Pink sky streaks sent me out in the bright, chill, morning with my camera,
and perhaps led me to the hues of gladiolus, Dr Ruppel, Mamma Mia, Lady Emma Hamilton, this particular climbing rose, pelargonium, and carpet rose.
High up in the copper beech I think it was a blackbird serenading.
We took an early drive into the forest, and, enabling me to wander around the banks of Ibsley Water, Jackie parked her modus near the ford.
Angled sunlight cast long reflections on the rippling surface and penetrated the clear water to the shingle bed.
The gnarled oaks beneath Rockford Sand Pit have almost shed their foliate canopies.
While Jackie sat in the car an inquisitive jackdaw eavesdropped on her
animated conversation with a friendly robin. Our red-breasted friends do seem to be lingering in the woodlands.
Elizabeth visited us this evening and stayed for dinner which consisted of Jackie’s wholesome shepherd’s pie; crunchy carrots; firm Brussels sprouts, broccoli, and cauliflower, with meaty gravy, followed by apple and gooseberry crumble and custard. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and my sister and I drank Adam Mason South African Merlot 2019.
On a bright, crisp, afternoon Jackie drove us to Bisterne Close,
where she parked and sat in the car while I wandered into the forest with my camera, rustling the dried autumn leaves, across which the low sun cast long shadows. One lone cow wandered off into the distance. Golden gorse glowed; a few beech and oak leaves lingered on the branches; some fallen limbs bore lichen and fungus; holly berries shone for Christmas.
Jackie photographed a bouncing squirrel
and a pedestrian me.
Ponies were mostly waiting expectantly at the far end of close. What for was unclear.
This evening we dined on well roasted gammon and parsnips; creamy mashed potatoes; piquant cauliflower cheese; firm carrots; and tender green beans, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Comté Tolosan.
Heavy, steady, rain fell throughout most of the day.
I photographed the scenes from indoors. The pendant in the rain spattered window was made for me by the daughter of a client some thirty years ago. The fallen pot was blown down. If there are any more we don’t want to know about it.
I looked down on the garden from upstairs.
Seen from our bedroom window, the puddle in the gutter outside our front drive is a good rain gauge.
At mid morning we left in the rain for a damp forest drive. I had expected simply to make photographs from the car. In the event I couldn’t help myself, so Jackie parked on the verge of Braggers Lane where I found raindrops spiralling in puddles; damp trees; and
damper field horses, some in rugs rooting around, I think for acorns – poisonous to them – in puddles behind barbed wire.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s cracking chicken stoup and crusty bread, followed by ample apple pie and custard, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Shiraz.
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.
This morning Jackie drove me to New Hall Hospital and back for follow-up visits to surgeon Mr Ivar Kask and to physiotherapist Vanessa. Both were happy with progress and neither needs to see me again.
We followed an unnamed narrow winding lane from Bodenham, just behind the hospital, to Charlton-All-Saints. Hoping we would not meet another vehicle along the way we first encountered a young woman so engrossed in her mobile phone that she was in danger of walking straight into us.
Ponies, as usual, grazed or lazed on and around the green at Hale,
where a group of donkeys presented a tableau before a thatched cottage. A solitary creature to the left of these pictures stepped across the grass leaving the two dozing on the right
to the attentions of this character who had been lurking out of shot. He made his way steadily towards the other two,
intent on making further acquaintance.
His sweet-faced intended simply walked away from beneath him as he pursued his suit. He returned in persuasive mood. She didn’t seem to mind his nuzzling up,
but drew the line at a further approach from the rear.
He had to settle for a consoling scratch.
Hatchett Lodge, being the 19th century lodge to Hale Park, is a Grade 2 listed building.
The village stands on land high enough to offer views of distant landscapes; bluebells now embellish banks; the bole of a gnarled oak tree commands attention.
Ponies and cattle co-exist happily on the green at Woodgreen, from where,
beyond an aged oak, one of its limbs propped by a makeshift chock, can be seen Braemore House, standing since the time of Queen Elizabeth I.
We lunched at The Green Dragon, Brook. My egg was not broken when it was delivered, but I had pierced it with the obligatory chip before deciding to record it for posterity. My meat was gammon. Jackie very much enjoyed her battered haloumi with mushy peas and French fries, which, of course demanded a dousing in the spicy dip. Jackie drank a flat white coffee while I drank Wadsworth’s 6X.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s substantial vegetable soup and fresh crusty bread with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Juicy Assemblage.
Such is the continuing mild nature of our weather that there was plenty of evidence on the holly bushes of Hordle Lane, along which I walked to the paddock and back this afternoon, that the other avian larders are still well stocked.
The berries are not even refrigerated yet.
The deciduous oaks are, however, displaying their seasonal x-ray images.
As I leaned on the paddock gate, observing that the horses were all sporting their protective rugs, they suddenly stirred, turned, and trotted with intent across the field. I didn’t really think I had had that effect on them.
Soon afterwards a man and a woman led them to a pen on the far side. Whilst I couldn’t quite see what was going on, I imagine it can only have been feeding time that would provoke such spirited movement. My camera lens confirmed this.
Whilst writing this I am myself slowly being penned in by Christmas decorations which have a propensity to multiply at will.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s scrumptious sausage casserole; mashed potatoes; Brussels sprouts; and sautéed carrots, potatoes, onions, and mushrooms. Dessert was steamed pineapple pudding and custard. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the malbec.
