Tag: foal

The Good Samaritan

Late this morning we took a trip to the north of the forest in order to brunch at The Potting Shed Café at Hyde. We had enjoyed it so much on Saturday with Jessie that we wanted to go back.

From Holmsley Passage I photographed some heather scenes for John Corden;

Dog walkers and cyclists made way for us to pass on the road.

We pulled into Smugglers Road carpark to picture standing ponies and a prone foal.

We were some way from our goal when I spotted that we were about to run out of petrol. The only chance of finding any more was to make it to the busy main road to Ringwood. Which we did. And turned left. And ran out of Petrol. Opposite a bus stop.

As we sat wondering who to call,

with the tailback building up behind us while we blocked traffic in each direction while oncoming vehicles paused to allow

those behind us to pass and continue on their way, David came to our rescue. He was on his way home from Ringwood. He turned round, drove Jackie back in the direction from which he had travelled, stopped at a garage where she bought a can and a gallon of fuel which he poured into our tank having driven her back to me sitting in the Hyundai, and waited until our engine fired up at first turn of the key. We couldn’t thank him enough. Next time we travel to Hale from whence he hails we hope to meet him again.

Ponies gathered on the green at North Gorley, and those forcing traffic onto the sward don’t seem to have moved since the 17th.

Splendid sunflowers tower above the fence to The Potting Shed Café, where Jackie produced photographs of both establishment and meals:

she chose very fresh and tasty blue cheese and walnut salad; I enjoyed a repeat of my last meal there:

The Full Works breakfast, with best quality ingredients, and water. In the first picture the hash brown is obscured by the authentic black pudding, and the herby sausage by the bacon in the second.

On our return through Bransgore Jackie photographed Tom and Jerry decorating a postbox.

For a late, light, supper Jackie chose asparagus soup and salad; mine was scrambled egg on toast. I drank water.

The Power Of The Web

As we set out on a still warm, but generally overcast, morning for a

forest drive I noticed a feather hanging above a myrtle bloom.

A pigeon was in no hurry to move out of our way along Lower Pennington Lane, alongside which, from a five barred gate

Jackie photographed moorland, and, on the way back,

I photographed walkers pushing a small baby in a buggy.

Before then, we had watched distant geese approaching, then flying over a walking family. The birds travel every day each way between Christchurch and Lymington, presumably finding regular sustenance. (Enlargement by access to the gallery may make them more visible).

Along St Leonard’s Road Jackie photographed me approaching and leaning on a tree in order to

picture a field horse and foal.

Blackberries are ripening along all the hedgerows.

Jackie also photographed this five-barred gate and its view.

Outside the ancient barn ponies cropped the grass on the verge;the animal in the first picture of this gallery hopefully wet-nosed me as I disembarked; finding I had no treats on offer she

stuck her nose through the open passenger window.

This is what it looked like to Jackie inside, while I wandered off.

Joggers along these narrow lanes take their lives in their hands. Those in the first picture were in Lower Pennington Lane. The woman decided to wait until the two cars had gone by; the one in the second was about to be passed by a large tractor towing a long container vehicle.

When, after an hour and a half, we returned home, the feather, despite the stiff breeze had not detached itself from the almost invisible, sticky, thread that held it. Such is the power of the web.

After lunch I posted

From The Saga Of Dietrich Of Bern

This evening the Culinary Queen served up a meal both colourful and flavoursome consisting of lemon chicken on a bed of rice packed with peas, fava beans, red and yellow peppers, onions, and mushrooms, with which I drank Bajoz Tempranillo 2022.

Fly Whisk Technique

I spent the morning completing my reading of The Nibelunglied.

On a warm, sunny, afternoon we took a forest drive on which ponies were out in force.

On the road outside Brockenhurst I disembarked to visit ponies on the verge.

One indulged in a scratch, while another pair, taking advantage of the

shade of trees practiced the fly whisk head to tail technique.

When I stood a bit close for their comfort, they crossed to the other side of the road, testing the patience of drivers, but not cyclists who can skirt round them.

This year’s foals are growing into their gangly legs.

On the way into Burley another cyclist rounded ponies on the road.

