ponies – Page 69 – derrickjknight

Out Of The Dark

On another unseasonably mild day, I wandered around the garden with my camera, picking

allium,

daffodil,

camellias,

viburnum rhytidophyllum,

periwinkle,

and bergenia.

This afternoon we drove through the forest to Burley. On the way we stopped at a New Forest car park for a short walk with Scooby.

Ponies always gather round the parked cars because there is always a reasonable chance of hands offering titbits on the ends of arms extended from open windows. So it was today, until a family turned the tables and advanced on the ponies in great excitement.

It wasn’t long before the animals turned tail,

only to return to their habitual patch of heathland when the coast was clear.

A track, up which various walkers clambered, led down to a valley below.

Still an hour away from sunset, we were treated to some interesting skyscapes.

It was not yet 4.00 p.m. by the time we arrived in Burley, but the targeted tea rooms were closed. We therefore sought refreshment in the Burley Inn. Mine was a pint of Flack’s Double Drop.

Still not 5.00 p.m., we returned home in the dark. As we left the village and entered the less than broad, unlit roads across the forest, a stream of traffic approaching on our right, Jackie hit the brakes. Out of the dark, a black and grey pony appeared, in the Modus’s dipped headlights, ambling straight towards me on the passenger side. My chauffeuse barely had room to swerve around the beast to slip between that and the oncoming traffic.

Becky, two cars behind, was treated to a similar experience. This was our closest encounter yet.

This evening, Jackie, for our dinner, produced tender roast lamb, roast parsnips, Yorkshire pudding, stuffing, perfect carrots and Brussels sprouts, and cauliflower cheese. Apple crumble would have followed had anyone left enough room for it. Becky and Ian drank rose and I finished the El Sotillo.

A Sale

I received confirmation this morning, that my piece ‘Not The Comic Book Hero’ will appear on livelytwist tomorrow.

Although today was much brighter, it is now cold and the rampant winds ravage the garden. The tops of the cold frame at the side of the front of the house were ripped off and distributed elsewhere. I replaced them and battened them down with rocks.

The Head Gardener’s research has revealed that the flowering cherry in the front garden is not performing out of season. It is Prunus Subhirtella Autumnalis.

I printed up the recycling and disposal section of the garden album.

This afternoon Jackie drove us to Elizabeth’s, whence the three of us, in my sister’s car, collected Mum and went on to The First Gallery where we spent a customary pleasant time talking with our friends Margery and Paul, and having a look round the exhibits.

As we drove across the forest, a sudden emergency stop was required when one of the ponies took it into its head to cross the road. Some warning signs now bear the legend ‘Expect Them To Step Out’. That is why.

Beaulieu was really rather swarming with the beasts, some of whom trotted happily down the middle of the main road through the village. This one was really stepping it out, for a New Forest Pony.

Others clustered around the lake at low tide, possibly envying the waterfowl their ownership of it.

I have sold a few photographs in my time, but, up until now, only greetings cards have been bought at The First Gallery. I was therefore pleased to learn that the picture of Quay Street on the left of my little corner has been purchased.

Afterwards, Mum, Elizabeth, Jackie, and I dined at Farmers Home in Durley. The meals and service were as good and attentive as usual. My choice was beef Wellington followed by Eton Mess; Jackie’s was mushroom Stroganoff with sticky toffee pudding for dessert; Elizabeth’s beef Wellington with frozen berries to follow; Mum’s crab fish cakes with creme brûlée afterwards. I drank Ringwood’s bitter; Jackie sparkling water; Elizabeth shiraz; and Mum, orange juice.

As we entered the Modus to return home the thermometer read 0 degrees, which was quite a shock after the mild weeks we have been experiencing.

She Mistook My Brogues For Acorns

Barrie and Vicki dropped in this morning to present me with Barrie’s new book, ‘Walking in the Sea’. I look forward to reading it.

Ever since my lingering cold in August, I have been feeling decidedly under par, so Jackie persuaded me to visit the GP, made the appointment, and drove me there. After a thorough examination, Dr. Moody-Jones formed the opinion that I have a specific infection and prescribed antibiotics. I have confidence in the diagnosis. We’ll see how we go.

On a very sunny afternoon Jackie drove us through the forest. We enjoyed wood- and heathlands, and the livestock that, having right of way in the New Forest, roam the terrain and the roads.

Pools, such as this one formed near Bolderwood, are beginning to varnish the forest floor.

