dragons – derrickjknight

The Still Before The Storm

This morning, fearing for the garden during the very heavy storm we are due to experience tomorrow, Jackie wandered around our plot with her camera in order to record such an unusual array of blooms for this time of the year.

First, she had to pander to Nugget who was convinced that his fans would like to admire his back view.

Tete-a-tetes and irises were doing well,

as were snowdrops, primulas, and bergenias.

We hope a variety of camellias will survive.

The autumn sculpture has sprouted lichen curls to blend with his mottled skin.

Dragons and hellebores are hoping for the best.

Daphne odorata marginata,

wood anemones,

crocuses,

pulmonarias,

and euphorbias all add their splashes of colour which we hope will not be watered down.

For lunch we joined Mum and Elizabeth at Woodpeckers, Colton Care home.

It is my sister’s birthday.

She complimented our mother on

enjoying lasagna which is ‘foreign food’ to someone of her generation. The others also chose lasagna; my choice was cod in parsley sauce. We all enjoyed lemon tart with cream or ice cream.

After the meal Elizabeth drove Mum on a trip into the forest while we

left the birthday present on the Pilley doorstep.

A little later the two ladies arrived at our house to finish the afternoon with tea and Victoria sponge.

Jackie and I dined this evening from bowls of Hordle Chinese Take Away’s delicious fare on trays on our laps while watching recordings of the afternoon’s Six Nations rugby Internationals between Wales and Ireland and between England and Scotland. The second match took place in swirling gales and lashing rain such that neither side deserved to lose. It is a wonder that anyone could play at all. I drank Coonawarra Cabernet Sauvignon 2018.

Raindrops

It was a shame that we were only due sunshine and lack of rain this morning, because I needed to be at home for the Openreach engineer engaged by BT. I won’t dwell on this, but, although the man turned up on time the problem is not resolved. It didn’t help that he hadn’t been told what Friday’s engineer had done and that he had been sent for an installation rather than a repair. Another technician is to attend tomorrow.

I did manage to wander round the garden before heavy rain set in for the afternoon.

We have numerous hellebores;

a prolific variety of camellias;

iris reticulatas;

and snowdrops coming into bloom throughout.

One of the occupants of the Dragon Bed cradles her egg;

another has recovered well after Aaron’s spinal surgery.

After lunch, with raindrops splattering on the roof of the car and slaloming down the windscreen, we took a drive into the forest.

The watery Black Lane, in the murk, lived up to its name.

Many of our roads are now irrigated by overflowing ditches and waterlogged fields.

Braggers Lane, with its

rippling reflective bubbling pools stretching alongside, is a good example.

Despite the banked verges, the fields are very generous with their excess water.

Woodland is a little meaner.

A group of horses, some wearing waterproof rugs, simply tolerated the downfall.

Further along, on Thatchers Lane, fallen. lichen-coated branches, recently at home on dry land, are reflected in their own pools. Drinks cans now bob beside them.

Long haired goats foraged in the grass alongside Fish Street. One inquisitive creature raised its head briefly before getting on with its late lunch.

Sheep sheltering on London Lane wondered why I was standing there getting wet.

At Avon thatchers seemed to have called it a day. It seemed a good idea, so we set off for home.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s nicely matured sausage casserole; crisp roast potatoes; firm Brussels sprouts; and tricolour carrots with which I finished the Malbec.

It Has To Go

As she toured the garden this morning Jackie was struck by the contrast between the number of survivors from spring and summer still blooming –

including clematis Niobe;

fuchsias Delta’s Sarah

and Mrs. Popple;

hebes;

hot lips;

bidens;

pelargoniums;

pansies;

campanulas;

and roses in the Rose Garden –

and the harbingers of spring to come, such as the budding rhododendrons;

the new shoots of Michaelmas daisies;

and the burgeoning mimuluses.

One of Aaron’s tasks was to clear dragons, hanging baskets, and other vulnerable artefacts from beneath the

rather brittle cypress that continually sheds dead branches and therefore has to go. It will be removed later in the week.

As we were planning to venture into the forest this afternoon the skies darkened, the previously still air produced gusts of more than fifty miles an hour, torrential rains fell, and the birds left the front garden feeders. Within half an hour tranquility returned.

Blue tits returned to the suet balls.This bird tried to masquerade as one;

and Ron, as we have named the front garden robin, was able to head for his seed feeder before the sparrows returned to dispossess him. It is almost impossible to distinguish between male and female robins. Should Ron turn out to be a female I guess she will be a Ronette. https://youtu.be/FXlsWB1UMcE

We then did drive into to forest.

Ponies at Norleywood had calmly weathered the storm that had added to

the pool at the corner of St. Leonards Road,

along which, like cannon-shot, clouds sped across the sky,

against which oak tree branches groped gnarled fingers.

It was not yet sunset when we passed St Leonards Grange and the ruins of its ancient grain barn.

Another winterbourne pool on which oak leaves floated reflected the tree limbs and trunks;

a cheerful young girl running down the road was overtaken by a passing car;

and a pheasant was framed by a Star of David.

We drove on past Bucklers Hard, then retuned along St Leonards Road to catch

sunset both at the Grange

and a little further along the road.

This evening we dined on fish pie with Jackie’s succulent ratatouille; crunchy carrots and cauliflower; and tender cabbage, with which we both drank Barefoot Sauvignon Blanc 2016.

Our Joint One Good Knee

Last night I watched a recording of Saturday’s breathtaking rugby match between Wales and South Africa; after lunch today the soporific contest between Scotland and Argentina.
Bright sunshine had taken me into the rather cold garden this morning.

Winter pansies and trailing ivy adorn hanging baskets on the sitting room walls.

Geraniums

and Japanese maples brighten several vistas.

