logs – derrickjknight

Log Burning

Jackie giggled as, having boiled a kettle to wash, I emerged from the kitchen this morning. I couldn’t imagine what she was laughing at.

I then remembered photographing her in her Swaddling Clothes https://derrickjknight.com/2022/12/17/swaddling-clothes/ when our boiler was not functioning a month ago. It seems only fair, really.

Several years ago now I had chopped and sawn quite a few logs for our own woodpile. Because of all the rain experienced recently I had thought these were too wet to burn in our grate. As I sought to supplement the logs bought yesterday I discovered that some of these now well seasoned items were dry, and are now burning away merrily.

Sam Had The Answer tells of that material cut from our own garden, and, incidentally, a bonfire from much earlier.

The header picture today shows just one pile of the cuttings from the overgrown garden we took on and logs in a wheelbarrow on the Back Drive as it then was.

This evening we dined on tender roast chicken and Jackie’s colourful savoury rice, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Syrah.

View From The Pillbox

The briefest glimpse of the weak sun effecting a halo on the silhouetted lonely pigeon in the copper beech that Jackie photographed this morning was its only appearance on this otherwise grimly dismal day.

She had left the house from the stable door in order to sweep beneath the wisteria arbour.

Nugget, immediately perching on her long-handled dustpan, had other ideas.

The Head Gardener decided to use her other broom. Her robin was onto that, too, so

she simply photographed him, on the ground, on the broom, and on the coiled wisteria, until he suddenly took off

( “Where’s Nugget?” (54) )

to sing war cries to Muggle. Now “Where’s Nugget” (55).

Sway Tower from South Sway Lane emerged into view from the murk as we drove into the forest this gloomy afternoon.

Through the five-barred gate pillbox slit the red deer herd were seen stepping elegantly across the lawns of Burley Manor.

On the outskirts of the village a sudden rapid jerky movement alerted us to the presence of a squirrel among a pile of logs awaiting the decomposition that would return them to the soil.

Further on the sodden terrain contained pools reflecting trees;

fresh reflecting streams bubbling along;

and loosened shallow roots of toppling trees. It is not simply the gusting winds that bring down these forest residents.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s wholesome shepherds pie; crunchy carrots, cauliflower, and Brussel’s sprouts with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Bordeaux.

Marl Pits

On another bright, chill, morning we sought Christmas presents at Old Milton, where the pavement display outside Serendipity offered

an embarrassment of fantastic figures which we managed to resist.

Our next venue was Lymington High Street where a well stocked toyshop encouraged visitors;

and Santa displayed the skills of Friends hairdressers.

When parking at the back of this main street, Jackie always marvels at the bucolic views beyond the chimney tops,

which can, themselves be seen across the crow-lined fields from Main Road.

Commoners once enjoyed the right to gather fallen branches for fuel and to dig out lime rich clay from the marl pits. These ancient privileges are no longer granted.

Trees must lie where they fall in order to benefit the lively ecology of the forest.

The marl has been dug out for centuries, leaving the pits that we now see, and, with the growth of new trees and shrubs, cut out the light to the ancient specimens of flora and fauna, gradually changing the nature of the land and killing off previously extant plants and insects.

We were led to Crockford inclosure, where the fallen birch above was photographed, by smoke spirals curling into the air. Nearby we witnessed a group of people

working hard at the bottom of these steeply sloping sided pits in the land.

Naturally I investigated with my camera.

It was in the clearing where brushwood was burning that I met Alison who gave me my information. The workers are all volunteers working for the forestry commission on this important recovery project. In order to return the pits to their pristine condition the larger trees are felled by contractors; the unpaid enthusiasts cut and

burn the smaller boughs

and leave neat piles of sawn logs to house wildlife, gather mushrooms, and return eventually to the soil.

My informant explained that the steep sides are retained to stop ponies tearing up the terrain and tearing up and out into the road opposite.

The pit site crosses under this thoroughfare to a previously cleared area to where, according to one of the gentlemen to whom I spoke,

a rare diving water beetle has returned. My informant didn’t know exactly which one, but he said it was very rare. Given that most are apparently black and the brown one is ‘just about holding its own’ (New Forest National Park Authority) I have chosen this illustration of a brown one. https://www.newforestnpa.gov.uk/discover/wildlife/beetles/brown-diving-beetle/

As one might expect, a robin took great interest in the proceedings.

