bracken – Page 8 – derrickjknight

Food And Drink In The Same Location

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It really felt like a spring day as we drove out to the forest this morning.

Cyclists on Rhinefield Ornamental Drive 1

Cyclists on Rhinefield Ornamental Drive 2

A pair of cyclists led us along the Rhinefield Ornamental Drive.

At intervals I left the car and photographed the forest scenes.

The usual amount of fallen trees festooned the floor. I have mentioned before, that, apart from some which is sold to be fashioned into something artistic or useful, the timber is left to rot where it falls, as an aid to ecology.

Some of the stumps in particular have disintegrated before our eyes during the few years we have lived here.

Even close to midday, the sun is still low enough in the sky to cast long shadows across the carpet of dry autumn leaves.

Last year’s bracken has not yet shrunk in the presence of Spring’s burgeoning coils.

Beyond Boldre an arrogant cock pheasant strutted erect through the heather.

Further on, a group of ponies were celebrating the fact that, courtesy of the recent rain their food and drink were both available at the same location.

An apparently dead tree would seem to have fallen into the water. Actually the water had fallen around the tree, beyond which the white pony guzzled the gorse.

On our return home we took our main meal of the day at Holmsley Old Station Tea Rooms. I chose steak and ale pie with short crust pastry, carrots, peas, and chips. Jackie’s pick was Stationmaster’s Rarebit. She drank cappuccino. I drank sparkling water.

The Patience Of A Dog

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I needed a trip to the bank in New Milton today. As it was a fine frosty morning we took a drive in the forest first and moved on to Friar’s Cliff for big breakfast brunches in the eponymous café.

On the way through Tiptoe we fell in behind a splendid horse and cart. After I had photographed hooves through the car windscreen, Jackie overtook the antique vehicle and stopped further down the road so that I could lay in wait for a full frontal shot.

Holmesley Passage, was bathed in both sunshine

and frost;

as was the still autumnal woodland and the bracken covered moor.

The stream that runs under the road flowed fast over the concrete ford.

Wrapped up and back-packed walkers strode across the moor.

The Friar’s Cliff café was so full that many diners sat outside (remember the dog)

watching the sea, a canoeist kayaking by,

and dogs frolicking on the beach.

We are given a slip of paper containing our order number, and wait for the superb, freshly cooked, food. One couple didn’t touch their bottled water and crisps. They, too, were to receive a café meal.

A young mother clutched both her small son and his scooter as she made for the café. She didn’t drop either before she reached her destination.

We admired the patience of a golden haired dog ogling its owners’ bacon sandwiches without moving a muscle.

This evening we dined on fish fingers, chips, onion rings, and baked beans, with which I finished the cabernet sauvignon.

Flying Off Into The Sunset

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This afternoon we drove to Lymington and to Molly’s Den in Old Milton for some successful Christmas shopping.

During my early motoring days many cars were still fitted with trafficators like this one (photo from Wikipedia). There was one on either side of the car. These would click up to indicate in which direction the driver was intending to turn. If it didn’t work you had to use hand signals and hope the driver behind understood what you were doing.

This car we followed along the road used one of these to indicate turning left.

When we emerged from the antiques emporium the late, lowering sun burnished bracken and ponies alike. The last of the creatures in this set of pictures yanked away at brambles and gorse as a variation on the customary diet of grass.

Later still the warm rays drew mist from the dampened terrain;

and finally, a passenger plane seemingly leaving Southampton airport, flew off into the sunset.

Back at home we dined on roast duck, boiled and mashed potatoes, carrots, cauliflower, and spinach, followed by steamed syrup pudding and Cornish ice cream. I finished the shiraz.

Boat Maintenance

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This morning I printed some pictures for Christmas presents, which it would be premature to publish here.

This afternoon I scanned another batch of colour negatives from early 1986.

During that prolonged winter, Sam’s and Louisa’s expressions show quite clearly how cold it was when Matthew, dubbed by Louisa ‘the best big brother ever’, took them out for a buggy ride from Gracedale Road.

It was clearly much more cosy when he read them a story.

At 10.19 one morning Louisa bounced up and down, possibly trying to dislodge her mother and brother from bed. Sam was not impressed. The bedside lamp was made from a stone hot water bottle gained from our ‘Mudlarking’ days.

