Beneath cloudless cerulean skies we took an early drive into the forest this morning.
A cool breeze blew along sun-dappled lanes like these named
At a corner of the latter a tractor ploughed a field some distance from a couple of grazing workhorses within view of adjacent woodland.
Along the road to Beaulieu a number of pools scooped out by generally regular rains have been dry for most of this year, which must be disappointing for
foraging ponies and their foals.
Peering ahead along St Leonard’s Road we discerned that a developing traffic delay had been caused by a modern day cattle drove executed in a more comfortable manner than the cowboys of old by a couple of motorised farmers herding them to their home field fronting the Isle of Wight. At one point I disembarked and attempted to keep pace with the animals while slaloming round splatted pats littering the tarmac. I had no chance of catching them.
Further along the lane a familiar string of ponies trotted on the edge of the verge. The little Shetland had no trouble holding its own.
We carried out a late afternoon watering session before dining on Jackie’s splendid chilli con carne and my plain boiled rice, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Rioja.