June 2021 – derrickjknight

Flies Are Now In Season

On another warm, humid, and largely overcast morning garden maintenance was continued.

Jackie mostly concentrated on the Rose Garden, then produced her own gallery. It was the cricket on Absolutely Fabulous that sent her indoors for her camera. She also spotted a bee and a beetle on Rosa Gallica. Winchester Cathedral, For Your Eyes Only, and Lady Emma Hamilton were all ready for their close-ups. The beetle on the leaf in the first Rosa Gallica picture may be an invasive ladybug

My work was wider-ranging weeding, dead-heading, and feeding the compost bin and bags for the dump with suitable material.

With the cordyline Australis and the Wedding Day rose in full bloom it seemed opportune for me to stick my camera lenses through the upstairs windows and produce some

shots from above. So I did.

I then spent a while completing Jackie’s driving licence renewal application on line, only to get to the very last item and be told that there had been a technical hitch which resulted in the whole effort being cancelled. Mrs Knight then repeated the process with a paper application in half the time.

Afterwards we posted the application at Everton Post Office; collected a prescription from Milford on Sea Pharmacy; visited Rosie Lea tea house, formerly The Hobler Inn, to book a meal for which Danni had given Jackie a voucher for her birthday; and, following a forest drive, purchased three more bags of compost at Ferndene Farm Shop.

Beside the stream at the start of Cadnam Lane, apparently exhausted in the heat, a trio of pigs lay flaked out. They occasionally twitched in an effort to shift the horseflies from their flanks. One sow found the energy to rise to her feet and slowly yawn.

Round the next bend ponies sought shelter in the woodland. They, too, received their share of flies.

This evening we indeed on Jackie’s succulent beef and onion pie; new potatoes, firm carrots, and tender runner beans, with meaty gravy. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank Les Dauphins Cotes du Rhone 2019.

The Sound Of Tearing Grass

Humid, leaden, weather continued today, although there was no threat of rain. After a dozy morning I attempted to join Jackie in the garden. I bagged up one set of refuse before realising that this was far too optimistic following the night that had just sapped my energy. The Head Gardener finished her planting, then metamorphosed into my Chauffeuse and drove me into the forest.

We began with our photo report on Pilley Lake which the recent rains have filled a little. The second image shows that foxgloves and brambles still fill the foreground;

sections of road barriers suggest recent works of some sort; and the little pool that had been bone dry a couple of weeks ago now reflects Quarry Cottage on the corner.

The Hatchet Moor section of Hatchet Pond was populated by a pair of swans and their cygnets who circled the surface, weaving through the prolific water lily beds. The last of the avian pictures with lilies was produced by Jackie. We were not the only photographers on an outing.

The only sound in evidence on such a still day was the ponies’ teeth tearing at the grass at East Boldre, in an operation so delicate as to refrain from uprooting the sward.

Like the lake at Pilley, many of the ditches are filling up with rainwater which reflects ponies crossing at East Boldre. Unfortunately I missed a shot of the foal leaping, but he did well.

Although not a football fan I did watch the Euro 2020 championship match between England and Germany. It is, after all, mandatory.

This evening we dined on our second helpings of Red Chilli takeaway with which we both drank Kingfisher.

Under The Weather

Threatened thunderstorm tardy. Oppressive pressure persisting. Headache building. Sleep suspended; interrupted. Piercing pain. Downstairs to pop Paracetamol – normally eschewed. Outside all dark and eerily still. About 1.30 a.m. Suddenly, later, sleep at last. Eventually stirring to pounding precipitation on roof tiles and window panes. No idea when. Headache lessened. Awake again at 6.00 a.m. Thunder never came. Puddles outside. Pain gone.

I am learning late in life what it means to be under the weather when thunder storms are on the way. It fact this seems a nautical term – sailors when mildly ill were sent below decks – literally under the weather. I have come to realise that to me it means under the influence of threatened thunder.

Normal service will be resumed later.

I Closed The Book

On another warm overcast day of humid atmosphere brightened by the end of the morning, most of which Jackie spent in her customary garden maintenance – this time in the Rose Garden , where I joined her in bagging up and transporting to the compost bin some of her debris. I carried out more dead heading, then made a photographic record.