Surprises include lingering snapdragons

and nascent honeysuckle.

Ubiquitous flamboyant fuchsias continue to flounce among the beds.

Clematises needing warmer weather have died back from the gazebo, but the Cirrhosa Freckles will enliven their support right through until spring.

Carpet roses, like this one in the Weeping Birch Bed, pile on the blooms.

Serpentine stemmed bobbles of Japanese anemones cavort before a spider web in the Rose Garden.

A few crinkly leaves are still to fall from the copper beach;

the Weeping Birch has shed all hers.

Being possessed of our one joint good knee, it fell upon Jackie to fit a new toilet seat in the print room.

This evening we dined on Jackies’s splendid lamb jalfrezi with savoury rice followed by profiteroles. My wife drank Hoegaarden; sister Elizabeth drank Hop House lager; and I drank Tesco’s finest Médoc 2016.

A Little Bit O’ Bloomin’ Luck

CLICK ON IMAGES FOR ENLARGEMENT. THOSE IN GROUPS ACCESS GALLERIES THAT CAN BE VIEWED FULL SIZE BY SCROLLING DOWN AND CLICKING ON THE BOX AT BOTTOM RIGHT.

Today began dark, wet, and windy. Thinking we would be unable to do much more in the garden we transported the results of yesterday’s crab apple pruning to Efford Recycling Centre.

As is the Head Gardener’s wont, she bought two more fibreglass faux terra cotta plant pots from the sales area.

The sun did put in brief appearance this afternoon, so I was able to present a snapshot of the first official day of Spring.

Jackie has also started buying plants, like these violas,

and these snake’s head fritillaries just plonked in an urn for the moment.

Both are visible in this shot of the kitchen bed.

These camellias shed their confetti-like petals on the Dead End Path.

Others are visible on either side of the decking in this view beyond Margery’s Bed;

A Pot Of Dragons

Following a request from Paul, I made two more prints for the exhibition today.

This A4 of the shady path on 20th October last year was another I had forgotten,

and we now have an additional A3 copy of the Weeping Birch Bed from 12th March that same year.

Before the welcome rain set in early this afternoon, Jackie planted many flowers, back and front; and we jointly filled and transported to the dump four more large bags of hedge cuttings.

As is her wont, The Head Gardener did not take home an empty car. On our first trip we returned with a hoe, a plant pot rack, and a large plant pot which she filled with a collection of dragons and lotus flowers. Well, they are made of metal, and we do have a Dragon Bed. On our way back from the last trip we bought tw more bags of compost from Otter Nurseries.

Jackie folded a few more flyers for me to distribute locally.

So important is colour in curry that I have often marvelled at those clinging to my empty plate after eating one of Jackie’s authentic meals like tonight’s lamb jalfrezi served with vegetable samosas, chick pea dhal, pilau rice, and parathas. With this wonderful meal Jackie drank Kingfisher, and I finished the madiran. Cremes brûlées were to follow.

Witchcraft

Jackie’s patience in watching the bird table from her kitchen hide has paid off. The two most timid feeders are the woodpecker and the blackbird. Through the glass of the French windows she managed to photograph each of them this morning.

It was a much cooler and duller day today. This afternoon we motored out to Burley to buy birthday presents which cannot yet be revealed in this forum.

Depending on how one defines the term grockle, we, once arch grockles, may no longer warrant this disparaging local term. A grockle, especially in the SW of England, is a tourist or an incomer. It was Hugh Lowther, sometime in the 1970s or ’80s, in Cumbria who first introduced me to the term. Although he had spent much of his life outside the area, he, as the eldest son of the Earl of Lonsdale, could definitely consider himself beyond that epithet.

As we drove into the grocklesville that is the New Forest village of Burley, we speculated that the tourists who swarmed around may be thinking that the forest was a wonderful place and they wanted to live there. And we did live there. We felt sad for them that, as we wandered into the main street with its gift and tea shops, the rain set in. On our way back it was windscreen wipers all the way.

Nevertheless, the brave were tucking into New Forest ice cream.

Burley has a reputation for the occult. Dragons and witches and everything to do with them fill the gift shops. Indeed, when our granddaughter was younger, Jackie bought many a dragon here for Flo, who, at the age of twelve, created her own dragonology website, such was her fascination with the mythical creatures.

The legend of the dragon originated in olden times. There was said to be one living in a lair just outside the village. One local tale is that the monster flew every morning three miles away to Bisterne, where it would be supplied with milk. It was slain by a man who lay in wait for it and administered the decisive thrust whilst the victim was diverted by his two dogs. A pedigree roll preserved at Berkeley Castle contains marginalia relating the story and naming the hero as Sir Maurice Berkeley, lord of the manor of Bisterne in the 15th century.

Legends should be age-old. One could therefore feel a little cheated to learn that the witches of Burley, who one may be forgiven for imagining cast their spells at least as long ago as the seventeenth century, were only one person, and she lived there in the late 1950s, when I was in my teens. To my younger readers this may seem historic, but only if I do. Sybil Leek, a self-styled white witch, lived then in the village, around which she walked with her pet jackdaw, or familiar, on her shoulder, before she moved to America. There are a couple of antique shops selling jewellery among other things. Did the jackdaw, a member of a race of notorious thieves, I wonder, leave a hoard for these shopkeepers to discover and market? And does Sybil retain the power to look down on her one-time home and see the industry she has spawned?

Unable to resist the temptation to serve up my third roast pork dinner in four days, Jackie did so. Rice pudding and custard was to follow. Only I had the custard. It was worth being called a philistine for. I drank some of Terres de Galets cote du Rhone 2012, bottle number 012919. Jackie’s choice was Prestige de Calvet semillon chardonay 2011.