mistletoe – derrickjknight

A Bridge For Tootlepedal

Soon after lunch on this cold-sunshine day I walked around the garden and photographed

a few flowers, namely daffodils and a cluster of blue wood anemones.

Afterwards, stopping at Gregg’s bakers for Jackie to replenish the sweet trolley. While waiting outside, through the car windscreen, the laundrette window, and some reflections, I was entranced by

a rather noble hooded face.

On our journey north the roads and terrain, their waters replenished by two more days and nights of heavy precipitation, were as saturated as ever, but I chose not to focus directly on them on this occasion.

A tyre swing above the rippling and swollen River Avon was now swinging underwater with the force of the current sweeping from the

bubbling Woodgreen millstream, alongside which

a soft toy lounged on a bench and a stump creature reared its head.

As I rounded the broken corner of the bridge wall into which someone had crashed,

Jackie was herself photographing the river encroaching upon the car park; the bridge for Tootlepedal; and me on the bridge watching

the rippling waters.

Ponies, dogs, and walkers basked on Woodgreen, where a glorious magnolia spread in the garden of a thatched cottage. The last pair of ponies in this gallery were depicted by Jackie.

Trees against the clouds at Hale included those sporting their usual crops of mistletoe.

Ferns flourished on a bank cropped by soggy donkeys. While I was photographing these I heard the clopping of hooves further down the road , and turned to see

these berugged horses being led to their paddock beside the ford.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s beef and onion or chicken pies, according to choice; boiled potatoes, tender runner beans, and carrots, cauliflower, and broccoli al dente. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank Reserva Privada Chilean Malbec 2022.

Anyone For Croquet?

A drowsy morning was necessary for me after yesterday’s exertions, although the Head Gardener did plant a number of seeds in the greenhouse.

This afternoon – cold with sunny intervals – we took a drive into the forest.

A game of croquet was in progress on the green at Nomansland. The players were unfazed by my attention, although one woman claimed in jest that I had put her off her stroke. I suggested to the others that they let her play again. They responded with a good laugh.

Our next stop was at Hale, a village surrounded by trees bearing mistletoe.

The verges of the high-banked lane running from Hale to Woodgreen bear many wild flowers including primroses, violets, bluebells; and plenty of mossy roots.

Splendid avenues of varied daffodils line the approach to Hale Park House. ‘Hale was recorded, although not by name, as a manor in Domesday Book. It passed through the hands of a number of owners, with a manor house being built by the C14, until in the C16 it was leased and then purchased by the Penruddock family. Sir John Penruddock died c 1600-01, leaving Hale to his son Thomas whose own son, John, commissioned a new house in 1637 from the architect John Webb (1611-72). A deer park is also recorded as established at Hale by 1638 (Debois 1990). In 1715, Hale was sold by the Penruddocks to Thomas Archer (1668-1743), Groom Porter to Queen Anne and architect, amongst whose works were the banqueting house at Wrest Park (qv) in Bedfordshire and the Cascade House at Chatsworth (qv), Derbyshire. Archer began the present house in 1715, most probably planted the avenues through the park (ibid), and is most likely to have been responsible for laying out the surrounding formal gardens and wooded pleasure grounds to the south-west and north-west of the house, as shown on a survey of Hale made by Thomas Richardson in 1789. He also largely rebuilt the church. Hale remained with the Archer family until the 1780s, the house being remodelled in the 1770s by Henry Holland (1745-1806) and then purchased by Joseph May for whom it was further remodelled by Popes of Poole (Booth-Jones 1953). In 1837, the estate was bought by Joseph Goff and during the C19 and early C20, the pleasure grounds were simplified and new formal features added to the gardens. The Goff family remained at Hale until the early C20 after which the ownership passed to Major Wright and then to the Booth-Jones family before being purchased in 1973 by Mr and Mrs Hickman. Hale remains (1998) in private ownership.’ This information comes from https://historicengland.org.uk/listing/the-list/list-entry/1000298 which contains much more.

