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.
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.
Mum was on very good form when we visited her at Woodpeckers at midday. Her thoughts and stories flowed and her hearing and sight were not too bad. We could forgive her for repeating some tales. Her one and only flight to Jersey with Jacqueline some years ago was a new one.
From Brockenhurst we continued along Rhinefield Road to the Ornamental Drive which, Easter Holidays still in progress, was visited by
plenty of walkers and cyclists.
Some families remained at Blackwater car park with its picnic benches and where the delighted cries of children playing among the trees syncopated with melodious birdsong. Of course, when occupied with ice lollies, this little group had no capacity for shrieking.
While Jackie waited patiently in the Modus, I focussed on reflections in and ripples on the stream; tangled, exposed, tree roots; the trunk of one giant redwood, and shadows of others.
Moving further along the road, my Chauffeuse parked on the verge while I wandered among dry, rustling, autumn leaves, bracken and pony droppings; fallen, decomposing, timber; and lichen coated twigs, each making their own
contribution to the refurbishment of the forest floor.
Some of the dead trees are taking a number of years to disintegrate, and there is quite a range of colours in the blending and contrasting animals.
For dinner this evening Jackie produced tangy lemon chicken with her wholesome savoury egg fried rice. We both drank more of the Sauvignon Blanc.
This afternoon we took a crisp sunshine forest drive.
Jackie waited in Brownhills car park while I wandered along the
largely waterlogged roadside verges for a while.
This was a day for family walks. While certain spots were decidedly overcrowded, lesser known areas like Bisterne Close, where Jackie parked the Modus, were safe enough.
I trampled on the waterbeds that were the soggy autumn leaves.
As always, some trees were lichen laden; others stretched gnarled limbs to the skies; many, broken, lay where they fell – among them
basking ponies slumbered or chomped on holly leaves.
One fallen giant gathering foliage was decidedly waterlogged.
Many roadsides, like this one at South Gorley, were more like lakesides.
Nearby, I was soon surrounded by silently demanding donkeys desiring to supplement their diets with anything I might have brought them.
One solitary Gloucester Old Spot sploshed, salivating over squishy mast, at the bottom of Gorley Hill, well irrigated by a Winterbourne stream running down it.
Throwing long shadows, cattle grazed on the slopes above,
while hazy sun picked out inquisitive field horses and slender willow sprays.
On our return along Hordle Lane lingering sunset illuminated lines of leafless oaks.
This evening we dined on crisp oven fish and chips, green peas, sage cornichons, and pale ochre pickled onions, with which we both drank white Cotes de Gascoigne 2019.
The Needles foghorn beckoned us all the way to the coast at Barton on Sea this morning. All other sounds were muffled by clouds of tiny water droplets known as mist.
We took the route through Angel Lane where Jackie parked the Modus and I photographed
misty scenes
and more visible views of the banks of the ditch.
The silhouettes of the few dog walkers on the clifftop at Barton could not have contrasted more with the many enjoying yesterday afternoon’s sunset.
After visiting the pharmacy at Milford on Sea we progressed to Keyhaven harbour where there was not much to be seen:
Bob Barnes reflected in the first picture, a fisherman, gulls, swans, and a few boats.
Later, I was able to photograph Bob and his reflection once more as we engaged in a socially distanced conversation beside
a memorial bench to Peter and Dorothy Thomas. Our discussion was recorded by Jackie, who also photographed
walkers on the spit, the yacht club, a bird on a wire, and a pair of preening mallards.
Another dog walker approached Pennington Lane as we passed on our way to
Boldre’s Saint John the Baptist Churchyard on Church Lane.
Field horses grazed beneath the graveyard, where, above the soil, a mossy, decomposing stump gradually merged with the soil beneath which humans from days gone by engaged in the same process.
This evening we dined on toothsome roast gammon; golden creamy mashed potatoes; pure white cauliflower; and most moist ratatouille, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Recital 2018.
Wild wind howled and piercing precipitation rattled the roof throughout the night and well into the morning.
Jackie photographed and I e-mailed this image of crooked hand from our 200 year old long case clock to Martin Fairhurst of Dials in Lymington who will repair it. Even with the bend the clock keeps perfect time and chimes seven minutes late according to the point of the digit, as if there were no crook in it.
After lunch I made a start on a month’s ironing. When the sun sneaked out I unplugged the iron and we sped after it. Since it had made the effort we would have been rude not to.
The field alongside South Sway Lane, once home to pony Gimlet and her foal,
was now occupied by a nomadic Mallard family.
A drain was overflowing, suggesting that the lane itself will be flooded soon. Last year it became impassable.
The rain had definitely not conceded the skies. Rainbows followed us around
The fast-flowing, rippling and bubbling Balmer Lawn stretch of Highland Water had overflowed its banks. Within seconds of my striding out to photograph it the clouds rolled in, rain hammered down, and my woollen jacket soon took on the scent of damp sheep.
On the signal of the click of my camera a reflective crow was instantly on the wing.
Just around the corner the sun emerged once more, cast long shadows, and burnished trees against a dark slate sky.