This evening we dined at The Wheel Inn. We Both chose thick, meaty, beef burgers with crisp onion rings, plentiful fresh salad, and more chinky chips than we could eat. These followed tempura prawns for Jackie and a veritable shoal of whitebait with doorsteps of brown toasted bread. Each starter was lavishly garnished with excellent salad. Jackie drank Kaltenberg lager and I drank Ringwood’s Best bitter.

Out Of Its Element

I began the day with a dead-heading session in the garden.

The mystery of yesterday’s lost clematis was solved on this less sunny morning. Today there was no bright backlighting fooling us with the strong red hues, and even giving a green hue to the Gothic arch. The plant is in fact Star of India. And yesterday we had been both perfectly sober.

This afternoon we drove to Ferndene Farm Shop to buy three more bags of compost and, naturally a few plants. We continued on into the forest.

The Highland cattle were back alongside Rhinefield Road outside Brockenhurst.

Jackie parked in Blackwater car park at the Rhinefield Ornamental Drive and left me to walk along a footpath through the

Douglas firs which have their own explanatory carved wooden plaque and sculpted pine cone.

Apart from a couple at the picnic table; the occasional cyclist or car on Rhinefield Road; and the couple for whom I stepped aside as I returned to the car,

it was just me with the thrushes for company,

as I walked along the sanded footpath with its ferns, felled and fallen trees, and pine cones carpeting the floor.

I did imagine I had seen a deep sea fish somewhat out of it element, but it turned out to be the shallow roots of a once upright young forest giant.

I had managed 27 minutes unchaperoned walk, my speed rapidly decreasing towards the end.

We could easily forgive the pony fondly watching over her sleeping foal for blocking our path at Bashley.

This evening we dined on succulent chicken Kiev; Jackie’s savoury rice; crisp cauliflower and baby sweetcorn; and tender green beans. The Culinary Queen drank Blue Moon while I finished the Shiraz.

Lacking A Certain Ambience

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Aaron needed a few more boards for the front of his compost bins. I therefore accompanied him this morning to Mole Country Stores (known as Scats because that is what they used to be) to buy them. These make removable slats for ease of accessing the mature soil. As is customary, our friend, of AP Maintenance, also built the fence against which they stand. I made prints of these images for the portfolio he is building up.

Although the day started with fine weather, the afternoon grew more and more overcast.

As we drove through East End we discovered that the house in Rowes Lane with the most unappetising name, that has been up for sale for a while, seems to have found a courageous buyer. Either that, or the vendor has given up.

As we approached The Drift Inn in ‘the heart of the forest’ the sun made sporadic appearances.

Moorland stretched into the distance on the opposite side of Beaulieu Road.

This establishment describes itself as being a family and dog friendly traditional pub.

Family and dog friendly it is.

The rest is open to interpretation. Real log fires are described on the website. Real logs were piled up behind a net

beside the fireplace

which bore this notice.

The proprietors had perhaps striven for a certain ambience that was rather lacking.

The beer was OK.

After filling up with petrol at New Milton’s Tesco’s we continued in search of a sunset at Barton on Sea. A little early for that,

we found one over Roger Cobb’s farm in Downton Lane.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s chicken breasts wrapped in bacon on a bed of sautéed mushrooms, peppers, and onions, served with her savoury vegetable rice. I drank Casillero del Diablo cabernet sauvignon 2016.

“That’s What Having A Horrible Daughter is Like”

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We spent the morning on garden maintenance tasks.

Jackie, with minimal assistance from me, retrained the Wedding Day rose

on the Agriframes arch.

We then reversed the process in that The Head Gardener weeded a route through to the red Japanese maple that was looking very poorly, if not somewhat wizened. She then stood ready for me to pass bits lopped or sawn off.

The final result didn’t look too bad.

We then finished rebuilding the pillar for the urn in the Rose Garden.

Here is a view across the grass patch between tulips and the eucalyptus.

This afternoon we went for a drive in the forest.

A stream kept one of the Brockenhurst fords under water. That is probably one SLOW notice that is unlikely to be ignored.

As I stood on the footbridge to take this shot, a family descended into view. Mother and son joined me on the bridge while father and daughter, dog in tow, entered into a coercive conversation. The dog appeared to want to go in the opposite direction.

Father, daughter, dog running through ford

It was not long before the reason for this became clear. These three dashed across the water filled ford. When I quipped “I didn’t get that. Could you do it again?”, Dad declined. However he did add “That’s what having a horrible daughter is like”. In the ensuing conversation I was given permission to post both the photographs and this statement.

