stag – derrickjknight

Sultry

For brunch, Jackie drove me to Hockey’s Farm Shop café, where we enjoyed our usual favourites, well cooked as always, and efficiently served in friendly manner.

As we left Burley ponies caused a traffic tailback as, oblivious of the vehicles, they settled in for a day of seeking what shade they could beneath trees, and such protection from flies as could be afforded by their nose to tail technique.

A couple of walkers found the prospect of stepping over droppings somewhat unpleasant.

When we returned this afternoon the animals had not moved much.

Others, already beset by flies, hugged a fence that seemed to have been reserved for them.

We needed to make way for an oncoming tractor on a narrow, dappled, section of Gorley Road.

Two ponies sought shade beneath tree alongside the Ibsley ford, from the stream under which another slaked its thirst.

Calves competed for space on a drinking trough beside Hyde Lane.

Jackie parked the Modus at Gorley Lynch while I disembarked to

photograph a distant stag with his roe deer harem.

At Poulner we encountered a steam traction engine.

Heather coloured the moorland either side of Holmsley Passage,

where I commended a pair of cyclists who had made it all the way up.

An apple tree grew on the moor beside Holmsley Road.

Along Tiptoe Road a pair of ponies drooped on the tarmac, opposite

a foal learning the reality of life with flies.

This evening we all dined on meaty pork bangers and fried onions; creamy mashed potato; crunchy carrots; firm broccoli stems; and piquant cauliflower cheese, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Côtes du Rhône Villages Plan de Dieu 2021.

Crossing The Stream

This afternoon we drove to Pilley where we collected Elizabeth to take her on a photographic trip to the north of the forest and return to our home for dinner.

As I stepped out of the car to photograph ponies in a stream at Ibsley I noticed a gentleman with the same aim in mind. Back in the car I noticed a couple of very heavy horses.

Elizabeth and I both communed with ponies at North Gorley. Once more I got my own back on Jackie as she photographed

my sister and me.

On the way up the hill to the common we disturbed a stag and his harem.

Elizabeth and I photographed a bucolic smoky scene.

I gained a smile from an equestrienne crossing the stream.

Elizabeth will e-mail me her pictures tomorrow.

The aforementioned dinner consisted of Jackie’s savoury rice topped with a thick omelette; prawns of the tempura and the hot and spicy varieties; and vegetable spring rolls. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden while Elizabeth and I drank Hacienda Don Hernan Rioja 2019.

As I publish this post Jackie is driving Elizabeth home.

One For Flo

On a dismally dull albeit dry day we spent much of the morning tidying up the Rose Garden. This involved pruning, dead-heading, planting bulbs, and sweeping up lashings of leaves shed by the overhead copper beach. There is much more to be done, but we gave ourselves the afternoon off and went for a drive.

On Thatcher’s Lane we had settled in for a long, slow journey behind three equestriennes, when they cantered on ahead and down a slope to pull over on a verge to let us pass. We exchanged greetings as we did so.

Further along the road Jackie disembarked to purchase a plump pumpkin from the display outside a small house.

Crossing into Fish Street I enjoyed watching a group of what I think are rheas feeding in a field.

Readers may care to read https://derrickjknight.com/2015/04/07/no-contest/

in order to understand the title and header picture.

Pannage pigs at Ibsley had attracted the usual attentive visitors. Despite the nose rings intended to deter deep excavation these snuffling porkers churned up quite a lot of soil. (It has just occurred to me to wonder whether the human fashion for nose rings has a similar reason). The last picture in this gallery displays the classic curly pigtail.

On an unnamed lane on the approach to Godshill we met a stag which paused, weighed up its options, then leapt uphill through a thick hedge to allow us safely to pass.

This evening we dined on Mr Chan’s excellent Hordle Chinese Take Away fare with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Corbieres.

Cervine Elegance

Occasional sunny spells on a clouded morning developed into bright sunshine by the time we drove into the forest this afternoon.

Jackie spent some time collecting cuttings with which to populate the

greenhouse pots.