Lulled into a false sense of security I walked across a muddy field to photograph ponies sheltering among the trees. They knew that I would soon be walking through torrential bead curtains.
Houses and trees were silhouetted against the clouds’ bonfire smoke. The skies were changing by the second.
I heard gleeful laughter emanating from a parked people carrier whose occupants were impressed by the ponies. As I raised my camera in polite request
the mother of the boys cheerfully wound her window down and, with a smile, said “put your tongue back in”. This was, of course, the signal to stick it out further. Although rain still rolled down the vehicle it had stopped falling from the skies.
As I drafted this post the heavy rain clattered throughout against my window.
This evening we dined on oven fish and chips, green peas, cornichons, and pickled onions with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Coonawarra.
Heavy rain fell from decidedly Stygian skies throughout the morning during which I finished reading the fourth chapter, entitled ‘ ‘Give me combat!’ France: 1894-9′, of Barbara W. Tuchman’s The Proud Tower.
I had previously been vaguely aware of the Dreyfus Affair with dominated the decade, but never really understood it until reading Tuchman’s analysis of the schism that split France. Dreyfus was a French army captain who happened to be Jewish and was unjustly accused of selling secrets to Germany. There is now no doubt that Captain Dreyfus was framed by the French military authorities who used forged documents to condemn him to years of imprisonment. It became a national conflict between the Dreyfusards, convinced of his innocence, and those who believed the military should be supported at all costs. Violent anti-Semitism developed and was pitted against those, largely artists and intellectuals, who fought for justice.
I will refrain from offering more details save to say that the ultimate pardon did not come with a finding of innocence. Ms Tuchman describes the physical and emotional violence of the warring parties, which also involved a failed assassination. France, too, had the seething undercurrent which seemed endemic to the rest of Europe.
My mid afternoon today the rain had ceased and a brief appearance of sun had cast a little light over the land.
While I readied myself for a trip into the forest Jackie nipped out into the garden and photographed
raindrops on weeping birch and clematis cirrhosa Freckles.
The chameleon skies were the canvas on which my camera painted
varying tones of indigo and smoky ochres with pink tinges.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s mixed meats and vegetable stoup followed by pepperoni pizza and fresh salad, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank The Second Fleet Cabernet, Merlot, and Petit Verdot Coonawarra 2019.
On a gloomier and warmer afternoon than yesterday we took a drive into the forest.
The pannage season has this year been extended into December.
A group of snuffling, snorting, competitive, piglets on the muddy verge at Ibsley burrowed as far into the leafy coverlet as they could to emerge with acorns from the tree above. The little fellow in the road in the last picture was making his way to plant a round snotty kiss on my trousers.
Further along, at North Gorley, much of the green was now under water which reflected the trees, one of which had now lost all its leaves; ponies grazed beside a Winterbourne stream.
The recently filled ditches of South Gorley did not deter a pair of Gloucester Old Spot sows from unearthing acorns. Sloshing and grunting they nose-dived, grabbed their mast, and rose to the surface dripping, grinning, and crunching. The year 2020 has been lucky for pigs.
Half way down Pentons Hill at Stockton, a thatcher’s straw ducks waddled across a roof he had produced.
This evening Jackie reprised yesterday’s delicious roast chicken dinner with her savoury vegetable rice and green beans. She drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Merlot.
I spent a couple of hours this afternoon reading “The Mystery of Edwin Drood”, and, as yet, like its author, I have not finished it. I will feature it when I do.
Later, we drove into the forest where
Jackie parked beside Ran’s wood and I rambled with my camera.
A febrile squirrel periodically caught my eye.
While I concentrated on nearby chickens at Beaulieu Jackie focussed on distant egrets.
Fawley Power Station’s lesser impact on the horizon is to disappear when it has been demolished for housing development. It is represented by the unlit tower to the far right of the broader view. The Refinery pictured here continues, and is the largest in Europe.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s toothsome sausage casserole; creamy mashed potatoes; firm carrots and broccoli; and tender runner beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank 2107 Corbieres.
Jackie wandered around the garden with her camera. She went out to photograph the Amistad salvia but got carried away and also pictured agapanthus seeds, dahlias, rudbeckias, roses, clerodendrum trichotomum, begonias, fuchsias, sedum, phlox; and a fly, wasps, and a shield bug perched on ivy flowers. As usual individual titles appear in the gallery which can be enlarged by clicking on any image.
On our afternoon drive we witnessed dramatic skies releasing a number of heavy showers as seen descending from the louring clouds in two of these images and producing at least one rainbow. The last three of these pictures were taken from Beaulieu Road on our way home. The first two from Coombe Lane, Sway where
sunlight picked out the autumn colours in the trees as a lone horse walked down its sloping field.
The first shower sent a group of ponies alongside the Brockenhurst road to shelter as close to the trees as possible.
Pannage pigs munching on sweet chestnuts brought a number of visitors’ cars to a halt in order to disgorge their drivers and passengers to watch and photograph the animals delighting in their change of diet from the more available acorns.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious sausage, liver, and bacon casserole; creamy mashed potato; firm and flavoursome Brussels sprouts; crunchy carrots; and tender runner beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Cotes du Rhone.
