rookery – derrickjknight

Stirring Sounds

After lunch today Jackie and I drove to Helen and Bill’s home in Fordingbridge to deliver my sister-in-law’s birthday present. They were not home so we emulated an on-line-shopping courier and left it wrapped up in the porch.

Such is the difference between country and city dwelling that the soldiers left guarding the premises opposite have stood unmolested for months now.

Jackie photographed me photographing them and a coloured one for herself.

I converted mine to black and white.

Periodically our journey was punctuated by cawing crescendos from a plethora of raucous rookeries, like this one around the corner, where canoodling couples indulged in nest-building frenzies.

Smaller songbirds’ sweeter symphonic trilling offered a pleasant alternative in the woodland of Hale Purlieu where still shaggy ponies in their winter wear cropped the grass.

I wandered past the ponies and looked down on the woodland hill slopes before retracing my steps.

Suddenly barking, a yelp, and cries of “leave”, shattered the peace as a pack of humans, let off the leash by their assorted canines, trailed from the trees to their waiting cars.

Foaming water roared from the mill race, entering the fast flowing, lapping, tinkling, rippling, varicoloured surface of the River Avon via the Woodgreen bridge.

Such was the variety of sounds stirring this early spring day.

This evening we dined on Red Chilli’s excellent Indian takeaway with which I finished the Syrah.

A Fan Of Harry Potter

On another fine spring morning I took a walk to Shorefield Country Park and back.

Before arriving at the end of the back drive I photographed

a few tulips

and bunches of daffodils.

A cerulean Christchurch Bay could be seen from the entrance to Roger Cobb’s top field on Downton Lane.

Further down the road, what looked like a transparent bouquet wrapper added sparkle to the blackthorn.

I saw this because I had turned down the steeper slope from which I had reversed my steps on my last trip. This time I carried Elizabeth’s stick which helped my balance.

I had intended to continue to the end of Downton Lane, but the raucous cawing of rooks emanating from the otherwise deserted Shorefield Country Park became siren calls to the rookery that I knew would be

down a footpath from Shorefield Road to a collection of wooden holiday homes.

The red railed bridge at the far end of the picture I produced on the downward slope traverses the same stream as that crossed by the little road bridge in the image preceding that one.

The damp nature of the terrain is evidenced by the flora flanking the footpath.

It looks as if the corvine colony is at the nest building stage.

Whoever has reduced the 10 m.p.h. limit on Shorefield Road is a fan of Harry Potter.

Jackie’s savoury rice, stuffed as it is with red and yellow peppers and peas for colour; and onions, mushrooms, egg, and garlic for flavour, is a meal in itself. This evening she served it with spicy hot chilli con carne with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Valréas.

Water Under The Bridge

Today’s weather pattern was again that of sunshine and showers.

This morning Margery and Paul visited to return my copy of “Framley Parsonage’ and to borrow “Can He Forgive Her?” and “The Last Chronicle of Barset”. At this rate our nonagenarian friend will finish reading my Trollopes before I do.

It will come as no surprise to readers of yesterday’s post that I needed a trip to the dry cleaners in New Milton, albeit only for my jacket. After this we took a drive into the forest via Ashley Road where

a rainbow shone its light on a grateful magnolia.

A verge-grazing Shetland pony looked up at Boundary when Jackie clapped her hands to alert her to our presence.

Around the corner lay one more fallen tree.

We were again treated to a rich variety of cloudscapes in watercolour, with or without

rainbows.

Ponies dotted the landscape outside Brockenhurst where I stopped to photograph

a still active railway bridge, when

a pair of cyclists obligingly approached, happy to have enhanced my photograph.

Not so obliging to Jackie’s mind was the driver of the car that added interest to my next one.

That is because she had readied herself to take a silhouette of me under the bridge and he insisted on ruining the shot. She produced this one instead.

Before that she had settled for one including the cyclists, the car, and me

through the rain.

When she photographed me aiming my lens she had thought I was focussed on her. In fact I was making the second of the rainbow pictures above.

Beside the bridge lurch these mossy trees marked with reddle. Many trees are so painted, sometimes with other pigments. I am not sure of the significance of the hues but imagine they must be a foresters’ code for a planned procedure. (Andrew Petcher’s comment below provides a link which answers this point)

They are on the edge of reflecting waterlogged terrain partially fed by

a swollen weed-bearing ditch.