An obliging motorist, without being asked, then drove his car through the water.

Further on, at Boundway, we spotted evidence that a child had left the woods sans socks and at least one shoe.

The high sun cast shadows of the trees onto the undulating leafy terrain.

A brimstone butterfly fluttered about. Can you spot it here?

Loggers had been at work above the gorse laden hills overlooking Wilverly.

I think the white figure here was one of a couple of cattle. They were a bit far away for me to be certain.

Soon after we left this area, Jackie alerted me to a wasps’ nest on an outbuilding.

This evening we dined on Mr Chatty Man’s Chinese Take Away fare with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden while I drank more of the madiran.

Overwintering At Lepe

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Late this morning Jackie drove us to Lepe where we enjoyed a brunch in the cafe by the beach.

Gulls scavenged among the pebbles and the seaweed that proved there is a stronger wet smell than that of damp dog.

You see, the seaweed aroma pervaded the air so much that it swamped any scent of the dog that, dashing into the sea on the end of a telescopic leash; in a vain attempt to capsize the honking avian flotillas commandeering the surface of the water; became very wet indeed.

Upon enquiry at the Information centre, I learned that these noisy birds were Brent geese who regularly fly from Canada and Siberia to enjoy what they must experience as a summer holiday in Lepe.

There was a fair amount of shipping seen on the horizon,

and approaching the Isle of Wight, which formed the backdrop of a number of these photographs.

A container vessel passed a spit

along which. at low tide a group walked out to sea. I assume they were not aiming to walk all the way to the island.

A helicopter chugged overhead,

where, later, the next flock of geese arrived for their overwintering.

Work was being undertaken on a terrace of cottages on the slopes above the beach. These listed dwellings were built in 1828 to house coastguards employed to combat the centuries-old customs of smuggling and piracy. The building nearer the shore was the Watch House.

Driving past them led us to the corner of Inchmery Lane where, perched on the side of the cliff, stood a lighthouse,

overlooking a stretch of beach belonging to a wildlife preservation society.

Taking the left bend visible in the above photograph of the lane, we continued along it, catching glimpses of the sea through the trees on our left.

At Moonhill, on our way to Beaulieu, a pony feeding in the forest caught my eye. I made my way through the trees and caught his. As I set out to cross the road back to the car, an equine companion did the same on its way into the woods. This had the usual effect on the traffic.

A neat stack of felled tree trunks occupied a cleared area.

For our dinner this evening, Jackie supplemented our second sitting of the Chinese takeaway with her superb egg fried rice. I finished the cabernet sauvignon.

To Brighten A Dull Day

On this dull, overcast, day, Aaron and Robin made considerable headway on weeding the gravel paths. Certain alliums that self seed everywhere, when wrenched from the paths, fill the air with the smell of onions, nowhere near as appetising as when they are being fried.

Jackie did some planting in the front garden.

This afternoon we drove out to Pilley Cottage Garden on Pilley Hill near Lymington.

Jackie parked the car in the School Car Park and we walked down the daffodil-lined hill to the cottage.

We were warmly welcomed by Stephanie who opens her garden, featuring its own swathes of narcissi, as part of the National Gardens Scheme.

In the left foreground of this picture stems of willow, pressed into the soil, have sprouted. Others, equally apparently rooted, provide arches such as that further back on the left, through which a visitor has walked.

We were pleased to note so many people viewing on what was quite a cold day.

The couple in the centre of this shot have just crossed a bridge conveniently laid over a potentially boggy area. The lines seen in the foreground are placed to deter visitors from venturing onto other muddy patches.

On the right of the next photograph can be seen a pergola made of live willow.

The hilly nature of the plot offered intriguing views on different, terraced, levels.

Strategically placed sawn logs weathered beautifully in the beds, providing homes for flora such as ferns, and no doubt fauna.

Even the shed was an attraction.

A gate at the top of the slope opened onto a deceptive arch. Can you see the trick? This photograph contains one of the many examples of fascinating pottery,

such as this abandoned game of chess,

or this ring of elephants bearing succulents,

bounded by little globed boxes,

within the circumference of which Jackie contemplated the layout,

before we wandered up to the house for tea, and, of course, the purchase of two plants.

We considered this trip an excellent way to brighten a dull day.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s luscious liver and bacon casserole, crisp potato wedges, carrots, cauliflower, and broccoli. I finished the Costieres de Nimes.

