landscapes – derrickjknight

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.

Why Budge? The Road Belongs To The Hoof

Soon after lunch we took a forest drive in hot temperatures between overcast clouds beginning to leak intermittent drizzle which called upon little stirring of the windscreen wipers until gradually requiring more regular rhythm, especially when large blobs gathered on branches splashed down beneath trees.

Heather is now colouring the moorland as seen on a slope at Crow Hill and the verges of Holmsley Passage

hugged by walkers as we passed.

A pony and foal grazed beyond the house at the bottom of the hill. Note the brand on the mare’s shoulder.

The pony planted on the road at Mockbeggar disdained to move from the time we approached; when Jackie negotiated us around her; while I disembarked to photograph others; to the time we departed. She may be there still.

Perhaps she considered there were too many equines and bovines on the green already.

One unfortunate animal blended freckles and flies.

Other carloads of people also disembarked to wander with the ponies;

a young heifer joined in the fun.

Cattle dotted the landscape alongside Abbotswell Road where an intriguing path led into the inviting woodland.

A very new donkey foal on Blissford Hill, its mother apparently unconcerned further up the slope, seemed unaware that anyone might be expecting it to budge.

Did you remember to note the earlier brand? Neither of the foals with branded mothers have yet received one. Their turn will come at the next annual roundup, known as the drift, when all ponies have a health check. https://derrickjknight.com/2016/08/30/the-drift/

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy pasta arrabbiata with tender broccoli in bowls in front of the TV whilst watching highlights of the second and third days of the second Test match between England and West Indies.

Gorley Hill

This afternoon we drove to the north of the forest.

Anna Lane is just one of the lanes we negotiate on our trips, so narrow that traffic spans the centre leaving it free of wheels and therefore grass-covered soil untouched in the middle. When you meet an oncoming vehicle one has to end up on the verge.

From the road up to Gorley Common we looked down on

deer which today didn’t sniff a scent of us;

can you spot this baby hiding behind its mother?

The Common, with its distant view is all that remains of

“Gorley Hill … the site of a former Iron Age promontory hillfort located in Hampshire in the United Kingdom.

The fort once occupied the southwestern corner of Gorley Common on Gorley Hill, a gravel-capped spur that points southwest into the Avon valley next to the hamlet of North Gorley, between the towns of Fordingbridge and Ringwood. The earthworks were destroyed in the 1950s and ’60s when the common’s new owners carried out large-scale gravel extraction works, effectively “scalping” the hill. The tall linear earthen banks present on the hill are a relic of the quarrying process and not prehistoric in origin.^[1]The site is now grass, with some gorse and silver birch. The area is now owned and managed by Hampshire County Council.

Heywood Sumner carried out some excavation at the site which was published in his 1917 book Ancient Earthworks of the New Forest.^[2]“

This evening we dined on Jackie’s authentic chicken jalfrezi and mushroom rice, with which I finished the Alentejano.

Garden And Forest

Today was largely overcast, yet very warm. This morning, entertained by trilling birdsong, I carried out a dead heading session; the scents of a multitude of plants pervaded the garden even more as the warmth increased when I stepped out after lunch to walk around it.

I photographed a day lily, numerous roses, two clematis, poppies, a yellow bottle brush plant and a white solanum, all of which bear titles in the gallery.

Later, Jackie drove us to the north of the forest.

Almost the first signs of life we saw were ponies lingering leisurely along the road at North Gorley

and cattle giving drivers an opportunity to rest on the road to Hyde.

We admired the view from Abbotswell Road, on a

verge of which a squirrel hid with its mouth full. I’m not sure who nibbled the tree in the foreground.

Driving down Blissford Hill is always a bit nerve wracking because it is necessary to get up speed to the dappled area beneath the trees in order to climb up the very steep slope, hoping not to encounter another vehicle coming down.

We hope to arrive at the wider top where dog walkers are enjoying the levelling out of the surface.

Donkeys are usually in evidence outside the school at Hyde. Today they were accompanied by a number of foals. The last two photographs in this gallery are Jackie’s.

On our way home a helpful Jay pointed the way to Ringwood.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s very tasty liver and bacon casserole; mashed swede and potatoes sweet and white; and carrots, cauliflower and Brussels sprouts flavoursome and al dente, with which I drank Chilean reserva privada Malbec 2022.

