Tag: pony

What To Do With Flies

For much of the morning and the first half hour of a sweltering afternoon Jackie continued weeding the Brick Path, taking her own

before

and after photographs;

meanwhile I filled several trug-loads of dead-headed roses and weeds pulled up from the beds along the way.

Afterwards I printed another batch of A4 prints of him at work for Nick, who finished his work today.

Early this evening Jackie and I took a drive into the forest.

There seemed to be three options for photography when we arrived at Hatchet Pond: a man throwing sticks into the lake for his dogs to splash after, crows pecking in the grass, and, as a last resort my lens might reach a few groups on the far bank. As I disembarked from the Modus the man and his dogs walked away, and the rooks flew off.

Fortunately, a young lady aimed a judicious kick on the far side.

On Furzey Lane, a young foal, looking enviously at his mother’s tail, the switching of which he tried to emulate with no effect, did his best to dislodge the flies which pestered him, with ineffective kicks and waggling of his abbreviated little brush.

Along Lodge Lane a colourful pheasant strutted in the verge grasses, and inquisitive field horses displayed their fly protection gear.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s pasta bolognese with fresh salad. The Culinary Queen and Ian drank Hoegaarden, Becky drank Zesty, and I finished the Côtes du Rhône.

Time To Let The Cattle Loose

On a largely overcast yet dry day Jackie donated some property to one Charity Shop in Highcliffe before lunch and we both did the same with two small filing cabinets to the Oakhaven Hospice shop in the afternoon.

We then took a drive into the forest.

On the first green at Bramshaw a couple of donkeys shared their pasturage

with a sheep and two lambs.

I photographed Jackie’s attempt to catch me focussing on the most inquisitive of the donkeys which, when I left them for the sheep, stuck its head through Jackie’s window.

Further along the road was claimed by cattle including our old friends Splash and Blackie the Highland Bulls. Jackie produced the close-ups of these two fearsome beasts.

A solitary pony perched precariously on the slope of the verge.

Another bovine group trampling the woodland at Furzley reminded us that this is about the time that cattle who have been kept under shelter during the winter are generally released to roam.

This evening we dined on succulent fillet steaks; chips, roast tomatoes, and garden peas with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Bordeaux.

A Photographer With Two Assistants

This afternoon Jackie took Flo and me for a drive.

We passed walkers among the grass of Saltgrass Lane, along which we

viewed low clouds giving the Isle of Wight the appearance of high mountains fronted by the Hurst Lighthouse and medieval castle; and

figures on the spit continuing along the low tide flats.

Unbeknown to each of us, while Jackie photographed a conversation with an ice cream vendor I focussed on a couple enjoying one of her wares.

The elder Assistant Photographer also photographed a perched black headed gull.

An abundance of wild flowers now carpet the verges of our lanes.

The anonymous decorator of the letter collection box on Pilley Hill has given us an Easter theme.

The last two of these pictures of a pony drinking in Pilley lake were Flo’s work.

Gentle donkeys took care of each other at East Boldre.

Tonight we dined on Jackie’s rich red chicken jalfrezi and equally colourful savoury rice with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Shiraz. Hard boiled eggs were added to the curry for Flo, who did not imbibe. She remembered that once when she was smaller I had made her a boiled egg curry.

A Pony For GP

On returning from our trip yesterday, we admired the progress that Richard and Alan from Kitchen Makers had made during our absence.

The frame for the internal front door was well under way, and the new vestibule cupboard in position.

Today Richard completed the architraves for the entrance door and the new sitting room upstairs; and fitted the wardrobe drawers – all to an immaculate standard.

Afterwards, Jackie announced that she would like to find a pony for GP.

Off we went into the forest, where, just outside Burley, we found

the very creature.

We stopped on Hordle Lane to admire the sunset.

Afterwards the Assistant Photographer pictured

violas in the iron urn with bidens beside their container; and the blooming white chrysanthemum that she had grown by rooting in water one of the flowers from Becky’s Mother’s Day bouquet.

This evening we dined on Red Chilli’s excellent takeaway fare. My main course was king prawn naga, Jackie’s was chicken sag. We shared tarka dal, mushroom rice, panir tikka, sag bahji, and plain naan. There is enough left over for tomorrow. Mrs Knight drank Hoegaarden while I drank Patrick Chodot Fleurie 2019.

