This was a mostly dismal, overcast, day which brightened up towards the end of our afternoon forest drive.
Wheatfields are maturing along Lodge Lane, near Beaulieu; blackberries are burgeoning in the hedgerows; wildflowers such as cream and yellow linaria vulgaris, young ferns, and creeping ivies, mingle with exposed tree roots; log piles line the drive into Ashenden; a dead tree clutches at the air.
An adolescent foal, its mother foraging nearby, crossed the lane into
Cripplegate Lane, where its dam soon followed.
Other ponies emerged from Church Lane, East Boldre.
Donkeys and foals congregated at the corner of Norleywood Road, where two of the youngsters were clearly assessing each other.
Note the reflective collar, rejected by a pony, hanging on the road sign.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy pasta arrabbiata with which she drank Mendoza Malbec 2020 and I drank more of the Shiraz.
A dull day brightened after lunch, when we visited Otter Nurseries to buy three more – the last – hanging baskets similar to the three Jackie had purchased this morning. We continued our drive into the forest, where
adult asses trimmed the verges and, scratching when necessary, blocked the road at the bottom of Bull Hill,
further up which we found a flurry of fresh foal births since our visit a few days ago.
Leaving one suckling we progressed to East End where an infant pony nuzzled for similar nourishment
among others in a field of swaying golden buttercups.
Later, with a background of glorious birdsong, I dug out a bramble; dead-headed masses of Welsh poppies; and photographed
the Chilean lantern tree lighting the way along the Shady Path.
This evening we dined on more of Jackie’s spicy pasta arrabbiata with the addition of firm broccoli. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Fleurie.
A loosely latched utility room window constantly thudded throughout last night against the whistling rhythm of thunderous gales sweeping through the Isle of Wight at speeds of up to 100 m.p.h.
The Weeping Birch bent its back and tossed it tresses.
As I write we do not expect a cessation until 9 p. m.
A pony couple contributing equine child labour introduced a very young colt to the family business of maintaining the clipping of the verges at the Brockenhurst end of Rhinefield Road. While Dad kept a discreet distance the infant was more interested in clinging close to his unresponsive mother in the hope of latching on for food.
I wandered into the woodland alongside, picking out a split, yet still flourishing tree; watching jackdaws, tidier than Tootlepedal‘s, foraging in the grass; and, when noticing birches swaying scarily with the wind – perhaps to join others littering the forest floor –
returning to the relative safety of the road where I enjoyed a pleasant conversation with a friendly couple, also fascinated with the foal and his mother who sought relief from an itch through the medium of a conveniently angled tree trunk.
Jackie had photographed me on my way in. How long will that torn limb take to fall from the foreground tree, I wonder?
Along an open stretch of Rhinefield Road I was surprised to find the wind so fierce that I struggled to stand still to photograph another equine family blending with the gorse. I decided it would have been unsafe to attempt to cross a ditch to reach them. Turning to include Dad was quite out of the question.
We briefly stopped at Puttles Bridge where I photographed rippling water, reflections, tree roots, and some of the fresh green leaves ripped from the trees everywhere this morning.
As we were leaving, a small herd of cattle were arriving.
This evening we dined on spicy pepperoni pizza; fried halloumi; and plentiful fresh salad, followed by apple and blackcurrant pie with rhubarb and ginger ice cream. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Collin-Bourisset Fleurie 2019.
Yesterday evening I reached a point past nine more of Charles Keeping’s illustrations to “Nicholas Nickleby”. and scanned them today.
Keeping depicts such movement in ‘The animals were no sooner released than they trotted back to the stable they had just left’.
‘A female bounced into the room, and seizing Mr Squeers by the throat gave him two loud kisses’. When repeated further in the book these portraits will be most recognisable.
The three boys in the foreground of ‘Mrs Squeers stood at one of the desks, presiding over an immense basin of brimstone and treacle’ are recent arrivals. Keeping shows by the chubby, innocent, profile of one that they have not yet adopted the description, including the harelip, Charles Dickens gives to the others. The mixture of sulphur and molasses was commonly used as a cure-all at the time. Here it was mainly employed as an appetite suppressant.
‘When they were both touched up to their entire satisfaction, they went down-stairs in full state’
‘The timid country girl shrunk through the crowd that hurried up and down the streets, clinging closely to Ralph’ displays the artist’s mastery of perspective.
‘They stopped in front of a large old dingy house that appeared to have been uninhabited for years’ displays historically accurate buildings.
‘The poor soul was poring hard over a tattered book with the traces of recent tears still upon his face’ represents the portrait given in the book’s frontispiece.
‘Pinning him by the throat, Nicholas beat the ruffian until he roared for mercy’
‘Dingy, ill-plumed, drowsy flutterers, sent to get a livelihood in the streets’ is one of Mr Keeping’s text sandwiches.
Between showers we prepared a site for the new, as yet unopened, wooden bench.
Later this afternoon we drove to Everton Nurseries where Jackie bought some trailing petunias, and continued into the forest.
where I was tempted from the car by the sight of groups of ponies who had been much more in evidence today than yesterday.
