Back With Foal

Heavy rain and violent winds raged throughout the night and until midday, after which the cloud canopy cracked revealing a range of skyscapes such as these over Beaulieu Heath on our forest drive this afternoon.

Before this we dumped the rest of our garden refuse in the Efford Recycling Centre and returned home with

two rusty obelisks which took up rather a lot of room in the car.

Having cleaned ourselves up a bit we continued on up South Sway Lane where, yesterday I had been unable to identify the mare at the far end of the field occupied earlier in the year by the horse we had named Gimlet.

The field had been empty and unkempt since before lockdown, but a new fence had been built around it. The mare and her foal were nearer my vantage point today.

There was no mistaking those gimlet eyes or the rear white socks, although they had been decidedly grey during the muddy season. This was indeed our equine friend

back home with a foal whose eyes left no doubt about its parentage.

Further along the lane I noticed an unusual fungus decorating an oak tree.

We returned home via Rodlease Lane

and East Boldre where a group of ponies seemed to be debating how to spring a cousin enclosed beyond a second gate at the end of a mowed stretch of ground.

One of the East End llamas was trying out a mudpack.

This evening we dined on Hordle Chinese Take Away’s excellent fare with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Shiraz.

Norwegian Rocks

On another bright morning, in preparation for tomorrow’s booked slot in the recycling centre, I carried the next batch of garden refuse bags to the far end of the back drive. We then drove to the pharmacy at Milford on Sea to collect repeat prescriptions, and back along the coast road.

A number of walkers were enjoying our sunny spell. (The lone woman was photographed by Jackie).

Serious erosion continues to pare away at the cliffs. The gentleman in the yellow jacket here was my informant on the subject of the ongoing

sea defence work being undertaken by Earlcote. The huge blocks of stone being transported by a fleet of container trucks, grabbed, and released into place by powerful equipment have been shipped all the way from Norway. These photographs are the result of my collaboration with the Assistant Photographer who is credited appropriately in the gallery titles.

I didn’t have anything to do with this one.

We continued inland to South Sway Lane to collect three bags of horse manure which I later added to the compost bins. In these times of Covid we were both pleased to note that we have not lost our senses of smell.

The far end of the field opposite now holds a horse and foal. The mare kept her back turned, so I couldn’t tell whether it was Gimlet or not.

We filled up with petrol at Loaders Garage in Bashley, where I photographed a vintage car for the amusement of my American readers, one of whom may be able to identify the vehicle.

This evening we dined on another sitting of Jackie’s splendid lamb jalfrezi, turmeric tinted boiled rice, and plain paratha, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Malbec.

Starring Seed Pods

Today, by our standards, unseasonably hot for September, was definitely one for sprinkling the garden.

Even the wicker owl appreciated its shower.

By late morning we had become too heated to complete our work on pruning, cutting up, and composting the wisteria, seen here from above and below.

While taking the overhead wisteria pictures I added some more general aerial shots;

back at ground level the Brick Path and its arches; and the Gazebo Path, returning to my puzzle theme with “Where’s Jackie?” (5);

and the Triangular Bed beside the iron urn.

Today’s starring seed pods are on an ornamental allium.

The temperature rose as the day progressed; the sun became veiled by voluminous hazy clouds; the atmosphere increasingly oppressive. Late in the afternoon, in order to shake us from somnolent stupor we drove to Ferndene Farm Shop to buy some vegetables and eggs. There were no eggs.

For the last week or so, this outlet has been selling live chickens from its stock in the next door field. This has been because the older poultry do not lay in the quantity needed for a commercial enterprise. They are replaced by younger models and offered for reduced domestic production. Apparently the new birds haven’t yet got into the swing of things.

Afterwards we took a drive into the forest.

Along Holmsley Passage, tails constantly whisking, ponies dotted the landscape.

So it was for the rest of our journey, for example along Bisterne Close where we encountered

a mare and foal. Like all the youngsters, the stubby little tail didn’t seem adequate for seeing off the flies

and this infant had me backing off at a rate of knots in order to maintain focus as it attempted to brush off its flies with my beard.

On our return via Holmsley Passage ponies slaked their thirst in the rapidly diminishing wayside pool.

This evening we dined on Mr Chan’s Hordle Chinese Take Away’s excellent fare with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Bordeaux.

Girls Also Need Sticks

This morning I almost completed my draft of tomorrow’s scheduled post.

This afternoon Jackie drove me to Rans Wood where I walked for 35 minutes. The wood lies at the end of Furzey Lodge which is a continuation of Furzey Lane near Beaulieu.

First we needed to negotiate our way through the narrow lodge lane which was blocked by a group of self-appointed equine guardians including a foal.

Passing a landscape viewed from the entrance to the car park I reproduced a number of woodland scenes.

Watching cyclists struggling up the slope I descended gave me an idea of the effort I would require on the ascent, but in the event it wasn’t too arduous.

Some bicyclists paused to chat with walkers, as did

this mother forced to carry her daughter’s stick. I told her I had only yesterday been debating (with Jackie) whether or not it was only boys who needed sticks with which to bash and poke things. Apparently not.

