Tag: reflections

A Bed Of Buttercups And Daisies

While attending to my morning start of responding to readers’ comments and reading others’ posts, I was alerted by a question on https://bvitelli2002.wordpress.com to the fact that

A Damsel In Distress

had not been updated from Classic to Block edit. I therefore rectified this so that Barbara will be able to view it properly.

After a trip to the Milford Pharmacy on this warm and sunny in a week in which we have been beamed from wet winter to a midsummer period Jackie drove me to Hockey’s Farm Shop for brunch where she

photographed our substantial meals, and, through the open door,

a busy blackbird on the ground and a thatched pig on a roof.

Many may trees, like these at Ogden’s North, are festooned with spreading blossom enlivening the landscape.

The rippling, reflecting, stream at the bottom of the hill seems very shallow during this dry spell.

Back at the top of the slope we looked down on a herd of deer who, even at this distance, got wind of me and scarpered sharpish.

One foal, its mother chomping unconcerned, sprawled on a bed of buttercups and daisies; another pony standing guard in the middle of the road at Ibsley, where, further on, a second infant stood by its Dam.

This evening we all enjoyed a meal of Ashleigh fish, chips, and onion rings; Garner’s pickled onions; and Mrs Elswood’s pickled gherkins.

Down To The Lakes At Iris Time

After an uneventful forest drive when no-one was about,

Jackie and I brunched at the Lakeview Café beside Orchard Lakes.

Before we ate, I walked around the pair of manmade lakes circled by banks of buttercups, daisies, and dandelions, bordered by hedges hosting may blossom; with scattered lifebelts placed in case someone fell in, the water was the fixed focus of attention of carefully socially distanced silently reflecting elderly gentlemen gazing into the depths in hopes of a tug at their periodically adjusted line or a tell-tale surface ripple signalling a flailing finny catch.

It may be lilac time at Kew, but here it is the time for yellow flag irises.

With the rest of the family all out for the day, and having seen our brunch, no-one will be surprised that Jackie and I enjoyed small amounts of left-overs this evening – mine our takeaway curry, and Jackie oven fish and chips – with which she drank more of the Zesty and I drank Moerbei Testarosso Sangiovese 2020

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.

A Touch Of Green

Gloomy. Cold. Wet. Take your pick of epithets to apply to the afternoon on which Jackie, after purchasing provisions at Ferndene Farm Shop, drove me, listening to rain pattering on the windscreen and the rhythm of the wipers’ whirling arms, into the forest until turning back for home when we had had enough.

Or select all three. It was not only the enticing aroma of fresh bread emanating from the back seat that made us look forward to this evening’s wholesome chicken and vegetable stewp.

The slalom that is Jackie’s course around potholes in our roads and lanes currently begins outside our front drive.

I stepped out on Burley Road to face the piercing raindrops for the benefit of our readers.

Ripples skimmed across the surface of pools filled after all our recent rain. A car hubcap, having rolled down a slope, was now waterlogged.

Against forbidding skies writhed skeletal branches, some of which

rose from the water.

I wondered how many more springs this degenerating stump would see. At least the grass it feeds, like mossy roots

added a touch of green to the day.

Attentive readers will already know what we had for dinner this evening. Its creator photographed it. With the meal I drank Paarl Shiraz 2022, and Jackie drank Hoegaarden.

Reflections Of Pilley

Knowing that this morning’s dry weather was due to turn wet – which it did – Jackie and I took a forest drive that needed to extend no further than Pilley where rich photographic pickings were to be found.

As we clanked and clattered across the cattle grid into the village we found a veritable herd of shaggy haired donkeys foraging, sleeping, and scratching around the green at Pilley Street and May Lane

Some sprawled somnolently, their hooves tucked beneath them;

a small group surrounded a car attempting to drive down the lane;

others tore and crunched at prickly bushes;

one adventurous animal investigated a parked truck.

Some of those not using low scratching posts engaged in mutual grooming. The last of this group of pictures was obtained through the passenger window glass. I would the window down, saying I wonder whether I could get a clearer shot through the opening. “You won’t” said Jackie. An instant later the eye of a donkey appeared in my viewfinder. The hopeful animal had obscured my sight as it attempted to enter the Modus.

We wondered whether to take home to Dillon a baseball cap left on a post.

Further on, we witnessed much reflective activity on Pilley’s lake,

including that of Canada geese,

a pair of mallards,

and the ripples beneath an inactive set of branches.

Opposite the bus stop a grey pony enjoyed a lunch of cold soup. The last six of these pictures are Jackie’s.

Later, I continued the tedious task of facilitating enlargement of the pictures in the following posts from the Classic Editor period:

Elizabeth Chose Her Moment
A Leaving Present
Progress Report

This evening we all dined on tender roast beef, crisp roast potatoes, parsnips, and Yorkshire pudding, with firm carrots and Brussels sprouts, and meaty gravy. Ellie enjoyed her squashed vegetables with gravy and horseradish sauce. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Shiraz.

Many Sightings Of Roe Deer

After lunch today Jackie drove us all to Hockey’s Farm Shop where we left the young family to explore while we took a short drive in the near vicinity.

A veritable herd of donkeys in the road outside the shop were engaged in their favourite leisurely game of disruption of the traffic. One attempted to join me in the passenger seat when I returned to the car. The greens at Ibsley, although the waters had receded somewhat, continued to offer

waterlogged reflections of trees above,

and a paddling pool for ponies,

one of whom was in sight of cousins casting shadows on the other side of the road.