That year snow lay on the ground for the first three months. It would have been after that when Jessica, Sam, and I spent a week in Mary Dewsberry’s holiday home in Haslemere. The evidence for this is the farm track up which we walked on a recce. Last year’s bracken and autumn leaves lingered in the country terrain.

Jessica, Sam and Louisa feeding ponies 1986

This may have been the occasion when we discovered that the two children both had allergies to horses, the touch of which caused their eyes to swell up alarmingly.

Under the cloak of a little coppice, Louisa made a diving effort to reenter her mother’s womb. Sam insisted that there was room for two.

Mary’s son, Nick, and his children Jack and Dora, welcomed Sam and Louisa into their boat maintenance crew. Louisa made a quick recovery after her early tip-up, and everyone set to with gusto.

This evening, Jackie produced succulent roast duck, suitably reduced spinach, boiled potatoes, and crunchy carrots and cauliflower. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank Western Cape Fair Trade shiraz 2015.

Fire In The Sky

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I began the day by managing to load all the pictures missing from yesterday’s post.

Flushed with success on this morning bright and crisp enough to bring tinges of pink, like those still visible in the garden, I ventured outside with my camera.

Although the curtain of weeping birch leaves is preparing to shed its beads, and the hosts of honesty reveal its seeds,

we still have plenty of colourful blooms, such as these dahlias, Japanese anemones, and fuchsias;

while begonias, honeysuckle, nicotianas, and penstemons persist.

This afternoon we went on driveabout.

On the moors between Brockenhurst and Beaulieu, the lowering sun gilded the topmost bracken fronds.

As we approached Beaulieu, ponies and cattle shared the grazing.

The equines wandered along the road seeking traffic to disrupt;

further on, a trio was more interested in the fodder.

Hatchet Pond itself was still and reflective.

On our return we diverted to Milford on Sea to catch the sunset. Looking east towards the Isle of Wight the sky wore pastel pinks and indigo hues;

contrasting with the fiery flames lighting up the west. As the sun receded into the water its radial beams streamed upwards.

This evening we dined on cheese-centred haddock fish cakes, mashed potato and swede, crunchy cauliflower, carrots, and runner beans, with which we both drank Prestige & Cavet sauvignon blanc 2014.

Spectral Ponies

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This morning we brunched in a very crowded Otter Nurseries restaurant before driving to Emery Down, Bolderwood, and back home.

As with many New Forest villages, the approach to Emery Down from Swan Green is quintessentially English.

We have a row of tiny thatched cottages in which I could not stand upright, and a larger thatched house, opposite the green

flanking the uphill stretch of an undulating road, one of the warning signs of which bears the image of a pony. Level with the gate in this picture is a cattle grid. Both gate and grid are designed to keep those ponies on the far side.

The garden of the house benefits from our Indian summer;

no self-respecting one in this area, except, that is, for ours, is without its bank of nerines,

not all accompanied by pink shrub roses.

Turning left in Emery Down the forest road goes through Bolderwood. On its verges Jackie parked with her puzzle book whilst I wandered among the trees,

the leaves of which were beginning to turn rich gold and deep red.

This is also the season for mushrooms to force their way through the forest floor.

Throughout the woods can be seen shattered trunks and hollowed sawn logs from fallen trees.

At Bolderwood silent spectral ponies emerged from the shadows to graze their way across to the greener grass on the other side.

Sunlight played on the road on our return.

This evening we dined on spicy pizza and salad, followed by profiterols. I drank Basson shiraz 2014.

Caught In The Rain

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This morning we took a drive into the forest.

It was not long before the first of the day’s many showers set the burnished bracken sparkling.

We were even treated to a partial rainbow forcing its way through the indigo clouds.

Deep in the valley a string of walkers passed a solitary house,

while far off, optimistic smoke curled upwards to merge into the ether.

A grazing pony fixed me with a quizzical stare, then continued with the business in hand,

until, sensing the precipitation that was about to send me back to the car, it wandered off and crossed a path to take shelter under a tree.

It was then that I heard voices floating across the bracken.

They belonged to another group of walkers upon whom the rainbow had cast all the colours of the spectrum.

The rain really hammered on the car as we drove back though the forest passing walkers and cyclists also caught in it.

This evening we dined on roast lamb, potatoes and parsnip; crunchy carrots, cabbage and runner beans; divine gravy, and mint sauce; followed by bread and butter pudding souffle. I drank Almocreve Alentejano reserva 2014.