Riding Along Charles’s Lane

Encouraged by Klausbernd of Fab Four Blog, I began to read Sigrid Undset’s novel “Kristin Lavransdatter”. I am already grateful to him for his recommendation. Later this morning Jackie and I took a forest drive before lunch.

Butter-golden gorse had benefitted from the recent days of rains and occasional sunshine.

Although today was rain-free strong winds rippled across reflecting pools along the roadsides, the fields, and the moors.

When Jackie pulled to the side of Braggers Lane opposite the third string of pools in the gallery above in order to enable an oncoming vehicle to pass she didn’t notice this pothole, but left her tyre tracks as we bounced out of it.

This grey pony’s legs have taken on the tinge of the wet terrain of Wilverley Road.

When this cyclist had scaled the hill against a strong wind, I gave him a thumbs up and congratulated him.

these two held up the car in front of us until the road leaving Burley was clear enough for him to pass and we were able to follow.

Others enjoyed foraging in the woodland alongside Charles’s Lane,

where I enjoyed pleasant conversations with equestriennes I had heard clopping along to the tune of bright birdsong.

The reason Jackie had parked beside this lane was to send me back along the road to photograph Fungus she had spotted in passing. I had misunderstood, thinking it was on the verge rather than on the tree. While I was searching she came along and pointed it out to me. Concentrating on the longer shots of the broken tree I had not realised that I had unwittingly already photographed my target.

This evening we all dined on pork spare ribs marinaded in hoisin sauce on a bed of Jackie’s colourful vegetable rice with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Malbec.

Just A Week Old

Given that we understood that this morning’s chill wind and cold bright sunshine was likely to cede to strong showers for the rest of the day, we set off for a forest drive just after 8 a.m. and turned on the windscreen wipers in a darkened air two hours later as we were driving home.

Groups of ponies gathered around Smuggler’s Road Car Park basking and reflecting in the sunlight,

which brightened the sand pit in the Rockford Common landscape. The stream at Ibsley ford rippled past a recently broken tree on its banks, where blossom bejewelled a shadow-striated wall.

Further along the road donkeys wandered freely along the tarmac.

The sharp wind swivelled a weather vane seen between two houses.

At the bottom of Frogham Hill we encountered our first donkey mother and foal,

somewhat older than its cousins seen at the top, which according to a resident I engaged in conversation, were just a week old..

Someone had categorised potholes at a road junction in Crow,

This afternoon I watched the Women’s Six Nations rugby matches between France and Ireland and between Scotland and Wales.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s flavoursome savoury rice and spare ribs in hoisin sauce, with which I drank more of the Shiraz.

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 Further Deluge

This grey day was at least dry when we set off for my encouraging “all good” routine dental inspection from Dr Matthew Hefferan at Birchfield Dental Practice, followed by a forest drive.

This held good until, while photographing – judging by the dry sawdust – a clearly very recently fallen tree which must have straddled the lofty Braggers Lane earlier, I felt the first drops of what was to develop into steady heavy rain for the rest of the day.

Most field horses wore protective rugs in muddy fields.

Here are views from this high point of the lane.

Until we reached Thatchers Lane I stopped photographing the increasing circles dropping into pools, many completely crossing camber of lanes, but here we found their depths could not be discerned and Jackie was not about to chance discovering them.

We turned and headed to Ripley’s

water meadows now draped in the swollen River Avon.

Jackie parked on the entry to a private fishing area which we thought would stay closed for a while, while I got wet. She produced the last two photographs in this gallery.

This evening we all dined on piri-piri spicy marinaded chicken; creamy mashed potato; tender purple sprouting broccoli turning green when cooked; and a melange of mixed vegetables with which Jackie drank more of the rosé and I drank Mighty Murray shiraz.

Black And White

Bright sunshine lifted the lingering morning mist as we set off for a short forest drive today.

Shafts and shadows streaked across Jordan’s Lane, where

our path was soon blocked by a driverless tractor, the cab of which was

soon occupied by a man who drove it on its way, complete with trailer.

Distant tree lines alongside Shotts Lane remained somewhat hazy.

The colourful Georgian terrace of Southampton Road with its clusters of

towering chimneys at its point of departure from Lymington has often attracted me, but it is not a place to stop the Modus.

Today I regretted not making an exception, so Jackie drove around the block and parked in a side road while I walked back.

You may be able to spot the gentleman approaching me on the left hand pavement.