Two gentlemen sat atop Rockford Sandpit;

their voices reached me at the bottom, whence I photographed the scene

and its surrounding woodland.

From Ellingham Drove, where we spotted one of our many sightings of roe deer in the shade, we drove to the main road where we filled up with petrol and returned to Hockey’s to collect the others.

Later, following the advice of SueW, I recovered the pictures from the following posts:

Coming Clean
21st Century Encroachment
Pigs Can Fly

This evening we all dined on more of Jackie’s tasty pasta Bolognese, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Valle Central Reserva Privada Syrah, 2021.

Misty

After picking up medication from Milford on Sea Pharmacy late this morning we took a forest walk.

At Keyhaven Harbour the slate-grey sky merged with the vanishing horizon beyond which we could barely discern walkers on the spit; boats buoys and moorings rested on mirrored glass reflecting all in gentle monochrome ripples.

From the harbour we drove along damp Saltgrass Lane tracking a gentleman following the coastal path to

the shallows alongside Hurst Spit, where we spotted Turnstones, a Godwit, and a Raven among others.

Much of the recent ice has now melted, although the day was still chilly enough for these patterns along Sowley Lane,

where its lake reflected mallards and other waterbirds.

Through the mist across Beaulieu River we glimpsed a gulp of cormorants.

I have chosen not to brighten any of these images so that readers may see how misty the day was.

When we returned we found a message from Elaine at Tom Sutton Heating to say that it is only one part of an immersion heater that needs replacing and it will be fitted on Tuesday. I do believe she was even more delighted to convey this news than I was to receive it.

This evening we dined on succulent roast pork with crisp crackling, crisp roast potatoes laced with garlic, crisp Yorkshire pudding, crunchy carrots, tender green beans, and firm broccoli, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Merlot brought back from the pub yesterday.

Fire And Ice

Early this afternoon we received a further oil-fired radiator from Amazon. This had kept us in until 4 p.m. when we ventured out into another cold-blue-sky day in search of a forest sunset.

We drove up Holmsley Passage turning right into Clay Hill at the top.

There the golden disc flirted with trees and clouds,

burnishing the trees above their reflections in the pool home to mallards,

past which a solitary grey pony emerged from the dingy dusk.

Along Bisterne Close the fiery sun slowly slipped into indigo clouds above icy, reflecting, recently filled concavities.

Further verges along the close contained some of the many lingering ice patterns in the woods and moorland, featuring leaves above and below them.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s wholesome chicken stewp with fresh crusty bread. She drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Shiraz.

Stretching For Holly

Ronan of Tom Sutton Heating spent the morning fixing the boiler problem which turned out to be water in the oil; it seems it was not the drop in temperature which had stopped it working, but the very heavy rain which has got in somewhere. To be more sure Jackie has ordered a tank drier bag from Amazon.

The rain having desisted, much of the floodwater has receded and the icicles melted, although , on this still chilly but dry day ice not reached by the low, weak, sun remains, as we discovered on a forest drive.

Boldre Bridge overlooked a rippling stream, still bearing ice, and reflecting trees and fenceposts.

Nearby, Rodlease Lane still bore arboreal images in pools disturbed by passing vehicles.

Long shadows of a woman and a donkey stretched across the banks of Hatchet Pond and the potholed drive to it;

gulls admired their reflections in the remnants of its ice, while a paddling coot looked on.

The drift paddock on Furzey Lane reflected on the icy pool surrounding it, where

patterns remained unthawed.

A pony reaching up for holly in Ran’s Wood was lit by the lowering sun, which had

set by the time we arrived at Milford on Sea..

Later we dined on Cook’s very tasty vegetarian lasagna brought by Elizabeth last week, and Jackie’s equally flavoursome Chicken and vegetable stewp with delicious garlic bread brought by our sister from the same source. I drank more of the Shiraz and no-one else did.

In Need Of Milking

Martin’s cementing material was frozen in the bags this morning which he consequently spent

cutting out the shapes he would not be able to firmly set in place until Sunday.

Note the ice chips on the covered paving.

Ellie, who has now mastered the art of hand to mouth coordination,

was mesmerised by the open fire.

Martin told me that the roadsides were festooned with icicles formed by the showers of spray thrown up by vehicles during Monday’s deluge. Jackie and I therefore took a trip to investigate.

Some years ago now, a teenage girl was killed in a car crash along Hordle Lane.

Some soft toys still linger in the trees in her memory. One had fallen among the icicles by the roadside.

Further icicles and ice patterns decorated the corner of Woodcock Lane and Silver Street

along which these wintry decorations dangled from trees, draped verges along which they were reflected in the gutters, and rose from grasses on stumps.

We drove along Bashley Cross Road to Ferndene Farm shop to buy some eggs. A fallen branch bore dripping icicles.

Sway Road hosted various ice sculptures reflected in the gutters,

some dripping from a fence post like the udders of a cow in need of milking.

Further along this road autumn red-gold merged with winter’s snow-white.

This evening we dined on bangers and mash; fried bacon, tomatoes and mushrooms; boiled carrots, Brussels sprouts, and cauliflower, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Coonawarra Shiraz 2020.