robin’s food, Jackie had wired up the outside of their feeder, leaving a robin sized access hole.

While I watched the news this evening, Jackie sat with a glass of Heineken on the patio.

Suddenly Nugget perched, chirping, on the back of the chair next to her. She turned. They made eye contact. Her familiar cocked his to one side and continued tweeting.

“What is it?”, Jackie asked.

A pause. She then said “I know. I’ll come and sort it out.”

He flew ahead of her, stopped in the centre of the path outside the kitchen window, and continued to call until she got up and followed him.

Still flying ahead of Jackie, he perched in the wisteria, waiting while she removed the chicken wire from his larder.

He flew past her head, chirruped his thanks, entered the container, and sped off to feed his brood.

After this we dined on roast pork, chipolata sausages, piquant cauliflower cheese, carrots, broccoli and cabbage with which Jackie continued her Hoegaarden and I finished the Fleurie.

 

 

 

Down The River

The English author, H. E. Bates (1905 – 1974) is best known for his novels, in particular those embracing the escapades of the Larkin family, starting with “The Darling Buds of May”. Peter J. Conradi, in his Guardian obituary, offers the quotation that Bates had the gift of putting the English countryside down on paper.

This gift is amply demonstrated  in

which I finished reading last night. The work predates, by just 3 years, “Sweet Thames Run Softly”, Robert Gibbings’s first celebration of his riverine peregrinations.

Bates’s first such wanderings were guided by his beloved grandfather along East Anglia’s Rivers Nene and Ouse. We are taken on these rambles and more as the writer develops into manhood. River is, however, his main character. The waterways and their denizens – flora and fauna – are described in such exemplary prose that comparison with Gibbings is inevitable. In my view the latter has the lighter touch and wanders off down periodic tributaries, often involving myth and legend, as his spirit moves him. Bates, equally as eloquent, is more organised and offers observations on contemporary issues such as killing otters for sport.

A product of Glasgow School of Art, Agnes Miller Parker (1895-1980) was described by me in my eponymous post of December 14th 2015 as ‘one of the best illustrators of her day’.

I trust her wood engravings will bear this out. The above illustration is the title page.

Here is the book jacket, still intact after not far off 100 years.

Because of the number of engravings in this volume I present here a first selection,

and will add a few more at intervals to my normal ramblings.

This evening we dined on succulent roast gammon; roast potatoes: Jackie’s piquant cauliflower cheese; firm carrots and broccoli; tangy red cabbage; and tender green cabbage with leeks. I drank Patrick Chodot Fleurie 2018. The Culinary Queen had enjoyed her Heineken whilst cooking.