The orange poppies that last just a day don’t normally emerge from the soil until spring. We have several clumps now. These, incongruously beside more seasonal asters, are in the Cryptomeria Bed

which also houses hot lips

still attracting bees.

The cryptomeria itself can be seen beyond the cordeline Australis lending its name to the Palm Bed;

it stands beside the laurel on the far right of the Phantom Path.

The deep red climbing rose soaring over its arch spanning the Shady Path also doesn’t know it is autumn,

although the Weeping Birch clearly has an inkling.

Elizabeth’s Bed

and the patio planting continue to flourish.

Pelargoniums still hang in baskets.

Nugget, this morning patrolled his fences. This fellow, I think, is a rival displaying discretion. I did see our own robin dive-bomb another which immediately scarpered, but he was too quick for me.

These autumn colours brighten Sway Road;

others burnished the landscape beside the A35,

and glowed beneath

an unnamed lane off Cadnam Lane,

along which clusters of mushrooms burst from the moss coating of a fallen log,

and bracket fungus clutched a living tree.

Pheasants, both cocks and hens, dared anyone actually to drive at the 40 m.p.h. limit.

On one side of Tiptoe Road a pair of ponies cropped the verge outside The Old Bakery;

several more slaked their thirst on a winterbourne pool on the opposite side.

A mare led her foal along the road

to add to the chaos caused by a broken down car.

Returning home along Roger Penny Way we were treated to a display of cervine elegance as a young stag stepped on pointe across the road in front of us.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s tasty and wholesome liver and bacon casserole (for recipe see Jackie’s comment below); roast potatoes and butternut squash; crunchy orange carrots, and bright green firm Brussels sprouts, with she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Saint-Chinian 2017.

Up And Down The Lane

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Late this afternoon, the dull skies cleared and we enjoyed a warm and sunny day. Naturally, we took a drive into the forest.

A young man and his dog walking along Holmsley Passage,

set off onto the moors;

a couple of cyclists, passing a group relaxing on a gate crossed the junction of the road with the disused railway line that is now a footpath;

and a group of hikers, relieved of their backpacks, took a rest on the grass.

I have featured Honey Lane in Burley a couple of times before, but had never covered the whole length until today. This is because the serpentine, steeply undulating, ancient road is so pitted with often water-filled holes that you really need a 4 x 4 to negotiate it.

Jackie parked the Modus beside this gateway to a field,

and waited for me to wander down the lane and back.

The age of this thoroughfare is indicated by the high bank of hedgerows mounted by gnarled old trees.

Todays photographs are reproduced in the order in which I made them, thus replicating the ramble. Soon a troop of ponies came into view.

The tree to the right of the above picture is beginning to be carpeted by autumn leaves

waiting for the leading grey to rest its hooves.

Another wandered along behind.

This chestnut seemed rather scarred.

Cattlegrids are meant to deter hoofed animals from crossing them. Not so these two ponies foraging in someone’s garden. They clattered across the bars as I passed.

Here are more gnarled roots atop the bank,

up which some home owners have set steps to reach their gardens.

Here comes another scarred pony,

soon to be passed by a happy cyclist towing a trailer.

This wooden kissing gate was rather intriguing.

The ponies had other things on their minds.

A couple of cyclists passed the next animal,

which continued on towards me.

This tree reminded me of Jabba the Hutt.

Sunlight pierced the foliage in parts.

How, I wondered, had this very tall tree taken this circuitous route before ascending to the light above.

A blaze of yellow leaves enlivened this garden.

Sunlight dappled the shed of Orchard Farm,

and pierced a deep stygian bank.

Here is another gate to a field.

Can you spot the squirrel?

Nearing the Burley Street end of the lane

I mounted the next rise, turned, and

retraced my steps, catching sight of cyclists in the distance.

They soon sped down towards me, the first two, with cheery greetings, too fast for my lens;

their companions paused for a pleasant chat.

I spotted a few more colourful leaves.

A friendly woman walking her dog commented on what a pleasant evening it was,

and, with sunlight spanning a nearby tree, I was soon beside the Modus once more, and we set off for home.

