The Holiday Season Is Upon Us

On the first bank holiday weekend of the holiday season in the New Forest there was much traffic on Holmsley Passage this morning: this took the form of

walkers, cars, and cyclists risking twisted ankles while negotiating potholes;

and a pony and trap I tracked approaching down the hill,

exchanging friendly greetings as they passed and travelled on to glide by a string of yellow-clad children on bikes.

A pair of horse riders clopping behind our parked Modus chose to diverge into the moorland rather than to confront either the small equines in harness or the vehicles following them.

Sensing that today would be hot, ponies on the moorland approaching Burley were already attracting visitors, with or without cameras, as they clustered together for their seasonal mutual protection.

Later, I finished reading the first volume of Dostoevsky’s “A Raw Youth”, then converted the following post from Classic to Block edit, changing its category to Garden:

For dinner this evening we all enjoyed succulent roast lamb; roasted potatoes, including the sweet variety; crunchy carrots; firm Brussels sprouts and broccoli; and meaty gravy, with which I drank more of the Côtes du Rhône and Jackie drank more of the Viognier.

Village Life

While we sat round the patio table before dinner yesterday Flo took

these photographs of Jackie and Ellie which she e-mailed to me.

This morning my lady attended a coven meeting with her two sisters,

and dropped me at Milford-on-Sea on her way there, collecting me three and a half hours later after I had taken a rather more than a few photographs and caught a touch of the sun.

Most of the time I sat on the same bench seat although I did walk up and down a bit for changes in perspective.

This first gallery contains a woman sporting shorts seemingly plugged into soothing music; another dressed in a striped tent; another carrying co-ordinated bundles; another, green-clad, clasping car keys; and a gentleman opening his boot.

Car drivers were in and out of the parking spots throughout the morning; cycling was another popular form of transport. The individual gentleman in this group was just setting off having uncoupled his steed from the rack in the first image which later accommodated two others locked together. Interestingly it was only the child in the family group who wore a crash helmet.

Other children, such as this one passing the Charity shop, enjoyed other forms of transport, like the buggy contrasting poignantly with the approaching elderly gentleman’s walking trolley.

The Bridge on the Hill is quite a focal point – notice the wall-mounted defibrillator. The woman crouching down outside went on to visit the outlet, the proceeds of which support the village Community Centre.

Anyone using this crossing, as did this infant crocodile, could not miss the shop.

People also gather outside The Village News, described as a traditional newsagent. This group conversed long enough to test the patience of the dog which was quite happy to sit and watch the world go by.

Dogs are in abundance wherever one goes in this area. The one in the van didn’t have to wait long for its owner to return from the Co-op.

Other shop windows speak for themselves. Note the hat held by the bollard outside Timeless Fabrics which had not opened when I first arrived. I wonder whether the cap will be retrieved.

I spent an enjoyably engaging hour talking with friendly David Heath and his equally amenable wife Janet from Colorado. Janet joined us between periods of visiting the local shops.

The couple walked on past the telephone box book exchange.

A number of men were occupied making deliveries; one in this set used a sack barrow; the postman pushed a cart and entered the shops with armfuls.

The most impressive handling of delivery transport was by Ben who I may not have spoken with had it not been for a near miss we both witnessed. One driver came down the hill alongside which we were sitting, drove across the the double lines evident in the picture above, and suddenly turned right without seeming to see a car approaching from Sea Road opposite. Had the driver of that vehicle not made a screeching emergency stop there would have been a collision.

Ben said that this was a very dangerous corner and such situations occurred all the time. He then revealed that he drove the Co-op van. He had started at 4.30 a.m. carrying out a string of deliveries. Although the vehicle was loaded when he collected it, he unloaded alone at each store he visited.

The manoeuvre that he needed, so skilfully, to employ had to be seen to be believed. He turned left past the Co-op; reversed down Sea Road; came forward into the high street and swung round up the hill; with the aplomb to wave as he passed me on his way.

After photographing one of the ubiquitous feral pigeons pecking up scraps

I noticed a relaxed conversation opposite which was completed with a farewell hug.