Here Jackie sweeps the paths. The first image displays her clearance of the last set of footpaths; the second is now (8) in the “Where’s Jackie?” series. Bigifying is recommended.

Bees and hoverflies abounded. There are many self-seeded poppies in evidence.

A bejewelled Lady Emma Hamilton clearly hasn’t minded being exposed to the overnight rain.

Here is a view looking towards the Rose Garden from the lawn bed, and another taking the eye across to North Breeze.

White foxgloves speak to the Erigeron in the redesigned Pond Bed.

Now, I must pose a question to my readers.

Delightful as are the sun-dappled pages of David Copperfield, when you have finished gardening for the day and sit on a bench distracted by that very light and shade; by a myriad of insects flitting and descending rose petals floating in and out of dazzling beams; by the sweet scents of the fragrant flowers; by the bright burbling of the water feature, the symphonic notes of a host of birds, the busy buzzing of the bees, the swishing of your lady’s broom, and the drag of her filled trug across the swept paving; broken only by the chimes of a passing ambulance, what do you do?

I closed the book and enjoyed the views before me, occasionally carting weeds to the compost bin.

This evening we dined on a takeaway meal from Red Chilli. We started with prawn purees; followed by Chicken Saag for Jackie and very hot Naga Chilli lamb for me. We shared a plain paratha and special fried rice. The very well cooked and packaged food was ready on time, and, as before far too plentiful for one session. There will be ample to carry over tomorrow. Jackie finished the Sauvignon Blanc, while I did the same with the red Cabernet Sauvignon.

David Copperfield Is Born

On a most oppressively humid morning we continued with garden maintenance. Jackie weeded, planted, trimmed and composted while I dead-headed roses,

dug out two self seeded elder trees, and bagged up some of the refuse.

Steady rain set in after lunch. During a lull I dug out some brambles from the back drive borders, until a direct drenching downpour sent me dashing inside. A later let up enabled me to finish my task and grab a couple of pictures.

During the rest of the afternoon I began rereading:

The title page is accompanied by ‘I saw him lying with his head upon his arm, as I have often seen him lie at school. (p.727)’ offering an example of Mr Keeping’s imaginative perspectives.

As before, I will not add my own observations on this very well known classic, but will post Charles Keeping’s inimitable illustrations as I make my way along this novel of which Charles Dickens wrote in his preface to the 1869 edition: ‘Of all my books, I like this the best,’

‘ ‘Why, bless my heart!’ exclaimed Miss Betsey. ‘You are a very Baby!’ ‘

‘Mr Murdstone and I were soon off, and trotting along on the green turf’ – another vehicle for Keeping’s perspective skill.

‘We stopped to exchange an innocent kiss’ – keeping a safe distance.

Jackie had spent the afternoon at a very well catered for baby shower. She therefore had no need of a meal this evening, yet, for me she

reprised yesterday’s delicious marinaded chicken meal.

Hunting In Pairs

“The Bishop” was the penultimate story that Anton Chekhov wrote while seriously ill with tuberculosis from which he died at the age of 44. This is a deeply emotional tale of the main character’s life and death, and his effect on family, prelates, and congregations alike. I finished reading it last night, and with it my Folio Society 1974 edition of translator Elisaveta Fen’s selection from the author’s prolific output of short stories.

Fen’s introduction to the book is informative and insightful. She includes a specific section for each story and it was interesting, after almost half a century in which to forget my first reading, to study these pieces after I had revisited their relevant story and to compare my thoughts with hers.

Nigel Lambourne’s occasional full page aquatints are well drawn, but on the heavy side for some of the characters.

It is perhaps appropriate that ‘ ‘Don’t disturb His Eminence,’ Sisoy told Maria’ should be the last of these illustrations.

Much of this warm day was spent on continuing garden maintenance consisting of weeding, pruning, dead heading; and bagging up for removal or adding to the compost bin all the resultant refuse.

Towards the end of the afternoon, while Jackie, sharing views with Florence sculpture, surveyed the fruits of our labour, I wandered round with my camera.

Hanging baskets and other containers now bear, for example, various petunias, geraniums, cineraria, calendulas, hot lips, Erigeron and their shadows.

As can also be seen in the foreground of the Florence picture above, geranium palmatum is prolific throughout the garden. One of our Rosa Glauca bushes blends nicely with the geranium in the first of this pair of photographs.