Other pedestrians caught my eye along the way;

it was the gleeful sounds of children which led me to one friendly family group with whom I chatted before they set off back up the path.

A dry ditch runs alongside the slope. Without this diversion I would not have seen the dregs of the stream that it would no doubt feed in wetter periods.

In addition to those happy cries, subdued chirping of birds, the faint thuds of early acorns thumping the turf, and the gentle soughing of the wind in the trees produced a potential symphony requiring a more competent musician than I to compose.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy pasta arrabbiata with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Montepulciano.

A Vehicular Stand-off

A week or so ago I searched for a phone ringing to my right. I went through jacket pockets, opened cupboards etc – all to no avail. A while later the same thing happened. Jackie picked up the phone to my left which I thought had been silent. It was then I realised that the surfeit of wax in my left ear was now affecting my hearing; and I hadn’t imagined I would be unable to detect sound direction. This morning I kept an appointment for clearance at the Milford on Sea ear clinic. Most of the stubborn substance was removed, but I was given a date for another visit to complete the job.

We abandoned the idea of a walk along the clifftop because the car parks were filling up fast

and masks were not much in evidence.

Some couples were content to stand and stare at the pastel shades of the Isle of Wight and Hurst Castle in the haze that had set the fog warning sounding during the early hours.

We then tried Keyhaven where we were unable to park even if we had wished to scramble past visitors.

We proceeded along Saltgrass Lane to the spit which was again becoming decidedly overcrowded with visitors, some of whom were unaware that the shallows would deepen when the tide came in.

Once the lane bends to the right past the bridge the only possible passing spaces on what becomes a one track road would be the verges. These were all occupied by parked vehicles.

We soon approached a vehicular stand-off. The dark blue car in front of us sat nose to nose with the light blue model. The third picture in this series shows the intimacy of the snogging session. Eventually, seen in the next two shots, a mid-blue vehicle prised itself from its tight spot, leaving the lighter one the challenge of squeezing itself in. My maternal grandfather was fond of asking anyone who leapt into his vacant chair “would you be in my grave as quick?”. This driver was very unlikely to complete the manoeuvre with any turn of speed. We didn’t wait to see. We just got the hell out of there and went home to lunch.

During the afternoon we engaged in more sweltering watering and dead-heading activities until, early in the evening we drove for a while around the lanes less travelled.

In a field alongside Rodlease Lane

a group of small breeds of pony, one of whom studied us mournfully from behind the barbed wire fence.

In Brockenhurst it was the turn of ponies to block the road, one rather underfed mare still suckling her offspring.

Another had the good sense to stick to the woodland verges.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s succulent sausage casserole; crispy duchess potatoes; and crunchy cauliflower and broccoli, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Mendoza Argentine Malbec 2018.

Summer Holidays In The Woods

In an effort to avoid the holiday traffic and the intensely hot sapping humidity of the day we set off for a forest drive at 8 a.m.

Beside Ober Water which passes under Rhinefield Road ponies quietly grazed, cattle strode purposefully, cyclists and cars sped along;

sunshine dappled the woodland, reflecting trees and skies on the surface of shallow, bubbling, water

from which a splashing, excited, dog time and again retrieved a soggy tossed tennis ball.

Three different shoes and a rather useful looking pan had all been abandoned on the banks;

as they swooped from tree to tree and hunted among the roots I witnessed ample evidence that robins spend their summer holidays in the woods.

Cattle drank from the stream.

Early bracket fungus stepped up trunks further along Rhinefield Road;

bracken pierced the shadows along Mill Lane

where walkers and dogs were beginning to wander.

On Bisterne Close an inquisitive foal left its mother’s flanks in order to investigate the warm bonnet of our Modus. It took a loud application of a certain amount of vroom to shift the mohican-coiffed youngster.

Purple heather, such as this beside Holmsley Passage among which a lone walker tramps is brightening daily.

As usual, clicking on any image will access its gallery, individual members of which can be viewed full size and further enlarged if required.

Even when entering the garden for a watering session we were hit by a blast furnace, and the library dehumidifier required emptying twice today, when normally once every two days may suffice.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s luscious liver and bacon casserole; creamy mashed potatoes, crunchy carrots; and tender green beans with which I drank Carles Priorat 2016, and the Culinary Queen abstained.

The Toughest Test Yet

Yesterday’s rain had desisted and sun was permitted the occasional appearance when we took a drive into the forest this afternoon.

A pony and foal had peeled off a group on Wootton Common alongside Holmsley Road. They held up the traffic on the opposite verge, until the mare abandoned the youngster who took some time to realise it had been left alone. Meanwhile the others were making their way through the shrubbery. Junior then trotted delicately back across the road and trailed after the others.

More ponies grazed among the forest trees along Rhinefield Road;

others set up barriers along the Linwood Road which is so narrow that it has designated passing places cut into the moorland.

We passed through Appleslade where walkers could be seen atop a hillside.

It was four and a half years ago, as featured in https://derrickjknight.com/2016/01/14/rockford-common/ that Becky had led me up the side of Rockford Sandpit.

The dead tree I had photographed on that occasion was still standing.