We stopped for a while near the Ornamental Arboretum.

Next stop was Nomansland where ponies grazed on the green,

where the lowering sun cast long shadows and glinted in the animals’ eyes.

The matted, crusty, hide of some of these creatures bore evidence of how muddy their environment has become.

As we drove back along Roger Penny Way, a grunting sow followed by squawking offspring, clambering all over each other in their haste, burst through the bracken, dashed along the verge, and came to a halt among a heap of fallen leaves and acorns. They were just like the proverbial pigs in a trough. I was amazed at the amount of noise they made.

At one point the mother left her brood, advanced on me, and, her nose rings grating on my toes, snotted all over my light tan brogues. Eventually she realised they were not acorns, and returned to the trough.

On the approach to Beaulieu, a group of cattle, and one pony, grazed on the heath in the warm glow of the setting sun.

Just before we reached the village, rounding the bend in a narrow road, we came hard up against the reason for a bit of a hold-up. A donkey, its rear hooves planted in the road, calmly chomped in a hedge.

This evening we dined on roast lamb, mint sauce, roast and mashed potatoes, carrots, cabbage and corn on the cob. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I abstained.

Up Close And Personal

On a largely overcast and humid morning I took an amble down to Roger’s footpath and back.

Parsley and fennel are now flowering in the bed opposite the kitchen window.

White nicotiana spreads its scent across the patio.

The Absolutely Fabulous rose now bears numerous fresh flowers.

Violas suspended from the entrance arch to the back drive soak up the sun’s fleeting rays.

I found that a snowy owl has been sneaked in.

Small, ground-hugging, convolvulus now straggles the verges of Downton Lane.

For the purposes of rearranging the furniture I was permitted to enter the shed this morning. If truth be told, I was probably more hindrance than help, although the Head Gardener was too kind to say so. I was taken back, however, to my very early childhood when, asking my mother if I could help with the housework, I would receive the response: ‘Yes. Sit on a chair and keep out of my way’.

We now have a reasonably tame thrush. Whether this is the result of imprinting during its fearless infancy, or because, when she discovers a nest of snails or slugs she lays them out on the path for the grateful bird, is not clear.

However, once our little friend has had its fill, it will often stand, looking hopeful, awaiting a further feed.

On TV, I watched the first, thrilling, women’s Wimbledon semi-final, in which Garbine Muguruza defeated Agnieszka Radwanska 2-1. Afterwards, Jackie drove us to Pocock’s Rose Centre in Romsey, where we bought six more scented roses. These were the white climber, Madame Alfred Carrière, shrubs purple Roseraie de l’Haye, and white Jacqueline du Pré. Two in bloom were:

pale yellow Creme de la Creme

and delicately muted pink Chris Beardshaw.

Along Romsey Road at Copythorne stands the only building to have been granted the honour of membership of the P.G. Wodehouse Society. This is the Empress of Blandings public house named after the great comic author’s porcine character.

It seemed only right and proper to photograph the pub sign and the mural quotation for Ashokbhatia, an erudite and amusing blogger who is a great Wodehouse fan. His writing on the master’s oeuvre alone are insightful and enlightening. And he has more to say besides.

We chose a different route home, and dawdled through the forest around Bolderwood. There the late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, dappling some scenes and throwing the spotlight on others.

New Forest ponies are not known for speed. In fact they often hardly move at all, preferring to stand and sleep or graze. When half a dozen of them rushed towards me at a trot, I was a little perturbed, and retreated to the car. So near came these creatures that I didn’t have room to open the door. This was a bit close and personal for my liking. Eventually they got the message that I wasn’t going to feed them, and cantered off along the road to find someone else to molest.

Hordle Chinese Takeaway provided our evening meal, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden Belgian beer, and I drank English Master Brewers IPA

From Seaside To Forest And Back

On another glorious summer’s morning Jackie drove me to the surgery at Milford, where I handed in my repeat prescription order. She then deposited me at The Beach House so that I could walk back along the cliff top and up through Shorefield, thus avoiding the ascent of Park Lane.

Sleepy yachts slipped past The Needles and The Isle of Wight, along The calm, bright blue, Solent, reflecting the clear sky above.

Scarlet Pimpernels straggled underfoot.

Colourful lichen clings to memorial benches

like this one.

What is fascinating about these benches that line the cliff paths, is that they give you some idea of the length of retirees’ twilight years, and demonstrate the longevity of lichen.

