Tag: Pilley lake

Fading Light

In the drizzling gloom on the already fading light of late afternoon we drove to Milford on Sea Pharmacy for repeat medication before continuing into the forest.

The decorated post box on Pilley Street now has a Christmas theme.

Further along a small van sprayed some of the pool crossing the road. An oncoming car let this vehicle pass in order to avoid trying the deeper level.

Mallards now own the fully filled and

reflecting lake alongside Jordans Lane.

The thatched Corner Cottage at Norley Wood has an outside decorated Christmas tree.

On our way home the lights decorating the lamp posts on the outskirts of Lymington were coming into their own.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s savoury rice with tempura and salt and pepper prawn preparations and spring rolls, with which the Culinary Queen finished the white Zinfandel and I drank more of the shiraz

More Showers Than Sunshine

This morning I posted

The Golden Sovereign

Today we received more showers than sunshine and I spent more of the morning reading Church’s “The Voyage Home”.

The sun played cat and mouse with me this afternoon.

Every time it tempted me to go out with the camera it would play the hiding part of peepo!

I therefore nipped out between showers and tried my luck.

Eventually we drove out into the forest in the rain, which soon desisted.

Curious sheep at Portmore risked garrotting themselves to investigate us through their wire fence.

Suddenly they all took off to the corner. I knew where they would be heading and walked back along the narrow lane to their gate.

Sure enough the farmer, assisted by his silent sheepdog, had filled their trough.

He invited me to come into the field for a better photographic opportunity. I gratefully availed myself of his friendly generosity. He left the gate open for me to close when I left. Unfortunately I forgot to ask him the breed and could not confidently identify them later.

The lake at Pilley is now filled to the brim, with clear reflections lit by the fickle sun reflected in a muddy pool and casting shadows across this and the bank.

This evening we all dined on racks of pork ribs and tender runner beans on a bed of Jackie’s savoury rice with which she drank more of the Lieblich and I finished the Garnacha.

A Short Forest Drive, And A Result

I sat in the car reading while Jackie shopped in Tesco; then I loaded the shopping into the car and we took a short forest drive.

Water buttercups creamed the reflecting lake at Pilley,

where washing was draped over a gate to a lakeside cottage.

Ponies of varying sizes and breeds basked on Bull Hill pastures,

while three donkeys behaved similarly around the road sign opposite No 1 Sowley Lane

Later, Louisa asked me to trace the post of her 21st Birthday party so she could extract some of the pictures. I did. There were no pictures on it.

Flo came to the rescue by introducing me to the Wayback Machine. This is a site which captures everything anyone has put on the Internet. Fear not, I won’t try to describe the process, but our granddaughter has written it all down for me. I may try to do it again, but here is

From Eleven To Twenty One

the result.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s tricolour penne pasta arrabbiata sprinkled with parmesan cheese with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Passamano Frappato Syrah 2021.

Santa’s Float

On another cold, albeit slowly brightening, day Jackie and I took a forest drive just after 11 a.m.

Autumn leaves flocking on the still, silent, surface of Pilley’s icy lake will need a thaw before they begin their slow, rocking descent to the bed beneath.

Sage green lichen clung to branches

and decorated damp ivy coated trunks;

lesser limbs became embedded;

spectral skaters scraped converging rimy streaks across the frozen water,

while shaggy Shetland ponies quietly grazed.

The majority of this stubby little herd had rectified their recent absence from Bull Hill

which they now shared with curious cattle.

This bovine fixed me with a customary stare, then turned and

crossed the road. I tried not to take it personally.

Lymington River is tidal and therefore not frozen, and able to ripple and reflect the weak sunshine and Santa’s float.

In an effort to reorganise her fridge and larder, the Culinary Queen produced a varied menu for this evening consisting of left over helpings of my Susan’s chicken, of Shelly’s beef stew, one of her own earlier penne Bolognaise dishes from the freezer. She and I opted for the Bolognese while the others enjoyed some of everything. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Cabernet Sauvignon.

Replenishment

The recent heavy rains have suddenly filled the drought-dried lake at Pilley. This prompted me to circumperambulate it on our forest drive this morning.

Fresh autumn leaves floated among rippling reflections or

broken limbs from their trees,

or lay visible on the shallow bed;

Mallards, glimpsed through overhanging lichen covered branches and their lingering foliage, have reclaimed their natural habitat.