This evening we dined on chicken marinaded in Nando’s medium piri-piri sauce and Jackie’s flavoursome vegetable rice, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Borodino.

A Stream Of Cyclists

Yesterday Jackie put in more work perfecting the Rose Garden clearance. The path leading to the white seat had been weeded by Flo.

When she noticed the bag of recycling material outside our front door ripped open this morning with its contents distributed round the garden, Jackie wondered what had done this. After she cleared it up and stepped out the back the answer became clear.

Badgers had returned. The Waterboy arrangement, the corner pots on the patio edge of the Pond Bed, and the stumpery had been wrecked. Before I photographed the damage The Head Gardener had righted the second two sites although she had missed the ornamental mouse trampled into the patio gravel, and the earth was still strewn across the Brick Path. In the process Jackie had disturbed a wasp’s nest, one resident of which stung her.

Later in the morning Dillon, straight off the plane, arrived with Flo and Becky who had collected him on arrival soon after 7.00 a.m. None of the three had slept during the night, so the young couple went straight to bed and Becky rested on our sofa for a while before setting off back to Southbourne. She later texted to let us know she had arrived home safely.

I scanned 14 of our granddaughter’s colourful drawings before Jackie and I lunched at

The Rising Sun. The allegedly Light Bites we enjoyed were

a Ploughman’s Lunch for me and tuna salad for Mrs Knight.

The photograph of the pub above was taken from the cracked and hoof-pitted-concrete-moulded terrain of Wootton Common opposite.

The extra large photograph albums I ordered for the wedding photographs arrived this morning.

New Forest Cycling Club had gathered by the stream at Wootton Car Park. As we arrived they trooped off down the road

and left the increasingly shallow shingle bed to other visitors.

This evening we dined on Red Chilli’s excellent takeaway fare with which Jackie and Dillon drank Hoegaarden, Flo drank water, and I drank Chassaux Rasteau 2019.

Selecting Sheltered Spots

Early this morning Jackie continued the clearance in the Rose Garden. I carted her clippings to the compost bins and carried out more dead-heading before we shopped and the Co-op in Stopples Lane then took a drive into the forest.

Well before mid-day shadows flickering in the woodland alongside Bisterne Close manifested as clusters of fly-infested shelter-seeking ponies twitching tails, scratching with frantic hoof and friction against dappled tree trunk clinging together for comfort. Only the ferns risked the direct sun’s rays.

A pair of cyclists who wheeled along the Close were encountered at several points later, and could be

seen on Forest Road beyond a mare and foal, part of a group

disrupting traffic as they sought their own

spots of shelter beneath the spreading branches spanning the road.

Cattle preferred to shelter in the shrubbery.

Elizabeth visited us this afternoon, bringing goodies for Flo, and stayed for dinner which consisted of a selection of Papa John’s pizzas. My sister and I drank Esprit de Puisseguin Saint-Emilion 2019, and Jackie drank Hoegaarden.

South Sway Lane

This morning Jackie drove me to the surgery at Milford on Sea where I received my booster Covid vaccination with no problems. We then continued on forest drive.

I stepped out of the car at South Sway Lane, where a fine specimen of buttercups lined the verges opposite the ubiquitous cow parsley,

and carpeted fields with a distant horse enjoying the comfort of fly masks. I

had been initially attracted by the crop of yellow irises.

Two dark bay ponies shared the nearest field. One hopefully trotted over to

investigate me, bringing cloud of flies of a like mind. How this patient creature must have envied the more pampered field horse which was protected from the pesky insects.

On the opposite side of the road moon daisies lined a verge beyond which lay a landscape swathed in varicoloured grasses.

A couple of friendly cyclists sped down the dappled tarmac.

Jackie was struck by the cathedral quality of the oak roof beams spanning Rodlease Lane. She stopped to produce the portrait style photograph, while I made the two landscape versions, one, of course, looking backwards.

A trio of ponies tripped among the daises on the verges of Sway Road.

As we arrived home I noticed what beckons to those who drive past our front entrance.

For dinner this evening we all three enjoyed more servings of those we had yesterday, with more pie filling for Flo and fresh vegetables for us all. Jackie drank Tsing Tao beer and I drank Swartland Shiraz 2020.