Here are a few more of our various day lilies, the first bearing a hoverfly.

I traverse paths like the one named Gazebo quite regularly. Today I also ambled along the Back Drive and selected for attention

roses white Félicité Perpétue; a yellow climber; pink Doris Tysterman; paler pink rose from Ringwood’s Pound Shop; and rich red Ernest Morse.

Wedding Day is now coming into flower on the Agriframes Arch which it shares with a deep mauve clematis.

Magpies hunt in pairs in our garden. This evening, as we took our drinks on the patio, the enjoyable, sweet, birdsong was interrupted by

the raucous rasp of these predators communicating their casing of the joint from the branches of the copper beech. All of a sudden they took wing and sped off in another direction. Soon our own avian friends came back to life.

Our dinner consisted of chicken marinaded in a tangy mango and chilli sauce topped with yellow and green peppers and onions; new potatoes; firm cauliflower, and tender green beans, with which Jackie drank more of the New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and I chose more of the Australian Cabernet Sauvignon.

Continuing Maintenance

On a much brighter morning Jackie trimmed the lower limbs of myrtle while I bagged up the clippings and added them to the row awaiting the local recycling centre.

This, and further tidying, work has improved the views from the patio and down the Dead End Path.

Also in receipt of attention has been the Westbrook Arbour and that beside the clematis on the Wisteria Arbour. It was Mark and Steve of A.P. Maintenance who tidied up the Westbrook clippings this afternoon. They also dug out the roots of unsatisfactory un-flowering forsythia and thorny berberis; took away the garden refuse,

mowed the lawn; and continued weeding the Back Drive.

Meantime, I transferred the compost in the wheelbarrow beside the Oval Bed, shovelled the last of that in the centre bin into the barrow and started to fill the space again.

Later, I read a rather beautiful Anton Chekhov story, namely “The Lady with the Little Dog”.

The spare, subtle, descriptions of place, scene and situation contribute their own appeal to the tale of illicit lovers who struggle with living two lives – one conventional and stifling, the other secretive and stressful. As translator Elisaveta Fen observes ‘The story has indeed a rare delicacy and poignancy in its portrayal of the first genuine love between an innocent young married woman and a middle-aged married man with many love affairs in the past. They see no way out of the impossible situation, yet go on hoping against hope that a solution somehow will emerge’, even if it takes a very long time.

This evening we dined on succulent roast lamb; new potatoes; firm carrots, cauliflower, and broccoli; and meaty gravy with which Jackie drank Blue Moon and I drank Coonawarra Cabernet Sauvignon 2020.

Hod-Carrier Once Again

Yesterday evening Jackie produced two photographs from along the Shady Path and Dragon Bed beneath the strong evening light,

and later of the strawberry moon claiming the sky from the sun.

On a much duller morning she recorded the current progress of her replanting in the Pond Bed.

For more than a week now, the Head Gardener has been slowly emptying and sifting the contents of our centre compost bin. This process is made more time consuming because a full wheelbarrow is too heavy for her to shift to where she wants the material.

Now she has nearly finished I decided to lend a hand and

filled a barrow to capacity and wheeled it over to the Oval Bed which, like all the others, will require extensive weeding before its soil can be topped up. Once again I was performing the role of “The Head Gardener’s Hod Carrier”.

This afternoon we lifted the New Dawn rose that had been dropped by the recent storms, retied it, and placed the white aluminium bench in its corner.

Are your dreams worth waiting to bring to fruition at the expense of a more pleasurable earlier life? This is the essential question behind Anton Chekhov’s story ‘Gooseberries’. I was impressed with what translator Elisaveta Fen describes as the ‘evocation of the Russian countryside on a rainy day and the feelings of relaxation, cleanliness and comfort, experienced by the men after hours of exertion ….. conveyed with Chekhov’s characteristic directness and subtle power’. The author’s simple descriptive skill is so evident in this narrative.

For ‘Nikolai ate the gooseberries greedily’ Nigel Lambourne has depicted this man’s happiness which is questioned by the narrator.

This evening we dined on oven fish and chips, garden peas, cornichons with chillis, and pickled onions, with which we both drank Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc 2020.