Part of the path to the bridge is now covered by clear water

replenished by raindrops, the descent of which Jackie was photographing.

While returning home via Lymington the cawing of numerous rooks alerted us to the

growing occupation of a rookery. Some of the birds flew back and forth;

others remained on watch.

At times sunlight spilt across the road.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy pasta arrabbiata with which with which she finished the Sauvignon Blanc and I started a bottle of Chateau Berdillot Cotes de Bourg 2018

Shades Of A Late Autumn

Over both the still fields and the calm sea, pastel shades dominated the skies on a crisp morning as I took my Hordle Cliff top walk in reverse. Although the sun was largely clouded over, shooting directly towards it across The Solent produced a lighter image.
These muted colours were repeated in the fallen leaves blending with the planks of the footbridge over the Shorefield stream, but, there being no sunshine, I allowed myself to use the vivid colours setting for the autumn leaves on the drive to Oldrode House on Downton Lane.
No-one was at home in

the rookery.

A gentleman greeted me as I approached the steps leading to the footpath to the sea. For obvious reasons, I held back until he reached the top, and repeated this self-interested politeness when a friendly couple joined me on the cliff path to Barton, along which I walked a little way before turning back to the coast road.

Judging by the evidence of their frenzied activity on the grassed terrain at the cliff top, the moles are becoming frantic in their urge to reproduce.

The weather is becoming colder now, but remains most clement for the time of year. Cattle have been let back into the field alongside Hordle Closed Cemetery, and marigolds still bloom in Bridge Cottage Garden.

The wind picked up again this afternoon with, I am convinced, the sole purpose of harassing me in my efforts at continuing to clear our fallen foliage. I did, however persevere, consoled by the thought that I did not have to tackle Oldrode’s drive.

The sun also emerged late in the day and emblazoned an oak tree on the opposite side of Christchurch Road.

Happy Times is the name of the Pennington Chinese takeaway. We ate more of their excellent food this evening. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank a reserve Languedoc red wine from 2012.

The Carpet

Jackie has been having difficulty obtaining a correct Tesco Clubcard. Twice she has clearly spelt out KNIGHT on the telephone. She has received two cards now, the second one, this morning, having at least an N where an M was originally given. She has another phone call to make.

Having seen a sign indicating a path to the beach on my last walk through Shorefield Country Park, I walked that way again this bright, windswept, morning, turning right at Dane Road. I was at the cliff top, from which I could see the Isle of Wight and The Needles, in half an hour.

Shorefield has a Sunrise Bushcraft education project, the hoarding for which I passed on my way. (This picture seemed to have been lost altogether, but I found it on Google’s page for the project – as I did the two Tesco club cards. So many sites bear my photographs that I might try this again – 3rd April 2023).

Taking a walk along the shingle, I conversed with a couple of intrepid fishermen who needed to keep a low profile from the gusts coming of the choppy sea.

The usual groups of adults and children enjoyed themselves at the water’s edge. One child lost a balloon which rapidly disappeared back up and over the cliff.

I took a shorter route back home, through the rookery, where vociferous and voracious chicks now kept two parents busy, and magpies were, in no uncertain terms, informed that their presence was not required.
Our son Matthew, and his wife Tess, brought us lunch and stayed for the afternoon.

Mat, a true professional spent a couple of hours laying a carpet, which Michael had given us, in the garage library, which is now a garage/library/laundry room. This was a magnificent effort involving moving heavy boxes of books backwards and forwards across the room as the floor covering, including underlay, was unravelled. I wasn’t much help.
The carpet had been sent down from Graham Road with our furniture by Michael. It was a well-nigh perfect fit.
Yesterday’s second application of Bullitt to the shower plug hole had proved no more successful than the first. Not content with his work in the library, Mat then took a flexible rod to the shower, and, we think, cleared it.
Finally, a very full day was rounded off by a visit from sisters Jacqueline and Elizabeth who arrived in time to chat for a while with Mat and Tess, who then went on to visit Becky, Flo, and Ian.
The rest of us dined at The Royal Oak, where we enjoyed our usual warm welcome and attentive service.