Work continues on the re-sited footpath, brought some way inland following last year’s cliff crumble. Three cyclists sped along it. One waved cheerily. In the distance can be seen the crew adding fine gravel to the tarmacked surface. When I reached them I took rather a good photograph of the workers, but their head man preferred not to have their faces flying round the internet, so I deleted it.

A gentleman and his black labrador descended the steps down to the beach. The dog dashed down the bank, possibly indicating that he didn’t want to be photographed either.

The normally reluctant crows didn’t seem interested. One just continued preening.

Another, tattooed, man, attempting a tan, toted his shirt along the shingle.

A few days ago I featured signs warning swimmers off, because of World War II defence ironwork. A photograph now shows the spikes, rather like those that in medieval times aimed to ensnare horses.

This afternoon Jackie drove Sheila and me around the north of the forest. Donkeys wandered on the road in Mockbeggar.

One, standing in the soporific sunlight, cast a sharp shadow.

Another, sensibly stayed in the shade.

Before having a drink in the garden of The Foresters Arms in Frogham, we visited the nearby Abotswell Car Park.

Dog roses decorated the shrubbery. Beyond these it is evident that the small lake is almost dry.

Just how did the owner of these keys ever leave the car park?

There was no suitable stopping place for photography on Roger Penny Way, but, as we approached Cadnam, there was enough of an hiatus in the traffic flow for me, from the back seat of the Modus, to produce an image of

the pony family that had ambled across the road.

This evening we all dined at Lal Quilla in Lymington. The meal, service, and friendliness were as good as ever. I chose a new dish called Chicken Jaljala. This was cooked in a sweet, sour, and hot tomato and onion sauce. I will certainly have it again. Jackie and I drank Kingfisher, whilst Sheila’s choice was sparkling water.

It wasn’t far off 10 p.m. when we admired the sunset from the quay.

‘Nice To See You Again’

After lunch on a glorious summer’s day, we took Sheila on a drive through the forest via Brockenhurst, Lymington, and Milford on Sea.

It is the season for foals in the forest. Traffic calming structures include short wooden bollards and widened kerbs on either side of the roads, forcing traffic into single files. The necessity for this was evident as one little filly, closely chaperoned by her mother, perched precariously on the kerb, in an effort to relieve herself of irritation she probably didn’t yet know was caused by the flies that would plague her for the rest of her life. Eyes closed, she vainly rubbed her head against the bollard. She had trouble arranging her hoofs.

Other adult ponies wandered across the road, holding up the vehicles as usual.

Further along, a toddler in the arms of his carer, was being introduced to more ponies and cattle sheltering in the shade of a tree on the green.

I had met Percy on 29th January in Polly’s Pantry, when I produced ‘Portrait Of A Village’. Because I had enjoyed this teashop, I took Jackie and Sheila there today. Over our beverages, I told them about Percy. Just before we left, in struggled Percy, with the usual amount of courteous assistance and service from the staff. Usually, when you speak to someone you have only met once, and that six months before, you are inclined to think that the observation ‘Nice to see you again’, which is usually accompanied by a quizzical expression, is just a matter of politeness. Not so with Percy. This very bent, disabled, gentleman, definitely did recognise me. His comment was genuine.

Back home, Jackie continued weeding and tidying the garden.

Helicopters can make a vertical descent and land with precision. So it is with those carried by sycamore trees. Stretching across our back drive from North Breeze next door is such a tree that has self-seeded against what is left of the ancient fence. Its seeds, nicknamed helicopters, hang threatening to drop onto our newly gravelled drive. Despite the fact that they are coloured so as to suggest that they may be support vehicles for the Red Arrows, they cannot be allowed to land among our stones. They had to go. I cut off a few of the branches.

Elizabeth called soon after this and joined us for the usual splendid repast served up by the lady of the house. We all dined on roast chicken thighs, roasted mushrooms and peppers, Yorkshire pudding, creamy mashed swede and potato, boiled potatoes, carrots, mange-touts and green beans; followed by Sheila’s lemon cake and evap. Jackie drank Hoegaarden; Sheila lemonade; and Elizabeth and I, Louis de Camponac merlot 2014.

Close Encounters Of The Asinine Kind

Although The Needles lighthouse fog warning could still be heard, last night’s mist eventually cleared from Downton to reveal a splendid warm and sunny day, on the morning of which my garden meandering revealed:

a forsythia,

and, now budding, the azalea transported from Sutherland Place.