“We Would Have Driven Past”

Following a suggestion by Yvette Prior, I spent the morning changing the categories of my “A Knight’s Tale” series of posts. They are now categorised as A Knight’s Tale, thus giving readers who may wish to view earlier episodes easier access. The first three also contain my diary entries for their days. I have still to work out how to separate that material from the narrative.

On another unseasonably warm and sunny afternoon we took a drive into the forest.

Cattle and donkeys shared the green at Ibsley, the equines sometimes spilling onto the road to annoy the traffic.

One calf sat beside a pool formed from the recent rains now covering the soggier sward, reflecting the trees above, and bearing fallen leaves.

The greens at North Gorley offered cold soup from similar winterbourne pools. One pony, it’s hooves beneath the surface on which it sent ripples, remained dining for some time.

A few pannage pigs and piglets were once again released onto Newtown Lane.

On our way back through Ibsley we noticed a woman photographing toadstools. Jackie parked and I disembarked to join the other photographer. She told me that her friend had sent her in search of these poisonous Fly Agarics and she was delighted to have found them. I said that had we not seen her in action we would not have spotted these gems and would have driven straight past. I asked her to thank her friend from me, too.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s very wholesome stewp with fresh crusty seeded bread and butter. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden while I drank Chevalier de Fauvert Comté Tolosan Rouge 2019.

“He’s After Us, Mum”

Today’s welkin canopy was a dismal, leaking, colander riddled with humid vapour.

At mid-morning we drove to Hockey’s Farm Shop for brunch in their re-opened café.

The recently completed thatched roof across the road in Gorley Lynch bears effigies of a fox stalking a row of ducklings following their mother along the crown of the roof. The little one bringing up the rear turns and surely must be alerting mother with “he’s after us, Mum”. She, however, carries on regardless, well aware that he will never catch them.

The shallow stream flowing over the ford at Ibsley bore glassy reflections, and

a drinking pony which, having tempted me out of the car, lifted its head, took one look, and calmly ambled off up the hill.

The longer Chekhov story I read this afternoon uses its division into 8 short chapters to vary the settings and to focus on different relationships of the main protagonists, much like the acts in a play – in this case a tragedy. I will try to review the work without giving away the details of the tale.

Normally translated as ‘The Grasshopper’, Elisaveta Fen, our translator, has opted to call this ‘The Dragonfly’, because she sees the flighty young female lead as ‘a dragonfly darting about between flowers in pursuit of its prey’.

Essentially we have a struggle between the calm common sense of science and the more immediate attractions of art. Fen offers the opinion that this is ‘exceptional among Chekhov stories in that the ‘artistic’ milieu……is portrayed with a hint of acidity, not to say maliciousness, which suggests a degree of personal grudge against the ‘artists’, who all but ignore the existence of the ‘scientists’, including doctors of medicine, and seem to hold them in contempt.’

This is how illustrator Nigel Lambourne has pictured ‘ ‘Dymov,’ Olga told him, ‘You reject both music and painting’

The narrative is well crafted with deceptively simple language conveying vivid descriptions of place, surroundings, and personnel.

This evening I finished the jalfrezi meal with more of the Cabernet Sauvignon, while Jackie enjoyed egg, chips, and onion rings with the last of the rosé.

The Green Man

It was just about warm enough on a not very bright morning for us to visit Mum in the

beautifully designed, planted, and well maintained, garden at Woodpeckers this morning.

While waiting for my mother to be wheeled out I enjoyed a conversation with the gardener who works on this plot with the help of a group of volunteers.

Our visit lasted an hour with much more to talk about than is possible inside and through a screen. There was no difficulty with hearing each other and we could listen to and discuss chirping smaller birds and chattering jackdaws while watching a pair of robins darting backwards and forwards with beaks full of wriggling things.

This was Mum responding to the story about my fall in the flower bed. She was delighted to know that her photograph would be going round the world..

Afterwards we drove to Helen and Bill’s at Fordingbridge, briefly to deliver Jackie’s sister’s sunglasses and sunflowers she had left at our house a couple of days ago.

At Hale, while its mother picked daisies, a foal stirred itself to roll over and attempt to rise at the sight of my camera, then, deciding it couldn’t be bothered and flopped back into its ditch-bed.

The spreading limbs of an ancient oak framed the cropped landscapes of the green.

Along with a couple of other groups we picnicked overlooking the moorland below Abbotswell.

Beside the well-stocked woodland verge of a North Gorley lane

sprawled the gnarled arms of a broadly smiling Green Man.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s flavoursome savoury rice as a base for succulent roast chicken thighs, and prawns, both hot a spicy and salt and pepper preparations, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Shiraz..