Today a group of children were engaged in what one is expected to do in a sandpit.

A small family were making the descent.

I determined to take the more sensible route up a winding, more gently sloping, solid path. It was easy enough to steer clear of the other climbers.

I photographed just one of the ponies at the top of Rockford Common, the distant landscape, the purple heather, and the browning bracken, before returning by the same route. This had been the toughest test of my new knees yet.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s succulent sausage casserole; creamy mashed potato; crunchy carrots and broccoli; and tender runner and green beans. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Pinot Noir.

A Modern Day Drove

Beneath cloudless cerulean skies we took an early drive into the forest this morning.

A cool breeze blew along sun-dappled lanes like these named

Rodlease

and Church.

At a corner of the latter a tractor ploughed a field some distance from a couple of grazing workhorses within view of adjacent woodland.

Along the road to Beaulieu a number of pools scooped out by generally regular rains have been dry for most of this year, which must be disappointing for

foraging ponies and their foals.

Peering ahead along St Leonard’s Road we discerned that a developing traffic delay had been caused by a modern day cattle drove executed in a more comfortable manner than the cowboys of old by a couple of motorised farmers herding them to their home field fronting the Isle of Wight. At one point I disembarked and attempted to keep pace with the animals while slaloming round splatted pats littering the tarmac. I had no chance of catching them.

Further along the lane a familiar string of ponies trotted on the edge of the verge. The little Shetland had no trouble holding its own.

We carried out a late afternoon watering session before dining on Jackie’s splendid chilli con carne and my plain boiled rice, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Rioja.

Pony Tracks

On another dank day I worked in the morning on one of Jackie’s treasures.

This tiny 5cm x 7cm print of Flo as a baby was made by Becky in about 1997. It seemed in need of a certain amount of refurbishment.

I scanned it,

freshened it up a bit, and made a print of 5in x 7in. The original remains displayed on its stand. Our granddaughter is grasping “Wat”, a toy rat given by Alda.

Had it really been a late afternoon in autumn when we took a drive into the forest the light would have been so much brighter that the oppressive leaden gloom we experienced.

I disembarked from just outside Burley where I communed with

three ponies as they wandered backwards and forwards across the road and into the landscape, rich in heather and gorse. Already the bracken was acquiring tints of burnished gold normally associated with September. Cattle were also to be seen in the murky distance. I found the ponies’ well- trodden tracks quite helpful as I traversed the lumpy terrain.

A little nearer the village we passed a mare and foal foraging on the verge. Naturally Jackie parked where she could and I walked back with my camera.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy lamb jalfrezi and tasty savoury rice with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Saint Emilion. I was also treated to what we must now call the Culinary Queen’s chilli bhaji, the purpose of which is to perk up my portion. The rice was fried in the same oil as had been the bhaji. For Jackie this was unfortunate – not so for me.

“Three!?”

Needless to say, the BT e-mail problem that, four days ago, I had been promised would be resolved within 72 hours was not. I therefore spent an hour on the phone this morning, first with an advisor in Belfast, then with one in Cardiff. I won’t bore you with the details, save to say that when back running I had 997 e-mails to check.

Later, Shelly and Ron visited with presents for Jackie’s birthday which it is today;

and to enjoy a guided garden tour. Further details of the pictures are given on the gallery which can be accessed by clicking on any image.

A few days ago I had given Jackie a Birthday Card using a print of a mushroom made by Matthew Chalk of https://www.blackstone-chalk.co.uk and his nine year old son, Arthur.

“I want one”. She had said. I kept shtum.

A day or so later I mentioned that I wanted her to take us for a drive today. She did. To Matthew’s workshop in Tunbridge near Romsey.

The first squeal of delight came when I pointed out the mushrooms I had commissioned, and said “Happy Birthday”. She picked one up, carried it to the car, and returned to bid farewell to Matthew and Arthur who kept their physical distance.

“What about the other two?”, I asked.

“Three!?” came with the second squeal.

At the moment they stand on the patio – a temporary home so Jackie can see them through the sitting room window.

On our return home we took a turn through the forest via Minstead, where

two ponies attempted to enter the car. Note the flies on the first one’s nose as she asks Jacke for entry. The other tried the windscreen, then turned to the driver’s window. Jackie wasn’t quick enough to close her window before her visitor started scratching its chin on the glass.

Leaving the village taking the lane to the Emery Down way we greeted two cyclists, the second towing a trailer containing two little boys. Note the rhododendron Ponticum which currently lines many of the hedgerows. Muffins, the thatched house and garden, was Jackie’s favourite house when we lived in Castle Malwood Lodge.

Further along we encountered a group of assorted ponies and a little brown foal on the road. The mother of the infant became quite stroppy with one of the other mares and it became a bit lively so I re-entered the car until a truce was declared.

We continued through Emery Down, turning right to Bolderwood where

rows of deep pink foxgloves swayed among the giant redwoods of the Ornamental Drive.

For dinner this evening I slowly heated Jackie’s luscious liver and bacon casserole from the freezer while boiling new potatoes, carrots, and cauliflower to perfection. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden while I drank Carles Priorat 2016.