Cherry blossom can now me seen emerging from the North Breeze brambles,

which are choking that abandoned garden’s greenhouse,

and, ‘imitating the action of the [triffids]’, again sending their tentacles across our makeshift fence. This afternoon I cut them back.

This afternoon Jackie drove us around the North of the forest. On this balmy day we knew we would see the usual animals wandering on the roads and through the villages. Ponies chomped grass on the green and by the stream at Ibsley where an ice cream van was doing a good trade. A boy paddled in the water sucking on his ice cream while his parents sat on a rock eating theirs. I didn’t think it politic to photograph them. This area had been waterlogged when we brought Flo there for a photo session last year.

On the banks of the stream the dappled sunlight enhanced the strawberry ripple of a grey pony, and another looked as if its dye had run into the gently flowing ruddied water.

Donkeys abounded in North Gorley. One, sleepily, lay in the road for a good hour or so, only lifting its head when a car sped past. It pricked up its long ears and raised its nose quite suddenly, but dropped it slowly to the ground once the danger was past. It seemed to know exactly how far to let it fall before coming to rest. At no time did it move the rest of its body, any more than did the grey/white one on the grass outside The Royal Oak pub. These two animals were treating their different heated surfaces as electric blankets.

Perched on top of the thatch of Cobweb Cottage in Hyde, were two pheasants. Jackie thought there would be no chance of their flying away at the sight of the camera, so I might get a decent shot in. Perhaps the person who fitted the weather vane was a cricket fan.

It was on the approach to this village that encounters with the fauna became, to varying degrees, disconcerting. Having been attracted by the long shadows cast by the donkeys as they grazed beneath the trees, I emerged from the car, camera at the ready. But they were onto me. Almost literally. One in particular advanced at a steady, silent pace, merging its shadow into mine. Backing away didn’t help, so I settled for

another grazing,

and two of its companions necking.

I gave up and returned to the car. No sooner had I sat in the passenger seat and closed the door than my more attentive acquaintance pushed its head through the open window, poised its muzzle inches from my crotched started moving it up and down. I felt particularly uneasy, not to say queasy, until I realised that my persistent suitor was scratching its neck on the window frame. That is what caused the rhythmic movement and the flaring of the nostrils. There was nothing for it but to use it as a photo opportunity.

When Jackie asked me if I had taken any shots that showed the animal in the context of having penetrated into the car, I replied that I couldn’t get far enough away to have anything in the frame but the asses head. It was like photographing Shakespeare’s Bottom from centre stage.

I am sure that the donkeys themselves are harmless. But what they carry is not. These creatures bear the ticks that give humans Lyme disease when they bite them. A visit to Google will provide details of this unpleasant affliction. I did rather hope that my amorous friend wasn’t dislodging its ticks into our car.

This evening Jackie and I dined on her superb sausage casserole, mashed potato, cauliflower and broccoli. I finished the rioja and my lady abstained.

P.S. Becky has pointed out that three of Jackie’s fingers on the steering wheel are reflected in the donkey’s eye.

Communing With Ponies

Today we ventured out. Firstly, I made my way down the garden to admire Aaron’s work of yesterday. Perusal of the last two photographs featured on 26th June last year show what this now bare patch looked like then. For the rest of that summer I cleared most of what was growing there, and invading from next door. Anyone who has followed my summer posts will know what a task this was.

The piles of concrete and bricks seen in those two pictures show how much of this material I had dug out, not to mention the bath. The job still required completion, and I’d had enough, which is why I had engaged Aaron Parris of A.P. Maintenance. Aaron charges a very reasonably hourly rate, and works thoroughly throughout, having to be encouraged to take tea breaks. We now have a blank canvas on which to plan our rose garden.

Our next morning outing was by car. Jackie drove us around the Northern parts of the forest. Even driving through the splendid heathlands and the winding treelined roads in gorgeous sunshine I felt rather dozy, until I stepped out for a while to commune with a group of basking New Forest ponies whose somnolence made me feel as if I were positively frisky. Mostly, these animals were undisturbed by my presence. One grey, however, stirred itself enough to turn and see whether was anything to eat in my camera.

The shadows cast by this wonderful wintry light which sharpened the landscape were just what the doctor would have ordered for lifting the spirits, had he or she been asked. Many people have found swimming with dolphins to be soothingly curative for those suffering from depression. Unless you are unfortunate enough to be afraid of these silent ponies, I can recommend communing with these gentle creatures as a peaceful experience.