Misty Morning Mizzle

Late yesterday afternoon Jackie had photographed the porcine weather vane on Bull Hill. Gloomy as it was there was no mist.

We began the day by visiting the Royal Mail Delivery Office very early. Jackie parked outside on Lymington High Street while I entered the office to do battle about the non-delivery card featured yesterday. This related to a package which had not born sufficient postage. I plonked the card on the counter, simply stating that I had followed directions and posted the card to them only to receive it back in our own letter box the next day. Saying nothing, the gentleman I had spoken to walked away and returned with the ‘package’ which bore no postage at all.

When I expressed surprise at what this was I did receive an apology and was not asked to prove my identity. Returning to the car I handed Jackie the item and made my sister Jacqueline’s morning by, through gritted teeth, thanking her kindly for her Christmas card which undoubtedly cost us more to collect than it had cost her to buy.

While waiting for me Jackie had photographed a foggy High Street.

She pulled over at Undershore Road while I continued my conversation with my sister and

photographed some boats on Lymington River.

A pack of cyclists emerged from the mist on South Baddersley Road.

We diverted to Tanner’s Lane

where I stepped out to photograph the beach and its environs, including a flotilla of geese and solitary silent gulls. The honking of the larger birds drew my attention to how quiet the morning was. The only other sounds we heard on the whole trip were the mournful notes of foghorns and the plops of mizzle moisture dripping onto soggy leaves.

Jackie photographed a corner of the beach, and me on the silently sliding shingle.

The drips rippling the eponymous Lake made no sound as we made our way along Sowley Lane.

We drove along St Leonard’s Road to the relics of the Grange. Cattle peered through the gloom, and pigeons perched on the roof of the barn.

Our familiar group of ponies with their Shetland acolyte trotted briskly past, close enough to become more visible.

Those at East Boldre remained obscured.

At East End the thatcher’s fox still kept its quarry in sight.

It was not yet 11 a.m. as we returned home along Southampton Road.

For dinner this evening we enjoyed another helping of Jackie’s delicious beef pie served with similar, fresh, vegetables to yesterday, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Tempranillo.

Stamping Ground

We began the day by shopping at Ferndene Farm Shop for three more bags of compost, vegetables, and begonias. This was quite a quick operation, after which we drove into the forest.

At the top of Holmsley Passage another wrecked vehicle blocked the side-lane to a house. This was upside down and looked as if it had been overturned in an accident.

Many cyclists, singly or in various groupings, were about this morning. The trio and the two singletons wheeled up Holmsley Passage and the pairs sped along Bisterne Close.

Purple heather brightened the moors around the passage.

Much of the bracken in the woodland beside the close was still fresh enough to appeal to the ponies,

who were there in abundance today.

I was drawn further into the forest by a thudding beat which transpired as the stamping of a cluster of ponies with one bushy tailed foal retreating from heat or flies or both.

The higher rhythmic clopping of their iron-shod cousins pulling an historic carriage along the close chimed a different note.

A red haired walker blended with rowan berries above.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s flavoursome cottage pie; crunchy carrots, cauliflower and broccoli, served with meaty gravy and accompanied by Hoegaarden in her glass and more of the Rioja in mine.

Rather Nonchalant

Melodic birdsong and the plaintive burbling of an unattached wood pigeon, warmed by gentle sunshine, were pleasant accompaniments to my morning’s dead heading project, and the Head Gardener’s general tidying. After lunch, Jackie raked up her herbicide weeding on the back drive and I picked up the piles and transferred them to a bin.

As the day grew hotter, following a Ferndene Farm Shop visit, we went for a drive this afternoon. The shopping was for catering tomorrow, when Elizabeth and Jacqueline plan to bring Mum over for her main meal of the day.

Ponies of varying sizes exercised their right of way at the Forest Road junction leading to Holmsley Campsite, much to the amusement of visitors on either two or four wheels.

A number of cattle joined in the fun, although this black and white cow was more interested in making strenuous efforts to suckle from the brown one who didn’t appear to need milking and remained rather nonchalant about the process.