Some of the leaves cluster among mini mushrooms between mossy or

exposed roots and bark flakes from fallen trees on the water-lapped banks.

This evening Jackie and I joined Shelly, Ron, Helen, and Bill at Fordingbridge for the latter couple’s church fundraising quiz night. Helen provided sandwiches, mince, pies, gala pie, crisps, salad and wine; Ron brought beer. We had a very enjoyable time with good natured competition, at which we came third.

On our journey home the steady rain accompanying our outward trip had developed into a deluge, in which the rhythmic whirring of our windscreen wipers could not clear the shield of raindrops that became twinkling stars above parallel columns of light stretched along the tarmac before the headlights of each oncoming vehicle, while our own beams illuminated the fanned curtains of spray thrown up by our wheels from pools across the road to rival the swollen lake seen this morning.

Focus On The Windscreen

Nick Hayter visited this morning to assess the post-refurbishment decorating work he is to undertake. We enjoyed his usual pleasant conversation.

The unconsolable skies shed continuous profuse tears throughout the afternoon, which we began with a trip to the Lymington Post Office collection office to claim a parcel undelivered because of a shortage of £2 in postage. The good news was that there was no queue. The bad news was that the office was closed. I took an alternative option which was to stick the extra postage on the back of their card and post it back to them.

We then drove into the forest to make

a record picture of the lake at Pilley which is avidly collecting more liquid sustenance. I chose not to walk round to the other side for that view since I was already feeling a drip.

While waiting for a train at the Lymington level crossing I had plenty of time to focus on the windscreen.

Perhaps it is the intensity; perhaps the consistently fast pace; perhaps the comparative shortness; perhaps the bloodthirstiness of the historical context of Charles Dickens’s ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ that renders it apparently the most widely read of the master’s novels, in which there is no room for his customary dry wit, and little for his comic turns.

Later this afternoon I finished reading the work which becomes impossible to put down; and scanned the last four of Charles Keeping’s perfectly matched illustrations to my Folio Society 1985 edition.

‘ ‘Hope has quite departed from my breast’ ‘

‘He spoke with a helpless look straying all around’

‘Miss Pross seized her round the waist and held her tight’

‘She kisses his lips; he kisses hers’

This evening we dined on double egg and chips with sausages and baked beans, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Comté Tolosan Rouge.

Patent Love

Our neighbour, Gordon, who lives in Old Rode House, Downton Lane this morning gave us this typed version of an article from The Mansfield and Sutton Times of 29th June 1928:

The highlighted paragraph is the one that specifically features our little hamlet, and is, incidentally evidence that our house was certainly built before the 1930s, as we had been given to understand. I have also scanned the next two pages which describe the life of our area a hundred years ago. Apart from the volume of motor traffic this has not changed much in the intervening years. We do have electricity, but not gas. We are not on mains drainage and dispose of our waste by means of a septic tank. These continuation sheets can be enlarged by access to their gallery.

The few fluffy clouds creeping away from a clear cerulean sky above our garden earlier heralded the cold, bright, day that we were to enjoy. The last image in the above set was produced by looking down on the kitchen skylight from our new first floor sitting room.

We began with a visit to Pilley’s lake where my usual seasonal view bore signs of autumn and a number of ponies

drinking and reflected in the clear, still waters.

Some of the animals wandered across Jordans Lane until a woman left one of the cars and shooed them off.

This was Jules who called her pony over from the far side of the lake and gave him treats – this soon had me surrounded by other equines hoping for the same from me. I had engaged this friendly person in conversation in order to ask her about the foal with the stick in its collar that we had seen yesterday. She had obligingly parked behind Jackie where we enjoyed talking. Jules thought it likely that the small branch would become dislodged. The love between pony and owner was patent.

Assorted equines gathered on the other side of the water.

Donkeys with a foal gathered at East Boldre, where

robins flitted about.

More ponies, casting long shadows gathered on the verges of the beginning of South Baddersley Road. These, we thought, were the group that we often see at St Leonard’s Grange, with their little attached Shetland,

today enjoying an extended scratch on a post, while

one of its taller companions was able to use its hoof.

Setting Ducks Into Flight

This morning we began filling the new wardrobe, which meant bagging up for disposal many clothes we will never wear again.