Benches

I have now read two more of The Folio Society’s 1974 selection of Short Stories by Anton Chekhov. The first, which is not illustrated with a drawing by Nigel Lambourne, is ‘The Cross of Anna’. As Elisaveta Fen, the translator, writes ‘It is essentially a story of the destruction of innocence and the folly of so-called self sacrifice.’ One of the author’s themes seems to be the desperate sadness of the widespread custom of much older men being pledged to women barely out of their teens and consequently considered heading for the shelf. My reaction to the pun of the title is also shared by Fen who states that the female lead’s ‘husband is awarded the cross of Anna, worn on a ribbon round the neck; hence the Russian title ‘Anna around his neck’ – a Russian idiom for describing an unwanted burden.’

To my mind, the next story is a tragedy of an obsessional character who manages to transfer his own fears to those around him. Elisaveta Fen points out that ‘Contemporary reviewers enlarged on Belikov’s type’s social significance and importance, treating [him] as a representative of an influential and socially dangerous class of people who threaten and bully their colleagues into conformity with absurd restrictions on their behaviour.’ I agree with the translator that he is more worthy of pity than fear.

Illustrator Nigel Lambourne has introduced a provocative element of his own to ‘Varinka was the first woman who had treated Belikov with friendliness’. It is, after all, his colleagues who thought it amusing to manipulate the prospective union of the two protagonists.

I am grateful to Maj for helping me distinguish between bees and hoverflies.

Today we were visited by both bees

and hoverflies.

Our new wooden bench was delivered this morning. This afternoon we carried it from our back gate to the Rose Garden in order to install it beneath the Agriframes Arbour. We had been pleased that we didn’t have to assemble it with flat-pack “destructions”. There was, however, a downside. The piece was quite heavy and would only just fit into the available space, so, having carted it up there we left it just outside and went back indoors to procrastinate and think about it.

This structure was to replace the smaller, white aluminium, two seater which was the previous occupant of this resting place, and really only suitable for children or small adults.

It was easy enough for me to shift that and to

leave it on the paving leading to single chair occupying the corner beyond the Little Climber rose and the fallen New Dawn.

After wrestling with the new bench we decided that lifting the fallen rose was a bridge too far, and could wait until tomorrow. Jackie relaxed on her pole and we both rested on our laurels and our new purchase,

looking at the view from Absolutely Fabulous through Festive Jewel.

Meanwhile our previous new bench still enables occupants to share the view with Florence sculpture.

Day lilies are blooming all over the garden.

This evening, after drinks sitting on our new bench we dined on our second helpings of yesterday’s Red Chilli takeaway, including the unopened paratha, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the CEO.

A Negative Tattoo

The day dawned dull yet dry; the air cool and cheerless. Nevertheless

Compassion rose, its neighbouring geranium palmatum; rose Penny Lane and her accompanying clematis Dr Ruppel flourished well enough as I made my way into the garden to gather up clippings from the Head Gardener’s morning graft.

After lunch I carried out an extensive but by no means exhaustive dead-heading exercise in the Rose Garden.

Absolutely Fabulous, For Your Eyes Only, Créme de la créme, Laura Ford, Festive Jewel, a pink rambler, and Aloha are among those that received attention.

A little later we visited Otter Nurseries where we bought another wooden bench. This was the last one in the store. It was the display item. As it was already at a reduced price there was no discount, but there was a bonus. Because it was on display we did not have to assemble it ourselves and it will be delivered tomorrow because we couldn’t fit it this form into the Modus. In football parlance this was a result.

Afterwards we continued into the forest where

beside the tidal lake at Beaulieu, a swan family were taking their cygnets for an outing, and

a human family were feeding the ducks.

Outside the Abbey two pregnant donkeys dozed and one dined on hedgerow while her son grazed for his own dinner.

Outside The Oak Inn at Bank ponies gathered on the green

and wandered in the woodland.

One in particular bore a negative tattoo of an intriguing mud pattern.

This evening we very much enjoyed an Indian Takeaway meal from Red Chilli, a new outlet in Old Milton. My main course was probably the best King Prawn Naga I have ever tasted; Jackie’s chicken biriani was equally good. My special rice was very good, and we also liked the sag poneer. There was so much that we have enough left over for tomorrow, including the plain paratha which we didn’t even unwrap. The whole meal passed what we call the poppadom test – if they are good, the rest will be. Mrs Knight drank Hoegaarden while I drank more of the CEO.