I ventured into the paddock at Braggers Lane,

where I photographed some of the riding horses, a few of which wore fly masks.

Bright red Rowan berries, like these in the Bransgore end of Forest Road, now gleam among green foliage above burgeoning bracken.

This evening we dined on second helpings of yesterday’s Red Chilli takeaway, with addition of chicken tikka and vegetable samosas, with which Jackie drank more of the rosé and I drank Tesco finest Faugeres 2019.

Avian Camouflage

This afternoon of an overcast day, slowly brightening with brief sunny periods we visited Ferndene Farm Shop to purchase salad items, eggs, and vegetables to accompany this evening’s second sitting of Jackie’s excellent cottage pie. These were carrots, cauliflower, and beans which would be cooked to perfection, and accompanied by Hoegaarden and more of the Malbec, consumed by the usual suspects.

Before we could properly leave Downton, we followed a pleasant equestrienne pair to Silver Street and a couple of defensive cyclists ensuring we could not safely pass them along Vaggs Lane.

Jackie parked at Smugglers Road Car Park from where I wandered among the woodland photographing bracken, gorse, landscape, and the the gently overcast sky.

As requested, I kept to the main tracks, created by ponies. The amount of dog shit littered about suggested that some dog owners had also done so. As we were about to leave, two people, each with a pair of dogs, neither carrying poop bags set off to empty their animals. The man’s charges were immediately let off the lead.

Earlier, a pair of goldfinches had sought camouflage among the gorse.

While she waited, Jackie produced her own images of gorse.

On our departure, another pair of equestriennes gently ambled up the slopes.

At least the person emptying their dog at Abbots Well had the questionable decency to leave the results of the defecation in a poop bag, which did not faze the grazing pony.

Here, the clouds were parting a little more as I looked down on the landscape from the bordering woodland with its fallen trees, mossy roots, and little dog-tooth violets.

The aforementioned delicious dinner nicely rounded off the day.

The Fox And Hare

On a sun-bright, but still chilly, breezy, morning we took a drive to the east of the forest.

Jackie parked the Modus on the verge of Sowley Lane and decanted me and my camera.

Ponies shared the broad verge pasturage with basking cattle, one of whom looked askance at me when I photographed her feet. The close-up of the sorrel pony demonstrates why they all sport wrinkled noses to enable them to nibble the short grass.

A cock pheasant canoodled with a spotlit hen beside a gated path leading to Sowley Lake until they and others disappeared with harsh squawks.

A wide-wing-spanned buzzard, taking care to keep naked branches between itself and my probing lens, glided smoothly overhead, until an eerie silence rent the air.

Meanwhile, Jackie photographed another pheasant hiding in the shrubbery on the opposite side of the road.

Similarly, the Assistant Photographer focussed on a camouflaged chaffinch I captured in plain sight.

A dead tree stretched over the animals on the verge; a brightly clad cyclist blended well with the myriads of brightly-hued daffodils lining the lanes,

which were rife with other groups of pedallers practicing defensive cycling. The first of these trios was happy to collect a convoy behind a delivery van on Lodge Lane; the second swept round a bend on South Baddersley Road carrying out a debate about where they were.

Pheasants usually scuttle off into the hedgerows when we arrive. This one, its feathers all puffed up remained motionless enough for me to become concerned enough to disembark for investigation. It was ambulant enough to walk slowly across the road. Another trick of these birds is to dash from the undergrowth in an apparent suicide attempt on vehicles’ wheels. We wondered whether this had been a survivor from such a game of chicken.

Having, through a five-barred gate, spotted another pheasant approaching a couple of horses on the far side of a field on Lodge Lane, I poked my camera over the gate in order to picture the impending encounter. In ample time, as the equines picked up speed, the bird veered off to avoid their thudding hooves.

Leather-lipped donkeys munched prickly gorse at East End, where, a few days ago, I had photographed a thatcher at work.

We now see he had crowned his roof with a fox chasing a hare which would never be caught.

As we passed Lymington harbour yachts we noticed a man descending rigging.

This evening for dinner we enjoyed our second sitting of Hordle Chinese Take Away fare, which keeps well for two days, and the same accompanying beverages.