Purple violets beneath a yellow gorse bush; scattered bluebells; and a fossilised hand caught my attention.
I thought I could discern at least two foals in the distance.
To reach them I needed to follow a track across the running stream created by the ponies above.
That reminds me. The pony in the foreground of the first picture in this gallery determinedly emerged in my direction and took up a position with splayed legs right in front of me. It had made me rather nervous. Fortunately missing my feet it released a powerful stream from its rear end. Naturally I lifted my lens enough for decency. This was still creating its own little puddle when its companion did exactly the same thing. Were they trying to tell me something?
This was quite an undulating landscape.
Climbing up to the next level I was rewarded by the sight of two foals.
As its mother wandered away the first of these rose to its feet, stretched its limbs, trotted after her, then felt safe enough to look me in the eye.
On our journey home through East Boldre we encountered a group of donkeys and their foals.
Perhaps attempting to arouse the attention of its comatose mother,
one excited youngster repeatedly ran rings round the gorse bushes, causing Jackie to exclaim: “He’s just found he’s got legs”.
This evening we dined on plump lemon chicken thighs; creamy mashed potatoes; spicy hot ratatouille; and firm cauliflower, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Trivento Reserve Malbec 2019.
The weather today alternated between brief bursts of bright sunshine and darkly hammering heavy hail and rain. We probably picked the best time for a drive into the forest, where,
on Sway Road it was the turn of cattle and donkeys to create traffic mayhem.
I took advantage of the sunshine to photograph autumn at my feet before moving on.
We turned into Black Knowl where Jackie parked and I wandered on down. I had said I would walk back to the car when I was ready, but, because of the showers, she ignored that and followed me at a safe distance. The gentleman walking his dog in this shot exchanged friendly greetings with me as our paths crossed.
Fenced fields flanked my right side,
while open woodland graced my left. The orange mark on one trunk indicates the need for minor foresters’ attention; acorns and holly berries decorate some of the trees, although the acorns constantly clattered the tarmac; fallen boughs and trunks, making their decaying contribution to the ecology, gradually return to the soil from whence they came. The comparatively sheltered ferns cling to their youthful green hue.
Suddenly the sweeping sough of the wind was muffled by rapidly advancing thudding hooves of ponies on the run.
I just about managed to picture a few as they sped, seemingly panic-stricken through the trees.
Soon, a second wave surged ahead, passing a couple of walkers and tearing into the trees. Note the spaniel getting involved. The second of these pictures is Jackie’s.
The clacking and thumping of hooves of the next wave of rather more and larger equines had me taking immediate evasive action by leaping (figuratively speaking of course) into a dry ditch. Fortunately they turned off before they reached me. The idea of photographing them disappeared from my mind.
I then decided it was time for me to return to the car. A small group of humans had gathered at this point. There was some speculation that the animals may have been escaping from a Drift https://derrickjknight.com/2016/08/30/the-drift/ because they are happening about now.
“Have you seen my dog?” asked one woman. We had, of course; it was a spaniel. I pointed her in the right direction and her pet came scampering to her side.
From the comparative safety of the Modus, I photographed the fourth wild wave as it rushed on by.
We had reached Ober Corner, beside a stretch of Ober Water, as usual reflecting the surrounding landscape.
Jackie poked her camera in my direction.
This evening we dined on a second sitting of last night’s spicy delights with an additional tasty omelette and tender green beans with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank The Second Fleet, Shiraz 2018, a smooth full bodied red wine from Australia’s Limestone Coast.
This morning I completed an e-mail exchange with Barrie Haynes who had sent me a copy of his latest novel, “Adam”.
The book carries a good, intriguing, story written in tight, fast-moving, prose with nothing superfluous.
Despite its five star rating on Amazon, the work, on account of the sexual innuendos which some will find humorous, will not appeal to all tastes. There is however no bad language. Barrie tells me that a sampler can be read on that site in order to allow potential buyers to make their own judgement.
Today we took a break from gardening, although Jackie did perform some watering, weeding, and dead heading after lunch.
Alongside the A338 we stopped to photograph a splendid Virginia creeper we have often admired.
Once we are into the north of the forest we are bound to encounter donkeys,
such as these with their sometimes somnolent foals at Ibsley,
where ponies gather in less numbers. One of the latter equines has a shared hairdresser with
the elegant alpacas resident at Hockey’s Farm, where
we lunched alfresco on account of Covid restrictions. Their excellent system provides a takeaway service which is delivered outside where we are permitted to eat it. This, today, was somewhat disconcerting as the cooing, twittering, and gentle birdsong emanating from the aviary
beside which we sat was constantly shattered by
the machine-gun rattle of acorns crashing onto the corrugated perspex roof. Some ricocheted downward. I sat on one that had come to rest on my chair.
It was Jackie who photographed the aviary guide and the first three of these gallery images.
We were fortunate not to have been lunching beneath the conker tree a hundred yards or so along the road.