Before And After: From Compost Heap to New Bed

This morning we both tidied up after yesterday’s work on the Cryptomeria Bed. Jackie also did some planting, and completed her access stepping stones in the front garden with stones dug up yesterday.

My iMac was upgraded yesterday to the latest operating system, rejoicing in the name of El Capitain. One of the improvements was said to be to Photos. Since all my pre-May this year pictures were automatically put into that on the last upgrade, yet I have stubbornly persisted in using iPhoto, I thought perhaps it was time for me to get my head round it. This especially because, rather than search for them in Photos, I took yesterday’s 2014 photos directly from WordPress. This meant that clicking on those images did not increase their size. I trust that this problem will not apply to today’s efforts.

Passing the New Bed on the way to the compost heap with barrow loads of cuttings and leaves, I noticed a minute shield bug sharing a Bishop of Llandaff dahlia with a bumble bee. By the time I fetched my camera both the bee and a Small White butterfly had moved on, leaving the field to the little creature.

A close-up gave me an insight into what had inspired Disney’s Illustrators of Jiminy Cricket.

The New Bed did not exist when we came to Downton. Its development forms the next section of the Garden Album.

On 31st July 2014, Jackie began transporting concrete slabs I had dug out of the projected rose garden, to form a retaining wall for the one compost heap.

She continued this the next day. (‘Not Two Peoples’ 1.8.14)

By 9th March 2015, we had decided to move the compost and convert the heap, which had been left by our predecessors, into The New Bed. The earth you see in this picture is the result of hours of sifting out all kinds of non-biodegradable rubbish. In the right background lies the back of the log pile

seen to greater effect in this photograph taken the next day,

and that of The Heligan Path two days later. (An Opened Garden12.3.15)

Today The New Bed basks in the autumn sunshine.

A tiny bed lies to the left of the small gravel path leading to the dead tree. The stepping stones in the background offer access to more plants. All this once held the logs.

This evening we dined on cheese-centred fish cakes, Jackie’ s piquant cauliflower cheese (recipe), and her melange of onions, peppers, and tomatoes. We both drank Kumala pinotage rose 2015.

Kind Of Blue

Aaron brought a friend to help today so he could finish by lunchtime. They sawed up the wood pile, then replanted a clump of grass roots which had been removed from the back drive some weeks ago, and, despite attempts to burn it, had refused to die. I understand that the Australian eucalyptus needs the heat of a forest fire to germinate its seeds. Maybe our grass is related to that tree.

I managed to clear a space by the side of the house for the logs to be stacked before wandering around the garden with my camera.

Focussing on our profusion of blue-hued flowers, and thinking of Giles who enjoys them, I photographed:

forget-me-nots,

periwinkles,

grape hyacinths,

violets,

celandines,

and pansies.

Whilst preparing this post I listened to what is probably the finest recording of spontaneous jazz improvisation ever made. During two sessions in 1959 Miles Davis, the legendary trumpeter, led a group including Julian ‘Cannonball’ Adderly, Paul Chambers, James Cobb, John Coltrane, Bill Evans, and Wynton Kelly, in the production of the album ‘Kind of Blue’.

Evans, in his original programme notes, writes: ‘Miles conceived these settings only hours before the recording dates and arrived with sketches which indicated to the group what was to be played. Therefore you will hear something close to pure spontaneity in these performances. The group had never played these pieces prior to the recordings and I think without exception the first complete performance of each was a “take”.’

I you don’t have access to a copy, try it on YouTube.

This afternoon Flo continued her wildlife garden photography.

Unaware of my blue theme, she featured a bee on pulmonaria.

She also captured a white butterfly on the wing,

a tightrope-walking long-tailed tit,

a greenfinch on a feeding tray,

and a resting hoverfly.

She even threw in a shot of Norman’s parrot, which now hangs in our kitchen.

Finally, she persuaded Eric to pose for his portrait.

This evening we dined out on Ian.

Not literally. He just paid for it. He took us on a visit to La Viña in Lymington. It was a most enjoyable tapas bar. The food was excellent and the service extremely friendly if a little tardy. I can’t really detail the dishes because they were in Spanish, but they included a mixed paella, calamari, sardines, chorizo, asparagus, fried potatoes, meat balls and tortilla. Jackie and Ian drank Estrella beer; Becky and I shared a bottle of tempranillo; and Flo drank apple juice.