On Holmsley Road a splendid stag seemed confused about crossing.

It had seen the approaching vehicle, turned,

and was soon back on the verge and disappearing into the forest.

Those of a tender disposition may wish to skip what we had for dinner.

This was Jackie’s superb liver and bacon casserole, leek and cauliflower cheese, roast parsnips, new potatoes, cabbage, and carrots. I finished the malbec.

The Three Graces

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It is not often one can be grateful for a traffic diversion, especially those in The New Forest which tend to send you miles out of your way. So it was this morning as Jackie drove us out there.

Had we not been sent all the way back to New Milton we would not have seen the sun mooning through the mist over Station Road.

The drip, drip, dripping of the melting frost was all there was to be heard in misty Gorley,

where the glassine stream stood still;

shaggy sheep cropped the grass;

arboreal forms emerged from the gloom;

a woman walked her carefully blended dog,

and a lime-green clad cyclist took his chances on the road to Linwood. In the foreground of this shot stands one of the many posts measuring water levels; in this instance of the stream pictured above.

Trees bedecked with flowers usually mark a spot where someone has died in a road accident. Maybe that is why this oak at the crossroads by the ford has been decorated with fleeting frost, with flowers past their best, with diced mushrooms, and with a clump of once potted bulbs.

Ponies in a field at Mockbeggar were so obscured as to be impossible to tell whether or not they were domesticated. One definitely wore a rug, as their winter garments are termed. This would not be a wild forest creature. Can you spot it?

It would have been equally difficult for the driver coming through Ibsley to have discerned the pony to the left of this picture, had it decided to turn and cross the road.

It was as the mist was beginning to clear on the approach to Frogham that we encountered a living modern sculpture based on Antonio Canova’s “The Three Graces”.

A chestnut gatecrashed the hay party those finely marbled greys were enjoying.

At Frogham the appearance of a stately stag was somewhat marred by the tangled encumbrance attached to his antlers. Perhaps he was aiming to snaffle the magnificent sloughed set protruding from the field ahead of him.

He was leading his family towards the herd sharing the land with a solitary pony.

As the mist began to clear on either side of Roger Penny Way on our return home, the warming sun caused another to rise from the moors,

and exposed a mid-distant group of houses.

This evening we dined on chicken Kiev; peppers stuffed with Jackie’s savoury rice; green beans, and spinach; followed by bread and Benecol pudding with evap. I finished the Madiran.

Pinning The Nose On Rudolph

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Imogen is planning games for her eighth birthday party. She has decided to amend the traditional game of ‘Pinning the tail on the donkey’ to ‘Pinning the nose on Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

Grandpa’s services were required to help with the poster-sized drawing onto which the noses were to be fixed. On a faint outline, with the help of the occasional suggestion from Louisa about the application of acrylic paint, Imogen produced Rudolph. She then added the finishing touches of grass and sun. Louisa cut out a red nose for each participating child and drew a target circle on the stag’s head.

This afternoon, the rest of us visited the Nottingham Christmas Fair, leaving Errol to watch the rugby match between England and Fiji. This should show how seriously I take my Grandparent duties.

We passed a rather good busker on our approach to the market place.

This was the last opportunity we had to move freely. I took one or two photographs before abandoning the idea to a focus on withstanding the tsunami wave of humanity that surged around us. We managed to buy a few presents, but, after a while Jackie and I took refuge on a cold steel bench while Louisa, Jessica, and Imogen wandered around some more. Behind us, a noisy rapper whose needle was stuck, made me wish he would change pitches with the man featured above.

On our return to Haywood Road, I was forced to try out the Rudolph game. The idea is to keep all noses on the board until the last blindfolded attempt has been completed, then see whose is the nearest to the target. An improvement on the current Blu-tack method will be required.

This evening we all dined at Chung’s Chinese restaurant in Mapperley. Louisa, Jackie, and I drank Tsingtao; Errol, Carlsberg; and the children, fruit juices. The food and service were excellent, and we were wisely persuaded to reduce our original order. There was still a fair bit left over.