We dined this evening on chicken Kiev, chips, and baked beans, followed by Bakewell tart and custard.

This morning’s outing was initiated by Jackie, and required a certain amount of willpower. This evening, however, I really felt I was on the mend, and was grateful we had made the effort.

Yellow Ticket

The storm, having filled the deepest ditches, and extended the pools on the fields and the roads, had desisted this morning when we began the day with a shopping trip to Tesco. This supermarket, like all the other home-grown ones, is feeling the squeeze from the Germans, Lidl and Aldi. There were notices everywhere announcing cheaper brands.

By midday the dull weather had evaporated into clear blue sunlit skies. After lunch I walked up Hordle Lane, right into Sky End Lane, left into Vicarage Lane, and left again, returning home back along Hordle Lane. I was lucky, for the rain set in soon afterwards.

Discarded detritus now floated in ochre waters of the ditches which I photographed with my back to the warming sun.

Pools glinted on the lanes and reflected the trees and skies above. A jogger ran past the paddock in which the ponies chomped on their fodder. Later he returned in the opposite direction, possibly eventually passing a woman and her exotic looking dog glowing in the sunlight, and casting long shadows.

Some vehicles sped through the pools on the tarmac, sending up showers of water; others slowed and sprayed a little.

On Vicarage Lane, which enjoyed numerous reflective puddles, I engaged in conversation with a friendly woman tending her garden. She had noticed me attempting to photograph small birds in her trees. We didn’t know what they were, but they were attracted by nuts she had hung up for her visiting tits, siskins, and a solitary woodpecker.

Blackbirds scurried in the hedgerows.

At the corner of Vicarage and Hordle Lanes, lies the Parish Church of All Saints, Hordle. Shafts of gleaming sunlight illuminated the sleepy resting place of former parishioners.

Jackie’s matured liver and bacon casserole was enhanced by the discrete taste of fresh mushrooms and peppers for tonight’s dinner. They were accompanied by prime mashed potato, and crisp cabbage, carrots and cauliflower, then followed by Tesco’s finest Belgian chocolate choux buns. Our dessert was purchased this morning at half price. Such is the UK’s obsession with ‘best before’, ‘use by’, and ‘sell by’ dates, that supermarkets cannot sell goods beyond whichever of these phrases appears the most relevant. Neither, for fear of lawsuits for food poisoning, are they able to give them away. They therefore do the next best thing and reduce the price. Our buns bore the legend ‘use by’ today. Had we purchased them later in the day, they would probably have been even cheaper. In this particular outlet you can recognise reduced items by their yellow ticket.

We each drank the same beverage as yesterday.

Borrowed Wellies

A strong wind was getting up in preparation for later rainfall when I took a walk along Hordle Lane and the footpath alongside Apple Court Garden where I met the owner who thought I might have been interested in looking at the house which is for sale. The plan now is to sell the house and garden separate from the Nursery business. The house and garden are on the market for £850,000, and the business £100,000.

As I passed Yeatton House Cottage paddock, a young woman entered the field carrying food containers. This was a signal for the usually stationary animals to tear across the soggy terrain and vie with each other to bury their noses in the buckets of fodder. I had a long and pleasant talk with Merisa, who had worked for Spencers estate agents in Burley. She knew Pippa and the others at the Lymington office who had done so much to restore our flagging faith in such agents. She is the owner of the two forest ponies who, she said, prefer to drink from the pools than the trough.

Here is number 57 in Elizabeth’s through the ages series. Like the photograph featured in ‘No Mod Cons’, It would have been taken by Jessica around 1976. I think she framed it rather well. In the previous post I have explained why my visits to the stone cottage in Snowdonia were most infrequent. This damp holiday home contained a row of Wellington boots of all possible sizes, left behind by former guests, for the use of whoever may come next. Regular readers will know that I spent thirty-odd years resisting Jessica’s efforts to persuade me to buy my own. This was because I never intended to wallow around in mud enough to make a purchase worthwhile. I would have used a pair of those so kindly donated. I have, of course, bought my own quite recently, on account of the amount of time I do now spend tramping around terrain not unlike that in the third picture above. But naturally, I only wear them when I really cannot avoid it.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s classic sausage casserole, boiled potatoes, and crisp brussels sprouts and cauliflower, followed by Dutch Apple Cake and custard. I drank more of the Costieres de Nimes.