No Sale

Here is yesterday’s camouflaged deer, in the centre of the complete shot. As always. clicking on my images enlarges them. If once is not enough, a second gives a supersize.

Splendid sunlight lit upon the garden today as, leaving Aaron to his work, we drove to the final coffee morning of the exhibition.

Aaron completed the painting of the Ace Reclaim bench and reset the front side gate. The brick will hold it firm until the concrete, which he has tastefully covered with gravel, has set.

Unfortunately, the exhibition was less than successful. Attendance was meagre and no pictures, neither mine nor anyone else’s, were sold, although a number of my cards found buyers. We did however enjoy a pleasant couple of hours with our friends and a few of theirs.

This evening we dined on beefburgers, chips, cauliflower cheese, leeks, and tomatoes. I drank more of the madiran.

A WRAF Beauty

Early this morning Jackie discovered an ailing bird which may be a baby pigeon. She made it a little hospital bed, complete with water and a suet ball.

By the end of the afternoon our little friend was struggling around the garden, unable to fly, because its tail-feathers were shredded.

Aaron continued his work on the back drive. Acute observers will notice that the IKEA wardrobe sections have been once again recycled. A comparison between these two photographs, from the beginning and the end of his day, demonstrate what Aaron Parris can do as A.P. Maintenance.

Feeling reasonably recovered from the virus, on this bright, crisp, day, as crows filled the skies above the brassica field, I took a very gentle amble along the woodland walk. My right knee didn’t like it much.

The path remained pretty muddy, especially down by the fast-flowing stream, where, to reach the footbridge, I still needed to teeter on the fallen logs.

Beyond the bridge the footpath inclines quite steeply and is consequently much drier. Sunlight picked its way through the bracken, the trees, and the fallen leaves. Bright green lichen and and mosses glowed in the clear light.My post ‘A Statuesque Beauty’ featured an image of Jackie’s mother standing with her lifelong friend Sheila. Upon Sheila’s death in a nursing home, her daughter Margaret retrieved a small framed photograph from her bedside table. This is a signed photo of my late mother-in-law, Veronica Rivett. Margaret sent the picture to Helen. This copy is destined for Jackie’s other sister Shelly. I was, of course, engaged to make two more prints, one for each of the other sisters. Jackie brought it back from yesterday’s sororal meeting, and I worked on it today.

Apart from a small tear, the effect of which I was able to remove, this picture, which could have been of a film star of the day, is in pristine condition. It is inscribed July 1942, which, by coincidence, was the month of my birth. There is no prize for discovering the location of the tear.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s luscious lamb jalfrezi (recipe) and savoury rice (recipe) accompanied by supermarket samosas and onion bajis left over from Christmas. Her choice of beverage was Hoegaarden, whilst I finished the bordeaux.

An Aid To Autosuggestion

The weather today could not have been more of a contrast to yesterday’s. It was several degrees warmer, wet, and overcast. I took a short walk along Hordle Lane to visit the horses in a waterlogged Yeatton Cottage paddock.

These miserable looking animals, wrapped in their winter rugs, could not even show their customary interest in my presence. They probably would have preferred raincoats.

The Shetland pony belongs to the owners of the cottage who let space to accommodate the other two.

The photograph of the waterspout taken on the beach at Shanklin in September 1968 that featured in my post of 3rd November, when I hung it on the downstairs loo wall, has proved so popular I may have to leave it there. Clearly it offers an aid to autosuggestion. Flo is so taken with it that she asked for a copy. I made one when I returned from my walk. Our friend Paul Clarke, when he last visited with Margery, brought me a pack of A3+ size photographic paper that had been found in a car boot sale. He thought I could at least use it for test prints. I used it for this picture and found it of excellent quality.

Before dinner Jackie drove Flo and me on a rather abortive Christmas lights tour. Lymington and New Milton still had them lit up in their streets, but Brockenhurst had switched off one side of the street and Lydhurst’s were extinguished altogether. Even the garden of the famous private house in Bartley was in darkness. The real star of the trip was, when it freed itself from the clouds, the almost full moon.

On our return we all dined on Jackie’s sausage casserole, as always, improved with keeping; and potatoes, cabbage, carrots,a and cauliflower, all cooked to perfection. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I finally opened an excellent bottle of Bois du Riche Margaux 2007 given to me by Shelly and Ron for Christmas 2013. And drank some of it.