Ferndene Farm Shop – derrickjknight

Garden Refuse

On this very warm and sunny morning Jackie and I packed 23 more spent compost bags of green waste into our uncomplaining little i10 Hyundai and transported them to Efford Recycling Centre, formerly the Council Dump.

Later, in the afternoon, we visited Ferndene Farm Shop to purchase various provisions and

three more bags of compost.

I have recently begun reading “The Berlin Diaries of Marie Vassiltchikov” and will be drafting the review, on which I made a start today, as I go along.

This evening we dined on Ferndene’s meaty pork and chives sausages; boiled potatoes; particularly flavoursome mushrooms and Brussels sprouts; firm carrots and cauliflower.

Riding Round Potholes

On a grey but dry morning of intermittent sunshine Jackie and I shopped at Ferndene Farm Shop, then brunched at Lakes View Café before taking a forest drive.

The verge fronting the shop’s chicken fields accommodating a ditch is decorated with daffodils bowed by raindrops.

A few ponies grazed the landscape alongside Holmsley Passage

on which an equestrienne group rode among the potholes pictured yesterday, where

Jackie photographed an elf’s lost hat draped on a post.

Later we saw them, all unscathed, gathering on the moorland.

Still shaggy ponies foraged alongside Wootton Road, where,

the post box still celebrates St Patrick’s Day.

This evening we all dined on meaty Ferndene Pork Sausages; creamy mashed potatoes of white and sweet variety; crunchy carrots; firm cauliflower; and tender broccoli stems with which Jackie, Ian , and Dillon drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of La P’tite Piérre.

A Period Of Reflection

During a deceptive spell of sunshine between lashing gales sending floodwater pools from fields and moorland flowing across verges and resurfacing tarmac now streaming car headlights we drove to Ferndene Farm Shop to purchase items for tonight’s dinner.

Early on, bare branches stretched out against a deceptive sky.

Reflecting pools in the shop carpark evidenced the heavy rainfall;

cut chrysanthemums, packed kindling wood and seasoned logs, bulbs potted for planting, and above all

Christmas trees fast being scooped up indicated the time of year at the popular Ferndene Farm Shop. Wet surfaces did not deter shoppers enjoying the comparatively warm and dry moments, yet these people were soon dashing to there cars, as was Jackie, emerging with her shopping beneath heavy precipitation with the force of sleet which

bounced off the road surface as we left the outlet. This was to continue until we arrived home, when it eased enough for us to dash in with our purchases.

Even at mid-morning headlights were necessary, if only to highlight the deeper pools to avoid, given that we could not now be sure how deep were the proliferating potholes which would set our vehicles shuddering as we showered others.

Ponies, like these alongside Brockenhurst Road, ignored the rain, relied on towelling hide to keep their innards dry, and continued tugging the soggy sward.

Further along the road floodwater erased division of moorland and road. Notice the half-submerged gate to a path across the common. Both the approaching vehicles avoided the deeper section. I made sure I kept well back from this point when

I stepped out for a period of reflection.

Rain continued as we waited for traffic lights at the end of Hordle Lane,

and even hammered down on this tree surgeon in Everton Road who would not give up.

This evening we all dined on Ferndale’s meaty pork and garlic sausages; creamy mashed potatoes; crunchy carrots; tasty mac and cheese; tender cabbage and green beans, and substantial gravy with which I drank Calvet Prestige Côtes du Rhône Villages 2022.

Liquid Pearls

During the early part of this wet day I recovered the photographs and set header pictures for the following posts:

The Moment

Hopping From Seat To Seat

Light rain did not deter Martin from applying his grouting to the patio. First he three times pressure cleaned the paving, spraying the cracks between them and locating the “hot spots” to ensure the correct depths would be filled. Far from being problematic, the precipitation aided the process, providing a temporary rainbow effect.

Having left Flo, Dillon, and Ellie to brunch at Camellia’s Café in Everton Nursery, Jackie and I acquired provisions at Ferndene Farm Shop where I photographed

Fire logs and kindling alongside cut tulips and other flowers and

potted chrysanthemums.

Trays of bedding plants such as these primulas,

and pansies, and hyacinths, some of which bore their own liquid pearls.

Jackie deposited me at home and continued along Christchurch Road to collect the young family.

Once the day’s drizzle had desisted I made further inroads on the debris behind the oil tank and shed, transporting more to the Shady Path.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s wholesome chicken and vegetable stewp and fresh crusty bread with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Mendoza Malbec 2021.

Avian Antipodeans

Ian joined us after lunch when Jackie and I bought provisions from Ferndene Farm Shop, where I

photographed their displays of bedding plants and cut flowers.

We then took a drive into the forest where daffodils enhance many verges.

Jackie caught me in her wing mirror returning from photographing a bank of them off Ringwood Road.

She also photographed a pheasant inspecting a log, while I focussed upon a group of fidgety rheas.