On our return home I published

The Nibelungenlied

This evening we dined on second helpings of Jackie’s cottage pie, fresh carrots, cauliflower, broccoli stems, and green beans with which I drank more of the Malbec.

Damp And Hazy

After stocking up on sausages and salad ingredients at Ferndene Farm Shop we ventured into a soggy forest where steady rain fell in an ever increasing crescendo keeping windscreen wipers in work.

The weather was nevertheless sultry enough for the few ponies we

encountered, despite being decidedly damp,

to continue to be plagued by flies.

Headlights gleamed in the haze of Pound Lane, as heather on the verges did its best to brighten the dreary views.

Later, I published:

The Prose Edda

This evening we dined on pork spare ribs in BBQ sauce from Tesco and chipotle from Lidl, with Jackie’s mushroom and onion rice and tender green and runner beans, with which I drank Castellore The Reprobates Italian red wine.

Equine, Cervine, Bovine, Road Users

We spent the morning in Southampton General Hospital in order for me to have everything tested to see if I was fit for a general anaesthetic for the biopsy set for Tuesday 25th.

Bodily fluids were extracted; internal and external structures and organs were examined; chest hair was shaved to provide points for the application of electrodes; heart and lungs were listened to; surprise was once more expressed at my “perfect blood pressure” (the doctor was 26 and said it was the same as hers) and the paucity of any regular medication; DNA swabs were taken; height and weight measured; family history, including everyone relevant, and all operations under anaesthetic in my own life, beginning with tonsillectomy in 1947, was closely examined and documented. I can only assume I passed so I won’t feel anything on Tuesday.

After lunch we took a forest drive.

Anther photographer watched ponies and a foal on Holmsley Passage. Enlarging the first picture in this gallery will reveal tufts of cotton grass which speckles the boggy moorland sections at this time; the leaves under the rippling stream and the pool on the verge indicate that this terrain has the perfect conditions for its growth.

Further along the Passage a young stag crossed the road and disappeared into the bracken. Note the temporary repairs to the nibbled edges. of the tarmac.

Ponies are beginning to shelter under the trees along Forest Road in anticipation of a further influx of flies.

While I was photographing these ponies, bellowing and thudding calves began running up the road in search of their parents, some of whom accompanied them back down again.

This evening we dined on a meaty pork rib rack in barbecue sauce; wholesome mushroom rice; creamy mashed potato and swede; tender runner beans and spinach, with which I drank more of the Alentejano.

How Many Balls?

On this overcast, imperceptibly drizzly morning I made a good start on reading Jane Eyre for the second time after all but 60 years.

After lunch the sun came out to play with the pink climbers and white solanum on the front garden trellis, as Jackie drove us to Nomansland and back.

Donkeys made a nuisance of themselves on the road at Bramshaw.

A trio of guinea fowl were engaged in their customary pecking up ticks at Nomansland,

while an enforced hiatus in the cricket match in progress was brought about by an injury to a player who received a ball on the forehead. One of the players in the second picture appears to be indicating the point of contact.

The last three pictures in this gallery of the action are Jackie’s. The rest are mine. Those feeling so inclined may count how many balls are in the air in my set. Enlargement in the gallery may be helpful.

The first picture featuring spectators is mine, the other three, by Jackie,

who also photographed scenes in and around the soggy pool, where,

as we were leaving, a pony and her very young foal were to drink. The first five are my pictures, the next five, Jackie’s.

This evening we dined on meaty pork spare ribs; tender green beans; and Jackie’s colourful savoury rice and moist ratatouille.

Avian Backing Notes

We were out early enough in the forest this morning to be held up by children being delivered to schools.

Against the soundtrack of a distant cuckoo’s call ponies breakfasted on the moorland alongside Holmsley Passage, further along which

lay a foal alongside its dam, until I approached too close for comfort, sending it to seek security from her flanks and source of nourishment.

More ponies, still shaggy in winter coats, were gathering on the green at N. Gorley, where a local resident gathered fresh manure with bucket and spade. Here the avian backing notes were provided by the cawing of vociferous rooks.

Jackie photographed a herd of deer lounging beneath trees at Gorley Common. They can be seen roughly central in the first picture.