Afterwards I posted https://derrickjknight.com/2021/11/06/a-knights-tale-59-about-the-children/

This afternoon we took a drive into the forest. Our first stops were at Pilley, where

the lake is beginning to recede once more, and

rippling water lines the edges with autumn leaves.

The crocheted letter collection box on Pilley Hill now prepares for Remembrance Day.

I called in at the Community Shop to find out who was the creator of these adornments changing with the seasons. Unfortunately the man on duty didn’t know, but advised me to call in during the week.

I settled for photographing cattle, calves, and walkers on the other side of the street.

Although one patch of blue sky separated clouds along the road to Hatchet Pond, louring billows, pierced by Jesus beams hung over the water, where pair of swans and their cygnets set a paddling of ducks into flight.

This evening we dined on oven fish and chips, peas, pickled onions, and chilli cornichons, with which we finished the Jurancon white wine.

Ready For Her Close Up

This morning we drove Jan, Bob, and DeAna to New Milton station for the next stage of their journey to Switzerland. Jan e-mailed me three photographs taken on the platform for Waterloo.

Jackie and Jan by De;

Jan and Derrick by De;

and Bob and De by Jan.

A brief inspection of further storm damage revealed that Jackie’s favourite view from the stable door has been ruined by

a wind-blown lurch of the Wisteria Arbour.

Jackie had laid down the chairs on the decking, but simply closed up the parasol which had been lifted clear of the table through the centre of which it normally stands, and gently placed against the fence.

Plenty of flowers have, however, happily survived.

This afternoon we took a forest drive, intending to take the route to Pilley via Undershore.

A large tree had, however, been thrown across the now puddly path, so a reverse sweep was required on a lane requiring a numerous point turn.

As can be seen the day began with strong sunshine. This rapidly deteriorated into one of bright, brief, sunny spells forcing their way between dark, heavy, showers pattering on the car roof; spreading racing, rippling, rivulets such that the wipers could not keep pace to provide clear vision; and turning my T-shirt into a wet dishcloth when I stepped out at Pilley lake to photograph its current condition.

The water was now filling up, so that the lone pig which had a couple of weeks ago been part of a group that had frolicked over the dry bed must have been disappointed as it

stood on the surrounding landscape.

Rain now pelted where porkers had pootled.

On Cadnam Lane ponies reflected on pools; sheltered from the rain; or failed to dry their hair after another downpour.

Pigs were unperturbed by the elements, one was certainly ready for her close up.

This evening we sat at our lonely table and raised our glasses, containing more of the Sauvignon Blanc, and Chevalier de Fauvert Comté Tolosan Rouge 2019, to absent friends while reprising last night’s repast of sausages in red wine.

Seeking Shelter

On a dank, drizzly, morning we visited Lymington High Street early to buy birthday presents. We had to wait half an hour for one shop to open, so I took the opportunity for a spot of people watching.

Cyclists negotiated other traffic;

a number of toddlers rode in buggies;

some were prepared for rain, while others improvised with coats;

one couple contemplated care options;

a blue bird alighted on a mobile phone;

crossing the road required nifty footwork;

two pairs of sandals were well synchronised;

W.H.Smith’s was being decorated;

it looks as if someone was late;

a child was introduced to Costa Coffee.

I was just about to photograph this friendly gentleman’s dogs as he moved off. When I told him so, he stopped, turned the buggy round so I could photograph both children and dogs, and engaged in an enjoyable conversation with Jackie and me.

When the weather brightened somewhat this afternoon we drove to Pilley for the intermittent check on the views across the lake.

Whoever crochets the cover for the post collection box on Pilley Hill has remembered that we are still meant to be in summer.

The lake is even drier than our last visit; blackberries are burgeoning on the far side, in company of yellow ragwort.

As I walked around the even more receding water line I could see the movement of animals beneath the trees. Upon investigation I discovered the group of Shetland ponies who must have trooped all the way down from the Norley Wood end of Bull Hill, where we normally encounter them, clearly seeking shelter and proximity to liquid refreshment.

This evening we dined on the last of the cottage pie supplemented by a pork chop each and fresh vegetables, with which Jackie drank more of the Sauvignon Blanc and I drank Chevalier de Fauvert Compté Tolosan Rouge 2019