Flo has spent some time during the last two days raking up branches felled by recent storms and

piling them up at the end of the back drive.

This evening we dined on Becky’s succulent roast chicken; technicolour carrots; firm broccoli and tasty gravy; with Jackie’s crisp roast potatoes. Mrs Knight and Mr Steele both drank Côtes de Provence Rosé 2020; Becky and I both drank La Orphic Monastrell 2020.

Cheered Up By Sunset

Today began unpromisingly dull and wet. I scanned the last few colour slides from

Abney Park Cemetery in May 2008. The second image and

the two which follow have been converted to black and white. The first of these shows a typically decorated capital. The second is the Pesman family grave. According to jacobstree.co.uk Frederic Adolphus senior, originally an artificial flower maker, lived for 81 years. His wives, Agnes Susan née Peak, daughter of a builder; Mary Ann, née Bulford; and some of his children were not so fortunate. The last name on the stone, obscured by ivy is probably the son of Frederick and Agnes who, along with two sisters, did not survive early infancy. Two of their daughters did survive, one to be 90.

Before lunch we drove to Ferndene Farm Shop and bought a Christmas tree, the needles of which

attempted to spear me on the way home.

The weather gradually improved this afternoon when we drove into the forest.

Barrows Lane is becoming soggy. Jackie parked on the verge while I photographed the landscape including two field horses in bright red and blue rugs.

By sunset over Hatchet Pond the skies had really cheered up.

When I came to draft this post I was hard put to distinguish between Jackie’s and my shots. The second gallery images are, I believe, those of the able Assistant Photographer, who,

driving home, metamorphosed into my Chauffeuse, and parked at East Boldre while I photographed

the remnants of the sunset reflected in a Winterbourne pool

and providing a backcloth for skeletal trees.

For dinner this evening Jackie provided lamb jalfrezi, mushroom rice topped with slices of boiled egg, and vegetable samosas. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Coonawarra.

“Go Round Us”

This morning we righted the fallen pots in the garden before visiting Ferndene Farm Shop where

Jackie joined the masked queue. I have her word that she was smiling in the last picture.

The shopping went quite smoothly. Afterwards we took a drive into the forest by way of

Holmsley Passage which was already becoming quite busy.

Heather enhanced the moorland landscape and the vibrant verges.

Other vehicles, walkers, and cycling groups needed to be negotiated.

As we reached the end of this narrow, winding, lane this family group who we had allowed to go ahead hadn’t yet decided which way to go. Left would have taken them to Burley; right was the road to Brockenhurst; straight on was the route to Bisterne Close. Jackie decided she would go one of the ways they didn’t. They went straight on; we turned right and stopped at

the pool on the way up Clay Hill. Jackie parked by the roadside while I wandered around photographing the water, the reflections, the woodland, and its shadows. I found a metal dog tag with a local phone number stamped on it. I phoned the owner and left a message explaining where I would lodge it.

After this we thought that Bisterne Close might have been clear of the cyclists and wended our way back there where ponies, their foals, and cattle happily shared the road.

Another group of ponies were not about to cede ground to the motor vehicle. One driver left his car and attempted to clap them out of the way. They must have thought they were being applauded, for they didn’t budge. Cajoling had no better effect; the car horn was tried next. Eventually the unspoken message “go round us” was heeded.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s classic cottage pie; pleasantly chewy curly kale; and crunchy carrots with which she drank Beck’s and I drank Carles Priorat 2016.

Continuing To Cater

This was another fine, but cool, day.

As usual when Jackie stepped out of the stable door to fill the robin family’s breakfast tray

Nugget appeared in the wisteria before she had opened the cereal jar.

Soon after the Head Gardener had attended to her ever-multiplying avian infants we set out on what was planned as a garden centre crawl. In fact there was such a dearth of bedding plants which were all we could possibly make room for, that we stopped at two.

Ferndene Farm Shop presented its usual, smoothly moving, orderly queues, masked members maintaining mandatory distance. I loaded bags of compost while Jackie paid for it and added a considerable quantity of bird food.

The next stop was Redcliffe, where there was no queue

and Jackie acquired a few flowers. Needless to say, like all other eating places, the Tea Room was closed.

This afternoon I dead-headed a number of roses.

The climber on the front trellis isn’t quite ready for the treatment, neither is

Perennial Blush along the back drive.

Also in the front garden we have calendula Orange Flush and deep red sweet William. The Euphorbia Mellifera in the background is just one of those we have whose honeyed scent lives up to its name.

The large blousy orange poppy, now past her bloom of youth nurtures a bud to take her place, while

the fully mature rose Margaret Merrill shares her bed with crisp offspring, with younger buds, and with an older relative whose time is done.

This was past siskin siesta time, so greenfinches were up and about drawing upon verdant leaves for camouflage. The clamour of a host of birds and their young filled the air around me.

The owls in this view of the Weeping Birch Bed looking northwards remain silent.