He proved to be another man who, in the days of film, had turned his kitchen into a darkroom in order to print black and white images with trays of chemicals and an enlarger poised on the daytime work surfaces while black sheets covered available windows.

We had an enjoyable reminiscing session, in which he explained that he had a large collection of black and white photographs that he really ought to “move [his] butt” to print. I informed him that the only real editing I carried out with my digital photography was cropping and converting to black and white.

I hope I had inspired him to take up his printing once more as he inspired me to produce these converted images.

The uncropped version of this 1982 portrait of Becky first published in 2014 has not yet been recovered from WordPress, but I include this header picture of her eyes from a later post as an example of a print of such a size that I needed to project the enlarger onto the floor to produce it.

Late this afternoon, having collected Dillon from Heathrow, our daughter delivered him and his young family back home and returned to her own in Southbourne.

We dined on tender roast pork, crisp Yorkshire pudding and roast potatoes, crunchy carrots, firm cauliflower and Brussels sprouts, and meaty gravy, followed by a spicy pumpkin pie which Jackie had baked in honour of Dillon’s return. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Gran Selone.

No More Than A Truce

This afternoon we drove Flo and Dillon to Burley where we left them to wander while we continued the drive and returned for them after 90 minutes.

We paused at Bashley where one foal lay flaked out while its mother cast her shadow while nibbling parched grass;

while another group took shelter beneath the oaks;

as did others along Forest Road. Note the bothersome flies,

more of which pestered cattle sharing shade with another pony and foal.

Two more greys stood beneath trees on Ringwood Road at the top of Crow

Hill, from which landscapes revealed an early brightness to the heather, and

ripening blackberries.

Hidden from below among the undergrowth is an historic milestone telling of a certain amount of optimism.

“Early in 1801 the British war against France under Napoleon as First Consul was not going well and the country was sick of it. When the Younger Pitt’s government fell in February, the new premier was Henry Addington, who was bent on peace and an end to entanglements on the Continent. As he wrote to Lord Malmesbury two years later, ‘his maxim from the moment he took office was first to make peace, and then to preserve it … if France chose, and as long as France chose; but to resist all clamour and invective at home, till such time as France (and he ever foresaw it must happen) had filled the measure of her folly, and had put herself completely in the wrong.’

Talks went on quietly in the summer of 1801 in London between the foreign secretary, Lord Hawkesbury, and a French diplomat, Monsieur Otto, and a preliminary agreement was signed at the beginning of October. The French had far the better of the deal. They agreed to restore the Two Sicilies and the Papal States to their former regimes, but they kept control of the Netherlands, the west bank of the Rhine, Piedmont and the Savoy, while Britain agreed to leave Egypt and let go of the Cape of Good Hope, Malta, and various islands in the Caribbean, while keeping Trinidad and Ceylon.

The agreement gained the approval of Pitt, however, and Lord Cornwallis, an eminent soldier and former governor-general of India, was appointed as ambassador-extraordinary to agree the final treaty. He was no diplomat and had largely forgotten his French, but he left for Paris and an interview with the First Consul in November, after which the two sides got down to detailed discussions in the Hôtel de Ville at Amiens. With Talleyrand hovering in the background, the French deputation was led by Joseph Bonaparte, Napoleon’s elder brother, who was well liked personally by the English representatives, though dismayingly prone to offering concessions in private one day and ruling them out in public the next. William Wilberforce urged Addington to include the abolition of slavery in the Amiens terms, but Addington, though sympathetic, wanted nothing to interfere with progress towards peace. After months of wrangling over details, Cornwallis threatened to go home unless matters were settled in eight more days, and the treaty was finally concluded [on 27th May 1802].

Though widely welcomed on both sides of the Channel, the Peace of Amiens was no more than a truce. It lasted for not much longer than a year, giving both sides a breathing space in which to reorganise before the war was formally resumed in May 1803.”(https://www.historytoday.com/archive/months-past/treaty-amiens)

The treaty had ‘marked the end of the French Revolutionary Wars; after a short peace it set the stage for the Napoleonic Wars.’ (Wikipedia)

This evening we dined on different lefties – the others on Red Chilli Takeaway, and I on the roast lamb dinner. Jackie drank more of the Pino Grigio; Flo and Dillon, sparkling fruit flavoured water; and I Max’s Penfolds Shiraz Cabernet 2019.