This lane and wall outside Stuckton, where a speckled wood butterfly settled on its ivy cladding, were dappled by sunlight
that also cast shadows across the Godshill end of Ringwood Road thus camouflaging wandering ponies.
This evening we dined on spicy pizza and chicken salad with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Douro.
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.
Today, carrying a freshly prepared picnic lunch, Jackie drove us out to the currently sleepy village of Hale in the north west of the New Forest. This proved to be a good choice because all the other tourist spots we passed were quite busy.
We turned off Roger Penny Way into Woodgreen Road running between Godshill Village Hall and The Fighting Cocks pub.
A woman with a mobile phone bent to photograph a portrait of a donkey standing in the middle of the road;
while one of their number stroked another ass her companions were intrigued by one more,
beside a somnolent companion still sporting its winter coat while waiting for the postman, resting its head against the hall wall, on which hangs a defibrillator.
Judging by the number of tiny foals sleeping like any infant on the dry grass beside the pub there has been a recent spate of births.
It didn’t take the young ladies from outside the hall long to pet this one awake.
We continued to Hale Lane from which we could look down on a quilted landscape, and enjoy the sunlight brightening a bracken hedge and dappling the trunk of a mighty oak.
On a previous visit to Hale, featured in https://derrickjknight.com/2019/03/21/posing-comes-with-the-job/ I had photographed these happy thatchers working on
this lengthy roof, now well weathered in.
We enjoyed our picnic on a bench beneath a spreading oak canopy near the
village hall, also bearing a wall-mounted defibrillator.
At lunchtime during normal term-time the green would have resounded with the cries of schoolchildren – not so 2020; the quiet was so still that voices could be discerned on the other side of the open space which belonged to
resident ponies and foal
which eventually trooped off to the shady outskirts.
Passing Wootton Bridge on the way home we spotted a pair of foals prompting us to speculate about whether horses produced twins. Several sites on Google leave us in no doubt that this is a very rare event, the odds against a healthy mare and both twins surviving are 10,000 to 1. We had not seen twin youngsters.
This evening we dined on tangy pork chops coated with mustard and almonds; crisp roast potatoes, including the sweet variety; tender sweetheart cabbage; crunchy carrots; and tasty, meaty gravy with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank a smooth Flores de Soligamar Rioja 2018.
On another hot and humid sunny day we took an early drive into the forest.
Ponies and their foals clustered together in the lowest dip of Holmsley Passage, perhaps in hopes of evading the gathering flies.
I disembarked along Bisterne Close and wandered into the dappled woodland, now devoid of ponies which could normally be expected to enhance these views; it then occurred to me that the animals on these Sultry Days are mostly seen to be gathering near possible sources of water.
This was confirmed at the corner of Forest Road where these fly-pestered ponies sheltered from the heat beside
the shallow dregs of a normally fast flowing stream.
We turned off Beechwood Lane into Church Road,
where Jackie experienced the acute pangs of owl envy when she had to bear the sight of a large carved example on someone else’s dead tree. Briefly she speculated about whether Aaron could be asked to wield his chainsaw to emulate this artwork on our recently lopped cypress.
A rowan tree here was just one of many producing very early berries.
Further verification of my horses to water theory was provided on our way back through Holmsley Passage. The first group of ponies had been within whinnying distance of the stream in which another, apparently knackered, string were slaking their thirst. This shot had to be taken through the windscreen because we had a car behind us.
With or without bigification readers will see no pony pictures lacking flies today.
This evening we dined on a second sitting of Mr Chan’s excellent Chinese Take Away dishes, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie.
Today’s weather was hot and humid with intermittent sunshine.
We gardened in the morning.
I am delighted to report that Nugget is alive and well and was in his customary attendance. Those readers who suggested that he might be moulting were clearly correct.
Jackie concentrated largely on the Rose Garden where, among other tasks, she planted some tall lavenders. Among my usual tasks I had not included digging since the first knee surgery. Our soil remains bone hard and I decided to attempt to relieve her of some of it.
I found this surprisingly easy. It may look as if this is my left foot; in fact it is the right one reflected in the mirror against the east fence. This was particularly pleasing since that leg was the subject of the most recent replacement.
Hydrangea Lanarth White sets off fuchsia Mrs Popple in the Orange Shed corner of the Rose Garden; yellow black eyed Susan and orange marigolds are planted in a chimney pot beside the West Bed; a red pelargonium fronted by an ornamental grass stands at the base of the gazebo which bears a blue clematis.
This afternoon, after shopping at Milford Supplies for a pair of hinges, we took a drive into the forest where graced with the presence of a plethora of ponies.
A family of three cropped the verge at the entrance to Bisterne Close, while, further along
a mare did her best ignore her colt persistently attempting to suckle.
As often on such a sultry day somnolent ponies clustered together beneath the shade of their favourite trees, spilling across Forest Road carrying out their own traffic calming project. Cyclists managed to weave in and out, while car drivers were required to demonstrate good natured patience.
Other equines rolled among dried droppings on the cropped grass, or undertook assiduous mutual grooming.