Greys And Greens

We had booked to see Mum in the garden today, but it was too cold (11C), so we reverted to the Screen room. My mother was on good form, and able to hear me rather better.

After lunch Jackie drove us to New Milton where she deposited some clothes in Whites dry cleaners and, after a very positive eye test, I ordered some new specs.

The weather was wild, wet and windy when we drove on to Milford on Sea where,

buffeted by blustery winds and unable to see what I was pointing at, I photographed swathes of sweeping storm-tossed waves; billowing salt-spray; resilient rocks; sturdy breakwaters; and Hurst lighthouse. Checking my results really was rather a lucky dip.

Just one grey pony stood out among the varied layered greens of the mushroomed leaves now clothing the distant trees seen as we looked down over Wootton.

After a visit to Ferndene Farm Shop we retuned home.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s well-filled beef pie; boiled potatoes; crunchy carrots and cauliflower; tender runner beans; and spicy ratatouille, with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Malbec.

Seeking A Suitable Location

Our very good friend John, who blogs as Paol Soren, has recently suggested to me that it might be a good idea to register the changing nature of our environment by photographing one particular scene or tree at regular intervals during the year. This set me thinking about a suitable location. Water should, I thought, be involved; certainly trees and other flora; and seasonal wildlife. The old quarry lake at Pilley seemed a likely candidate. Jackie and the same idea. On a sunny morning we set off there quite early.

This took us up Pilley Hill where the decorated post box now bears crocheted birds and their nesting boxes.

Significant signs of this early May in my pictures, are the unusually low water levels in the lake; the proliferation of water crowfoots floating on it; and the fresh leaves on the trees.

Long shadows were cast by the early sun, and the clear light offered crisp reflections.

Throughout my circumambulation of the lake the regular honking of a Canada goose tenant set up a marching rhythm, only to cease when

a grey pony descended the receding bank to drink. The bird then flew away.

I walked around the perimeter photographing whatever caught my eye. The images may or may not contain that with which to start my project. I would appreciate readers’ comments on whether or not this is the right area, and whether any spot would bear repeating on a regular basis. Accessing the galleries will provide titles for which choosers may opt.

The above gallery offers the general scene.

The crowfoots and these fallen branches are not contenders for the regular location, but they do add to today’s atmosphere.

The trees and their shadows will change with the seasons and their accompanying light.

There are plenty more suitable sites should this not be a popular choice.

On our return I began digging out an hibiscus planted by our predecessors too close to the Brick Path. I was soon sent inside by a heavy shower. The rain stopped before lunch, enabling me to finish the job.

If this is a fledgling robin perhaps Jackie has encountered and photographed a third generation Nugget

Our morning was the best time for an outing. Frequent precipitations throughout the afternoon included both rain and hail.

I am happy to say that this evening’s meal was a repeat of yesterday’s jalfrezi with the addition of vegetable samosas. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie.

Avian Camouflage

This afternoon of an overcast day, slowly brightening with brief sunny periods we visited Ferndene Farm Shop to purchase salad items, eggs, and vegetables to accompany this evening’s second sitting of Jackie’s excellent cottage pie. These were carrots, cauliflower, and beans which would be cooked to perfection, and accompanied by Hoegaarden and more of the Malbec, consumed by the usual suspects.

Before we could properly leave Downton, we followed a pleasant equestrienne pair to Silver Street and a couple of defensive cyclists ensuring we could not safely pass them along Vaggs Lane.

Jackie parked at Smugglers Road Car Park from where I wandered among the woodland photographing bracken, gorse, landscape, and the the gently overcast sky.

As requested, I kept to the main tracks, created by ponies. The amount of dog shit littered about suggested that some dog owners had also done so. As we were about to leave, two people, each with a pair of dogs, neither carrying poop bags set off to empty their animals. The man’s charges were immediately let off the lead.

Earlier, a pair of goldfinches had sought camouflage among the gorse.

While she waited, Jackie produced her own images of gorse.

On our departure, another pair of equestriennes gently ambled up the slopes.

At least the person emptying their dog at Abbots Well had the questionable decency to leave the results of the defecation in a poop bag, which did not faze the grazing pony.

Here, the clouds were parting a little more as I looked down on the landscape from the bordering woodland with its fallen trees, mossy roots, and little dog-tooth violets.

The aforementioned delicious dinner nicely rounded off the day.