Beside Wootton Common I stopped to photograph a heron blending nicely with a birch tree among the gorse. Needless to say, when I approached for a closer viewpoint the bird flapped up and away.

This evening we dined on succulent roast lamb; crisp roast potatoes, parsnips and Yorkshire pudding; herby sausages, firm carrots and cauliflower, with which Jackie drank Peroni and I drank Séguret Cotes du Rhone 2019.

Not Much Call For It In 2020

On another gloomy and cold morning we ventured out into the forest trusting that the nearer we arrived at midday the brighter the light may become. If anything there was more darkness at noon.

We stopped at Setley Ridge Garden Centre which Jackie, masked up, entered and bought some Christmas presents while I focussed on the displays outside, in the doorways, and through the window.

Afterwards Jackie tucked the Modus onto a verge in Church Lane while I

photographed the fast moving bubbling, rippling, stream with its arboreal reflections.

The old quarry lake at Pilley was once more full enough to provide a still canvas for artistic reflections.

No-one had plucked mistletoe from a fallen tree. I guess there is not much call for it in 2020.

A trio of donkeys spilled over the road at Jordans Lane.

Jackie photographed a driver’s eye view.

Our starter for this evening’s dinner was Jackie’s chicken, bacon, and vegetable stoup. The main course was her succulent shepherd’s pie topped with crisp croquette potatoes; served with firm Brussels sprouts, carrots, cauliflower and broccoli; and meaty gravy. Dessert was apple and gooseberry crumble and custard. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Merlot.

Catch

We have been invited to a special meal in celebration of the 30th anniversary of

our favourite local Indian restaurant. Unfortunately this is tomorrow – less than a month since my knee replacement surgery. We therefore cannot manage it. This morning, featuring the above photograph, we made a card for Raja and his staff and placed in the post on our way to my physiotherapy appointment with Claire at New Hall hospital.

Progress is very encouraging. Both walking and flexibility are a great improvement on the first operation last May. I just wouldn’t have been able to sit comfortably at the restaurant tables.

The day, as evidenced in my photographs, was dismally damp and misty.

Even mistletoe was unable to brighten the lane through Bodeham,

Dripping snowdrops were more successful.

Mallards and a moorhen didn’t mind the weather over this stretch of the River Avon,

where an egret (I think) wandered and a cormorant (I think) watched from a treetop.

A circling kite was occasionally glimpsed above the naked trees.

Woodgreen Common was rather obscure.

As we headed towards Godshill we witnessed exciting catching practice. A gentleman playing frisbee with a circular ring skimmed it through the air where his triumphant dog leapt to catch and return it.

Someone had left a cap on a bench overlooking what would have been a splendid view in better light. The Godshill road itself was so shrouded in mist that a recently fallen tree was barely visible.

Fog lights were essential on the high risk (of animal deaths) Roger Penny Way, where some impatient drivers continued to follow the 40 m.p.h. speed limit.

This evening we dined on an excellent takeaway meal from New Forest Tandoori. My choice was king prawn madras with special fried rice; Jackie’s was prawn curry with pilau rice. We shared a paratha. I drank sparkling water and Jackie didn’t.

Lens Test

I received a telephone call a day or so ago to tell me that the blood taken in Wednesday’s test had clotted, so we would have to return to New Hall hospital for a repeat. There was only one possible slot for this – today at 11.30 a.m. Jackie duly drove me there to have another extraction. Apart from a miscommunication about the timing (the sample had to be taken immediately before a courier sped off to London with it) this was all very straightforward.
As usual we diverted through the forest on our way home.

The parasitic balls clinging to an avenue of trees in Hale

are clusters of mistletoe enticingly dangling out of reach of would-be Christmas decorators.

