Knowing that our comparatively sunny morning would become less pleasant during the afternoon, we followed a Tesco shopping trip with a forest drive.
The recent damp weather has added layers of moss to the decaying fallen wood gradually playing its part in forestry ecology. From the Mill Lawn car park I wandered just a few surrounding yards to record some of the changes since the larger trees first fell a year or so ago.
Clopping on the tarmac and thudding on the terrain, a motley variety of ponies wandered along and across Forest Road.
This evening we dined on the core of Jackie’s chicken and vegetable stewp with the addition of fresh ingredients that developed the taste. I finished the Shiraz and no-one else wanted any.
Power was returned to Elizabeth’s home during the night. After lunch she returned to sort things out then join us for dinner before settling back into Burnt House Lane.
Our storms seem to be over, and we enjoyed a much brighter afternoon when we shopped at Ferndene then continued on a forest drive.
Along Lyndhurst Road
A newly broken tree prompted me to disembark beneath Lucy Hill and explore this microcosm of forest ecology. Storm Franklin could not uproot this small oak, but it was strong enough to shatter the trunk and leave it standing where it will stay until it gradually disintegrates.
Previous skeletal remains are never far from each new casualty
gradually returning to the soil from whence it sprang years before.
Another giant, clearly hollowed with age has received it last push to crash to the ground, breaking up already dead timber.
The mossy roots and sturdy trunk of this large oak seem firm enough, but one long branch now leans against it.
Shadows fell across the slopes of the hill.
Further along the road, also bearing shadows on its verges
a really massive fallen oak must have blocked the thoroughfare until really heavy vehicles left their tracks in the churned up mud. Trees still standing were reflected in the overnight rain pool beside the huge pat of rooted soil.
On our way home a pair of ponies crossed from the sunlit side of Rhinefield Road onto the more shady area.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s tasty sausages in red wine; creamy mashed potatoes; firm Brussels sprouts; and crunchy carrots and cauliflower, followed by mixed fruit crumble and ice cream. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden, Elizabeth finished the Toscana, and I drank more of the Douro.
By 9.30 a.m. this morning an early haze was beginning to lift. In an attempt to catch it we set off at that time on a forest drive.
When we reached Holmsley Passage
the weak sun was soon swimming in swirling watercolour washes of ochre and indigo. It remained beneath them for the rest of the day.
I disembarked to photograph the fresh gorse and aged bracken tinged landscape, taking the opportunity to greet a passing pedestrian.
Our next stop was at Bisterne Close where a glimpse of distant cattle in the woodland tempted me to venture after them.
This involved following their tracks through the trees. I considered myself fortunate that the mud had dried, yet was still friable enough to be safe to walk on without twisting an ankle.
The lowing of the cattle; the sweet music of birdsong; the thudding of a squirrel, were soon joined by
the shrill neighing of a few ponies making their way along a wide footpath.
I spent some time standing beneath these trees wondering what was engaged in spring cleaning above me before I discerned a grey squirrel cleaning out its larder. It didn’t pose for a picture. Neither had the robin whose sweet melody had kept me similarly searching a thorn bush on Holmsley Passage. I was eventually able to identify the singer which remained camouflaged by twiggy branches.
Many trees bore knobbly excrescences suggestive of further forest fauna.
As always there were ample examples of sylvan ecological process as fallen moss-covered branches decomposed providing breeding ground for fungi and numerous insects.
Ponies had the woodland alongside Mill Lane to themselves.
Again, there were plenty of arboreal contributions to the future life of the forest.
The rich chestnut ditchwater alongside Mill Lane may have been the reason the grey pony chose to leap across it to reach the other side of the road.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s hot and spicy chicken jalfrezi, aromatic savoury rice, and vegetable samosas, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Cabernet Sauvignon.
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This morning I tidied up the Head Gardener’s Walk. It was becoming a little overgrown.
This was the result.
Apart from a brief spell of sunshine when I was carrying out this task, today was very dull and overcast. It was not the afternoon to go in search of a field of bluebells – especially as we didn’t find it.
We understood that it was part of Ballard Water Meadow and Woodland.
So dry has been our month of April, that the streams that cross the area are all but dried up.
Conservation has been in progress for some years. A footpath, logging, and cutting back of undergrowth beside the main ditch provide evidence of industry.
A handful of small black cattle sat around chewing the cud as I left Jackie sitting on a bench and went off on a bluebell hunt. The beasts contributed plentiful pats as their contribution to the ecology.
The cows quietly tolerated the flies crawling around their eyes.
Many dog walkers availed themselves of the pet-emptying facility.
I continued in search of the elusive bluebell field, and settled for the odd clump of the English variety – not the Spanish Armada.
I reached a man-made lake with its share of water fowl and reflections of nearby buildings.
Unfortunately there was a smattering of litter in the surrounding woodland,
and in the lake itself.
The Maltesers container lay at the edge. A couple of bottles stood up in the water. Was there a message in this?
On my return the cattle had risen to their feet and started foraging.
This evening we dined at The Crown Inn at Everton. I chose well-filled steak and kidney pudding with carrots and swede wrapped in a cabbage leaf, chips and gravy. Jackie chose duck with noodles, stir-fry vegetables and hoisin sauce. Desserts were respectively bread and butter pudding with pomegranate seeds floating in creme Anglaise, and sticky toffee pudding with vanilla ice cream. Jackie drank draught Becks, and I began with a glass of Brown Brothers Everton Red, which was accurately described as having the flavours of the hedgerow. My second glass was the well-tried Mendoza Argentinian Malbec.