En route to Ogden’s North her next subject was a rabbit seemingly paralysed at the roadside. She produced the next two in this gallery

while I photographed the rippling stream, its shallow bed, and its clear reflections.

It was the crowing of roosters that rent the air at Hockey’s Farm Shop

where Jackie photographed some shaggy alpacas.

This afternoon I added a lengthy P.S. to https://derrickjknight.com/2021/09/21/a-knights-tale-36-some-schoolmasters/ consisting of further memories of Wimbledon College teachers e-mailed to me by Keith Prince, who joined the school two years after me.

This evening we dined on tasty haddock fish cakes; piquant cauliflower cheese; creamy mashed potato and crunchy carrots, with which I drank more of the Merlot.

A Window Frame

Early this morning Jackie photographed

Ellie, perched on tiptoe and reaching for Norrie on the TV screen.

She then applied her lens to her Morning Glory, and, at the end of our trip out, to the display boxes decorating New Milton’s roads.

After lunch, before our drive, she drove me to Sears Barbers for a haircut and photographed the process.

We returned along the coast road where I undertook the photography. Despite the ever stiffening breeze blowing off the Solent, still sporting my shirtsleeves, and having rather less hair covering, I was perfectly warm on the clifftop.

The Isle of Wight, The Needles, and the lighthouse with its red eye, stood out in the gloom,

as did the Hurst lighthouse.

Churning waves sped across the sea to the rocks beneath the crumbling cliff,

cleaving the line of breakwaters.

Walkers along the promenade passed thrift resisting the wind.

The sun occasionally glinted on the sea surface smooth enough for yachting.

On our return home a pony crossed Forest Road.

Beside Holmsley Camp Site ponies shared the landscape with English Longhorn and Belted Galloway cattle and their usual crows;

one foal made a beeline for a feed.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s tasty fusilli Bolognese and Parmesan cheese with which she drank Silvaner Spätlese Rheinhessen 2020, and I drank Selone Cabernet Zinfandel 2021.

Forced Eviction

After buying three large bags of compost at Ferndene Farm Shop Jackie and I took a brief forest drive.

Obscure figures beneath a railway bridge outside Brockenhurst, seeming to create traffic chaos, caused me to disembark and walk

along the heather and bramble lined verge

for a slightly clearer view.

Until I adjusted my vision and lightened the camera’s view the first two shots of this pony and foal’s mutual grooming were reminiscent of the days before single lens reflex equipment helped us cope with parallax and subjects were decapitated or only showed their legs (only those of a certain age will understand this).

For those too young to know this is what could happen in the 1950s.

The pony looked as if it had either wallowed in a mud bath or had been dowsed with the contents of a paint can.

Meanwhile, traffic in both directions, their passengers smiling and aiming their mobiles, carefully negotiated the ponies and each other.

Soon, what I took to be equine reinforcements arrived.

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No. This was a stand-off resulting in a forced eviction.

Flo, Dillon, and Ellie having taken a late lunch to set them on their way to a three day house hunting trip to Scotland did not join us for tonight’s dinner consisting of a repeat of yesterday’s flavoursome Fusilli Bolognese with which Jackie drank more of the French rosé and I drank François Dubessy GSM 2021.

Most Dispirited

The unexpected gales of Anthony, the first ever UK named August storm, wreaked havoc throughout the night.

Jackie has repaired her ceramic owl wind-chimes on countless occasions, but this crashing onto the patio paving, just a day after she had last glued the myriad of pieces together left it beyond further repair, and her most dispirited. The woven ring is Flo’s work.

The rain eased for the morning. By late afternoon we set out on a shopping trip to Tesco, during which an almighty hatful more, despite being repeatedly replenished, was

thrown down on shoppers, trolleys, and cars alike.

Soon sunshine vied for dominance with the rain.

Wet ponies along Forest Road continued with the important work of stocking up on grass

alongside a new stream running down the moorland slope.

On our return along Forest Road ponies ran up the hill while a young woman, having passed both us and them, ran down.

This evening we all dined on Tesco’s spicy burgers; fried onions; sandwich gherkins; and French fries, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the GSM.