The first three of these photographs were taken with my Canon SX700 HS; the last two with my Canon EOS 5D Mark II with the SIGMA 105mm Macro.
The smaller camera is preferable for wider shots – better if you can see what you are doing. It must be twelve months ago that I managed to crack the screen, with the result that this,

taken with the larger camera, is what I see when focussing on the wall opposite. As Jackie says, it is not just a point and shoot, but rather a point, shoot, and hope. Even the chevron shape of the crack is somewhat flattened.

Ditches, rivulets, and pools are now filling up nicely throughout the forest.

I used the 105mm lens for these shots of a grazing foal reflecting on a ditch alongside Roger Penny Way. First, as I approached the subject, I used the full range of the lens;

then, as I neared the young pony, switched to .45m – infinity.

On the other side of Roger Penny Way, I noticed another, adult, pony reflected in a speeding pool in the distant landscape. This image was produced with the full range of the above camera.

Here is the same scene seen with the SIGMA 105-600 mm at full range.

To our right of this animal were two more visible beyond now naked trees, taken with the same equipment.

The larger lens, set at 105mm, caught the first furry coated creature having crossed the ditch, probably without lifting its muzzle from its meal.

This evening we dined on firm pork chops; creamy mashed potato and swede; crunchy carrots and Brussels sprouts with which I drank Saint-Chinian 2017

The Swan Of Avon

THE FIRST IMAGE MAY BE ENLARGED BY A CLICK THAT CAN BE REPEATED IF REQUIRED. A CLICK ON ANY OF THOSE IN GROUPS ACCESSES ITS GALLERY, MEMBERS OF WHICH CAN BE VIEWED FULL SIZE BY SCROLLING DOWN AND CHECKING BOX TO BOTTOM RIGHT

When a knee surgeon, having laid you out, stretched, twisted, and probed, opens his diagnostic announcement with a deadpan “Your chances are good”, that could be considered disconcerting. So it was this morning at my assessment at Old Hall Hospital. Chances, er, chances? What followed, still deadpan, was perhaps a reassuring explanation. “One in hundred have complications, usually because of surgeon error. Unfortunately one in ten thousand don’t make it.” Apart from my abused knees I am apparently in good enough nick to take a punt. It is of course my choice.

I took it. I need total knee replacements; the left one as soon as possible, the right after six months. Normally the first operation would be carried out within two months. Would I be available for any possible cancellation? You bet.

My appointment took place in the Clock Tower of this listed building. It is good to be worked over in a location that satisfies my soul.

Jackie, who, of course had driven me to the hospital, took us back through the forest.

We revisited the mill house, its outbuildings, and the race beside the bridges over the River Avon where I had photographed Richard’s ‘Casting Practice’ three days ago. A solitary swan demonstrated the the two wings of the river link up in the distance. Braemore Great Bridge is the one on which I stood to focus on the angler.

I have featured the parasitic mistletoe before, mentioning how prolific it can be. These avenues leading to and from Hale House appear to wear their summer foliage. This is not so. All we see is mistletoe. Daffodils and primroses still line the verges.

At Brook we lunched on excellent fish and chips in The Green Dragon. The view from the window would perhaps have adorned any chocolate box.

This evening we dined on a scrumptious, thick, mushroom omelette.

The Weather

CLICK ON ANY IMAGE IN A GROUP IN ORDER TO ACCESS ITS GALLERY, EACH MEMBER OF WHICH CAN BE VIEWED FULL SIZE BY SCROLLING DOWN AND CHECKING BOX AT BOTTOM RIGHT

Early this morning we attended to bits of my body.

First, Jackie drove us to the GP surgery in Milford on Sea where I set in motion a long overdue referral for an orthopaedic assessment of my knees, and learned that I am on a list for a cataract adjustment to my left eye. I should be fully bionic soon. Next was a visit to our dental hygienist for a routine treatment.

We then returned to Hockey’s Farm Shop for a box of eggs we had left on the table yesterday.

Today the weather was decidedly soggy with occasional rain. Just one pony appeared to have ventured out. As it struggled to find nourishment along the verges of Holmsley Road it must have regretted the lack of

one of the rugs its more pampered field residents were still wore. They didn’t all even have to find their own food.