The peach rose beside the patio is pretty prolific.

If this is a bee on an erigeron

what is this?

Nugget Junior now fends for himself

while his Dad continues

to cater for his younger brothers and sisters.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s wholesome chicken, bacon, and vegetable soup with crusty bread from the freezer, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the El Zumbido.

A Mating Ritual

I accompanied Jackie on her Ferndene Farm shop trip this morning.

There was no queue for the food shopping, so Jackie did that first before joining

the line of plant lovers, Masks were more in evidence today.

Jackie’s floral purchases were limited because there was only one empty plant tray and the trollies were all in use.

Afterwards we drove on to Tesco to fill up with petrol. There was no queue there either.

Ballards Lake lies alongside Fernhill Road on the outskirts of New Milton. Jackie parked first in Brook Avenue, then in Lake Grove Road while I wandered with my camera.

Residents of Brook Avenue enjoy

blooming bluebells enhancing a splendid woodland view from the fronts of their houses.

One woman seemed to be returning home from a walk with her dog.

Perhaps she had availed herself of the dog poop bin alongside the dappled footpath leading to a bridge over

a shallow stream which

in parts is quite rock dry.

The shadow in this picture is that of another bridge, the crossing of which leads into the

woodland path along which I stood aside for a couple of dog walkers who thanked me for doing so.

The stream featured here is meant to flow under Fernhill Road to link with Ballards Lake.

In fact it is so dry that a scummy surface scarcely swirls after dribbling from drying rocks beneath

the lakeside bridge, one of which posts sports

a child’s sun hat.

I watched a young woman photographing a young child on the far bank.

Later her group seemed to have spotted something – perhaps the infant had gone wandering.

The lake’s surface bore a number of reflections.

On my circumperambulation (yes, I have coined this word) I spoke to several people at a safe distance. The couple above welcomed my attention because the gentleman enjoys the same enthusiasm.

The old gold bands seen curling round the limbs of these oak boughs above the dog walkers were gently rippling reflections from the wake of mallards and their

ducklings.

I think this was a friendly thrush that greeted me. I would be grateful for any birder letting me know otherwise. (I am reliably informed by John Knifton that this is a dunnock – thanks a lot, John)

The screeching black headed gulls that dominated the orchestra around the lake seemed not so friendly.

In fact the name of this avian species is quite misleading. Their heads are chocolate brown rather than black, and even then only during the summer when their white pates develop this pigmentation.

A considerable about of squawking came from their open beaks.

Some adopted the apparently subservient prone shuffle we had seen in our pigeon day or so ago. Here was another mating ritual.

This evening we dined on a spicy pizza with fresh salad included very flavoursome Ferndene Farm Shop Isle of Wight tomatoes. Jackie drank more of the Sauvignon Blanc while I drank Dornfelder Rheinhessen dry red wine 2018.

Pannage Has Begun

We began this hot and sunny late summer’s day with a trip to Ferndene Farm Shop. Normally, when we visit this splendidly stocked and very reasonably priced outlet we do so in order to buy compost and manage to come away with plants as well. Today the process was reversed.

We came for pansies and salad, to which we added

three bags of Violet Farm compost.

Afterwards we continued into the forest by way of Bickley Common Road.

We lunched at The Old Station Tea Rooms at Holmsley. The building is swathed in scaffolding at the moment, so we were served from the station kiosk and ate outside where wearing a jacket was being overdressed.

While waiting for our meals I focussed on some of the old advertising signs.

Jackie enjoyed the Station Master’s Rarebit, namely cheese on mustard toast, topped with bacon and a fried egg, garnished with liberal salad. My equally satisfying meal consisted of beef and mushroom pie, chips, carrots, peas, and leeks with a small jug of gravy. My Chauffeuse drank coffee while I drank sparkling water.

A not unusual, but rather incongruous, trio of ponies did their best to block Chapel Lane at the junction with Burley Lawn.

As so often, a visiting driver left her car and photographed the animals.

Further along the road, like me, she clicked on Tamworth pigs trotting along.

The other woman watching was a German visitor whose brother-in- law had brought her to see the spectacle that signalled that pannage had begun. As she petted a particularly muddied pig she seemed unperturbed by her increasingly clarty clothing.

Back home an only slightly tattered Painted Lady swayed with the verbena bonarensis,

and a bluebottle settled on an Erigeron.

The Yorkist Penny Lane shares its ascendancy with the Lancastrian Super Elfin.

Jackie wandered around, trowel in hand, wondering where to plant this new clematis.

Nugget was on hand with helpful suggestions. He becomes most excited at the sight of plant and trowel. In fact he can’t wait to beat the plant into the hole.

Now “Where’s Nugget?” (22)

This evening we dined on small portions of pepperoni pizza and salad with which Jackie drank Blue Moon and I drank Doom Bar.

Afterwards I watched the recorded highlights of the second day of the fifth Ashes Test match.