Tag: ripples

Saltgrass Lane

After an early trip to Sears Barbers for my haircut we continued into the forest, now even damper after another twenty four hours of incessant rain still falling at the start of our drive.

Gulls played in the rippling pools on the surface of a car park with views of

waves through the eroded cliff top and the misty Isle of Wight and The Needles and its lighthouse.

Before we moved on Jackie photographed salty spray soaring over the sea wall. Her last image was produced immediately after the penultimate one, this time obscuring the distant view of the island.

Knowing that Saltgrass Lane at Keyhaven is prone to flooding at high tide and consequently closed at the best of times we decided to visit that narrow road running alongside the shore line. In the event we could not pass through Keyhaven Road,

which was well flooded.

While I photographed this scene Jackie produced images of me doing so, of a woman wading through the pools leading her dog behind her,

and of the van pictured last in my gallery splashing swirling rainwater.

A friendly local resident told us that this was the fourth time her environment had been flooded in a month, and that we could probably reach our goal from along New Lane.

The narrow, potholed, New Lane was not flooded, but was full of birders with cameras on tripods and their vehicles parked on such verges as there were, or exercising multiple-point turns in order to leave. They must have been alerted to a special visitor.

Saltgrass Lane was indeed flooded.

Back at home, rain fell all afternoon.

This evening Ian joined us for an even more enjoyable than ever meal at Lal Quilla, during which Ellie was her most beguiling. Friendly and attentive staff, excellent food, and efficient service is all one could ask for. My main course was prawn pathia with mushroom rice; other favourites were also enjoyed, and we shared onion bahjis, egg paratha, peshwari naan, and various rices. Kingfisher, white wine, J20, and Diet Coke were imbibed.

Reflections On Floodwater

Our forest drive this morning was taken through very heavy fusillades of rain alternating with bright bouts of sunshine.

Surfaces of roads, lanes, fields, waterways, all glistened with the excess liquid dropped continuously by heavy clouds throughout the night.

The No BBQs sign on waterlogged Balmer Lawn beside the swollen Highland Water seemed a little unnecessary at the moment.

It was difficult for the naked eye to discern the difference between lawn and water,

or to distinguish between the yellow lines of the road markings at the verges beneath the surface reflections from above and the grassy islets bearing autumn leaves.

Beneath a bridge crossing Balmer Lawn Road, we sat weighing up whether to follow the warning posted beside the dicey looking road. So did another vehicle behind us, until this oncoming larger vehicle snowploughed its way over. We and our followers did the sensible thing, as did a number of others while we were amusing ourselves

with the Water Recycling Centre sign,

beside which I photographed wet leaves and Jackie photographed a tree trunk regularly bitten by a wire fence.

Tilery Road is a stretch of deeply potholed gravel along which the only smooth journey could be made by joggers and dog walkers who could simply slalom round the water-filled cavities the depth of which could not be gauged by car drivers. The waterlogged woodland flanking this should give readers an idea of how joint-ricking was this trip.

Many roads, like this one at North Weirs on the outskirts of Brockenhurst, had become shallow lakes, along which we all followed each other somewhat gingerly.

It was not surprising that Jackie was able to photograph a briefly lasting rainbow along Meerut Road.

This evening we all dined on more of Jackie’s penne Bolognese with which which she drank Zesty and I drank more of the Italian red wine.

In Hatchet Pond

On a much hotter day of full sunshine I carried out a dead heading session in the garden before accompanying Jackie to Lidl for a shopping trip, after which we took a forest drive during which,

apart from a few ponies annoying already hot and bothered drivers outside Beaulieu, there was scarcely any sign of life until we reached Hatchet Pond.

A couple of dog owners allowed their barking midgets to harry the unperturbed ponies

before moving off to reflect on the pond.

One pony improvised with a tree as a parasol;

two others, plagued with flies, remained in the open, seeking sustenance from among the stones. Barely a second separated the shots of the grey systematically shaking the persistent diptera from its muzzle; its companion calmly tolerated the irritation.

A young boy, watched by two sunbathers, enjoyed a paddle. He had seen some fish and was attempting to catch one in his hands.

The hedgerows throughout our trip were dotted with clusters of berries, including rowan, hawthorn, and blackberries in various stages of development.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s tasty fusilli arrabbiata with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Côtes du Rhône Villages.

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.

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.

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.

A Windblown Neck Scarf

After a morning shop in Tesco we took a brief forest drive.

The dryer day fanned by a gentler breeze was illuminated by, albeit short, sunny spells.

For about three months, along a stretch of Christchurch Road where it is impossible to stop the car without causing chaos, we have hoped to photograph two lengths of corrugated iron. Today Jackie parked on the drive beside a closed farm gate and I was able to look back to a

long piece wrapped round the branch of a tree like a neck scarf blown by one of our gale force winds; the other is buried in a hedge and out of sight from this viewpoint.

The rippling, reflective, and effervescent stream at Wootton Bridge now flows fast

and laps the bases of mossy-rooted trees.

Ponies, like these at Bisterne Close, have ventured out into the woodland since the recent deluge.

This evening we dined on tender roast lamb; boiled new potatoes; cheese vegetable bake; firm Brussels sprouts and carrots, and meaty gravy, with which I drank more of the Shiraz and Jackie drank Montes Reserva Chardonnay 2020.

A Meeting of Cousins

This morning Jackie and I shopped for lunch items at Tesco and continued for a short forest drive.

The now fast-flowing stream bridged by Church Road bubbled, rippled, and reflected the adjacent waterlogged woodland.

I wondered whether the young equestrian we followed for a while had been given his horse for Christmas.

Danni, Ella, and Jack visited today, keen to meet their “new baby”, as Ella, clutching her Foxy, termed Ellie. Our great niece and nephew were very attentive and gentle with our great granddaughter throughout the visit.

Ella normally makes straight for the toy box in the library; today her first wish was to engage with Ellie. The toys had to wait.

Ellie was content to spend time with Danni and her children.

Eventually Ellie needed to be settled upstairs and the others amused themselves in various ways.

Despite appearances, Jack thoroughly enjoys his mother’s squidging.

Jackie provided her trademark cold meats and salad buffet, of which there was more than enough for the rest of us to graze on later, once Elizabeth, Danni, Ella, and Jack had returned to their respective homes.

In the meantime we all settled down to a restful time while Danni read to Ella and Jackie kept Jack occupied with her computer.

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.

Ever Increasing Circles

The overnight gales offered us a brief respite this morning, during which the

sun was permitted an appearance and the rain lessened. This was not to last, but we were fortunate for a time during which we ventured into the forest.

A dip in the landscape as we head towards Burley from Holmsley Passage, dry until recently has filled with water the surface of which ripples with reflections while fat, pendulous, raindrops slip from the branches above, sending ever increasing circular patterns into play.

Clay Hill is closed to traffic when small birds are nesting among the undergrowth. Today its own pond was fuller than it has been so far this year.

It, too, reflected the surrounding woodland,

containing dripping rose hips.

On the moorland to our left as we drove back down Holmsley Passage, several damp ponies enjoyed a small spot of sunshine, while

a fire on the opposite side of the lane seemed to be a bout of controlled burning of gorse.

This evening we dined on more of Jackie’s pasta Bolognese, this time with stir fried vegetables al dente. I drank more of the Malbec while the Culinary Queen, Flo, and Ellie, all abstained.