These latter animals were kept at South Gorley, so let us here return to Holmsley Road, the forest floors on either side of which are now full of temporary pools covering the terrain and reflecting branches, trunks, and mossy roots.

Crossing the A35 we come to Holmsley Passage, bordered with its own pools of precipitation and wind-blasted branches.

A woman with a dog strode down the hill and across the swollen ford just in time to enhance my photographs.

At Gorley Lynch, light rain seeped from silver-grey skies, supplementing ditchwater flowing across the crumbling road, and brightening moss on the thatch of the house alongside the farm café. This was in stark contrast to the cerulean canvas that had covered the building the day before. Note the mistletoe in the tree. There is much of it about the forest.

This evening we dined on Hockey’s Farm hot and spicy pickled onions accompanying Mr Pink’s fish and chips, and pineapple fritters in Lyle’s golden syrup. I drank Don Lotario gran reserva Navarra 2009.

The Challenge

‘Les Hauts de Hurlevent’ is the French title of Emily Bronte’s awesomely tragic masterpiece ‘Wuthering Heights’. Last night I watched the film version in English with French subtitles. Tom Hardy is a magnificently brooding and vengeful Heathcliffe; Charlotte Riley a perfect, spirited, Cathy; and Sarah Lancashire a strong and motherly Nelly. Everyone else was well worthy of their place in this gripping dramatisation from the screenplay of Peter Bowker. Catherine, I cannot resist reporting, was played by Rebecca Night.

Clad in a warm dressing gown, under a duvet, reclining in bed with the Wordsworth biography in my hands; a cafetiere and cup on the bedside table; I thought of my late friend Ann. It is my custom, on solitary mornings, to read in this manner until the coffee is consumed. Realising that, in this room which has not yet received whatever sun may be on offer during this freezing season, I have only been half-filling the cup, I remembered Ann’s tale of her and Don’s trip to Norway for her son Ally’s wedding. There, the natives only half-filled coffee cups so the drink would be at least tepid before it was finished. This must have been at the back of my mind.

Setting off up the D17 to Pomport I reversed the loop discovered on 3rd. Perhaps it was something I said: the donkey virtually ignores me now. Before I had left the village, a vicious Auster tearing up rue Cailloud bit my fingers and sent the ubiquitous maple leaves bounding along. After the usual half hour my hands were warm and I’d raised a sweat which cooled and dampened my shirts. Yes, I’m back to the four layers.

This time the downward stretch tested the knees. I had to lean backwards and apply my brakes, especially after I paused to take a photograph and couldn’t help but start off at running pace, such was the incline. Fortunately, before descending steeply, the path flattened out enough to make this possible.

A trio of deer scutted, one after the other, between the bare vines. Since it is always three I see together in the forest in Minstead, I wondered whether, rather like one rule of planting, that is the requisite number for company.

Clusters of mistletoe clung to their hosts.

This was a most pleasurable walk on a beautiful morning.

The hearty vegetable soup in Le Code Bar was just what I needed. It was followed by an absolutely delicious kind of spring roll made of warm, moist, leek wrapped in thin layers of lightly crusted ham topped with melted cheese. The main course, piled on a platter for two, consisted of three tender turkey thighs and a section of the neck with a mound of glistening pasta.

Now, Majid and Shafiq, the manager and chef of the Akash in Edgware Road, have for years been upping the ante in an effort to make me sweat with the heat of the chillies. I swore I had a cold on the one day they managed it. Today’s meal came with a challenge from Max in the kitchen. Fred told me he had said ‘if he eats everything I want to see that’. Always up for such a test, carefully removing them from my plate and arraying them on the empty platter, I returned the bones. Max came out to see for himself. It was then that I realised I had been closely observed by all the assembled company, who demonstrated their appreciation in the customary manner. I hastily informed them and Max that, as usual when I’d dined in Le Code Bar, I would eat no more today. And I had had no breakfast.