The Chicks Have Hatched

One of the consequences of moving house is the need to wonder where to put things. This is very helpful in encouraging one to complete unfinished organisational tasks begun years ago. In about 2008/9, when living in Sutherland Place, I discovered that some of my books and slide boxes had been damaged by damp. The colour slides themselves were sound, but the boxes were on the wet side, so new containers were essential. I bought some, and decanted the positive films from the worst of the moistened ones. Although I had enough new receptacles to take the contents of the last, least damaged, box, I didn’t finish the task until yesterday. All in the interests of reducing by one the number of containers needing a home.
This led me, this morning, to resuscitating the ‘posterity’ series. My first photo-shoot of Jackie was made on Wimbledon Common in April 1966.

Here is one of the pictures, with the War Memorial in the background top left.
Before this I walked the whole length of Shorefield Road and Sea Breeze Road, taking in the vast acreage of the Country Park. The high-pitched screeching of the gulls over the stubble field on

Downton Lane gave way to the deafening racket of the rookery, at times indistinguishable from that of a reversing Highway Maintenance vehicle.

The lofty nests of the frenetically active rooks are now apparenty occupied by ravenous chicks. The parents flap to and fro keeping their offspring from starving. Each rounded cluster of sticks is guarded by one adult whilst its mate energetically forages.

At the far end of the Sea Breeze section of the park, where building continues unabated, is a meandering stream-crossed woodland walk leading to Studland Common Nature Reserve. Although partly gravelled, the paths tend towards the muddy.

The ear tags of cattle grazing in Studland Meadow reflected the gorse around them.

On my return I met and conversed with two separate dog-walkers. I was quite relieved that the West Highland terrier poised for attack was on the end of a lead, and had probably already had his breakfast.

This afternoon, as promised, our chests of drawers were delivered by Fergusson’s House Clearance.

Before dinner I finished reading Nathaniel Hawthorne’s novel ‘The House of the Seven Gables’, in the Folio Society edition illustrated by Francis Mosley. First published in 1851 this is an intriguing story rich in characterisation. The author’s skill in story-telling surmounts the wordiness of some of his language commensurate with his time of writing. The reader’s interest is maintained throughout. There is a touch of mystery about both the house and the writer’s tale, and he ties it all up tidily in the end.

Mosley is a versatile illustrator who remains one of my favourite Folio Society artists.

Our evening meal was roast lamb in tasty gravy, served with crisp vegetables. I drank Cimarosa Chilean merlot from 2013.

A Rookery

It is not a good idea to venture into a Tesco superstore on Good Friday morning. We learned that today. When we carry out such a shop I usually trot off in search of some items and return to Jackie who is loading the trolley in some other part of the store. It is normally not difficult to spot her in a crowd, but this one rivalled Trafalgar Square on New Year’s Eve.
For those of you who think that I could not select the wrong kind of long-life milk or apple juice I have to disillusion you. It is even possible for me to fight my way back to the shopper-in-chief with unacceptable apple juice twice. It gets a bit wearing carting several cartons backwards and forwards when you haven’t bothered to pick up a basket.
The majority of people guiding their trolleys through such crowds steadfastly refuse to make eye contact as they thrust forward. Some of my bruises will never come off. I thanked the one gentleman who did catch my eye with a smile.
Back home there were the inevitable items either forgotten or sold out in the mega-store. I therefore walked down to try out the Spar shop who did have coleslaw and Hellmann’s mayonnaise.

Attracted by wallflowers growing by our back entrance I noticed we have a largely obscured sign designed to prevent uninquisitive parkers blocking our driveway. We may benefit from a little repositioning of this. There I met our neighbour Beverley who was painting her new fence. Unfortunately, as we introduced ourselves, and before I realised what she was engaged in, I rested my hand on top of the newly painted surface. She confirmed that the country park shop was a good resource.

The right hand side of Downton Lane offers extensive views across fields.

Raucous cries from the right hand side of Shorefield Road led me down a tarmacked track to a crowded rookery. Most nests had an attentive parent on guard, whilst other cawers flew noisily to and fro. Across a bridge over a stream lay timbered holiday homes to which a couple were making their way. They hoped to see chicks in the nests before they returned to their permanent abode.

Rhododendron time is coming to our garden. Erigeron also does well.

When we dined at The Elephant Walk in Highcliffe three days ago, the meals were so plentiful that Becky took away a doggy bag. Unfortunately for her, but fortunately for me, she left it in Jackie’s car. I had the benefit this evening, for its contents went down quite well with my Isla Negra cabernet sauvignon 2013. The feast Jackie had bought at the Hordle Chinese Takeaway two days ago was still able to provide her and Flo with their dinner tonight. Jackie’s choice of beverage was Hoegaarden.