trees – Page 8 – derrickjknight

Breathing Pace

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No, there is no letter missing from the title. All will be revealed to those who have the perseverance to make it through the bumper morning’s photographic haul.

Although Jackie is far from well, she was determined on a lengthy forest drive on this clear, crisp, morning. Each time I tried to convince her that I had enough pictures, she refused to turn back for home.

Just around the corner in Hordle Lane, gaps in the hedge brought us into eye contact with sheep who have adopted the colouring of the stubble they have been sent to nibble, and the soil they are revealing.

Our first stop was at Wootton, where the breath of a ridden horse wafted against the arboreal backdrop.

From there we parked on a gravel path beside a group of ponies. While my eyes were fixed on these, Jackie became highly excited by a herd of deer bouncing through the bracken. They were about to cross the road. I abandoned the horses and rushed to the tarmac where

I was fortunate enough to hit my cervine target.

My luck held when I returned to the ponies,

where one, ignored by its drowsy companions, showed two clean pairs of heels in rolling over for a scratch,

then clambered to its feet.

A little further along Wootton Road I spent some time exploring the stream,

partly iced over and penetrating still frosted landscape.

Negotiating networks of roots, and taking advantage of the apparent firmness of

frozen terrain,

I was able to explore areas that had been too muddy to venture into in the past. Mind you, I did manage to fill my left shoe with freezing water, and make the rest of the trip in a more than adequate ice-pack.

A frozen hat hanging over the stream had me wondering whether the owner had got a bit wet.

It hung beside one of the many tyre swings that I have spotted in the forest. Had there been a mishap?

Eventually, glancing back at the more open landscape,

I joined Jackie, patiently waiting in the car with her puzzle book.

We moved on to Helen’s favourite view, from the Picket Post car park near Ringwood.

I walked out along the ridge around a deep valley, where I noticed a gentleman looking down the hillside.

He was waiting for female and canine companions.

Frost still lay in the sunless sides of the slope,

whereas it had melted on others.

A beribboned tree provided me with a mystery. My solution is that an enterprising wedding photographer led the bride and groom to this spot for some romantic images. That’s what I might have done, anyway.

Leaving this landscape behind us

we progressed to Eyeworth Pond where twitchers were out in force.

Someone had hung a number of feeders on the trees, and placed seed on the barrier to the footpath. They attracted, among others, blue tits, nuthatches, robins, and blackbirds.

Was this a sparrow hiding in the holly?

Numerous ducks paddled on the lake,

and the area bore its own frosted landscape.

Here, I did manage to miss a tree root and take a tumble. Never mind, the camera was safe.

Before leaving Fritham I failed to interest a pair of dozing donkeys in conversation.

It was then I noticed a phenomenon that should not have surprised me. The breath of the slumbering equine creatures came at very slow intervals and was feeble in its ascent into the ether. One could not hold up its head. The exhalation was nothing like that emitted by the exercising horse at the beginning of this saga. Makes sense really.

This evening Jackie produced a dinner of tender roast lamb, perfect roast potatoes, and crisp carrots with green beans, followed by spicy rice pudding. She drank sparkling water and I began an excellent bottle of Barolo 2012, given to me for Christmas by Helen and Bill.

From Mist To Sunshine And Back

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The mist that shrouded the garden never left Downton today.

Motoring further away from the coast into the forest in the mid-afternoon, Jackie and I left the fog behind us and were treated to bright sunshine sending splayed shafts through the trees alongside

Holmsley Passage.

The few leaves that still clung to the slender branches became dancing will-o-the-wisps flirting with autumn’s bronzed ferns;

and individual trunks were spotlit pillars.

Haze surrounded a solitary pony on the roadside approaching Burley, where

pools of recent precipitation reflected housing, trees, and sky.

The herd of red deer that had not been in evidence on our last visit to that village had today, as is their wont, invaded the field in front of the Manor House, where they rendered lawn mowers redundant.

By the time we returned home via Hordle Lane the mist had (in)visibly thickened.

This evening we dined with Becky and Matthew on Jackie’s tasty cottage pie, tender beef in red wine, and piquant cauliflower cheese. I drank Languedoc rouge 2015.

Misty Moors

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Today we visited Shelly and Ron’s at Walkford for an excellent lunch and an afternoon spent in convivial company and reminiscence. The other guests were Helen and Bill.

Before lunch I joined the three sisters in laying the annual wreath on their mother’s plot in Walkford Woodland Burial Ground. This was a pleasant visit.

Back at Shelly and Ron’s home we drank mulled wine and consumed nibbles followed by a meal of tender roast lamb served with roast potatoes and parsnips; red cabbage, broccoli, green beans, and multicoloured carrots. Red and white wines were drunk.

This was followed by a splendid trifle enhanced by the sharpness of cranberries.

Plentiful cheese and biscuits, coffee and after eight mints completed the meal, even though, as Helen pointed out, it wasn’t quite five o’clock. Conversation continued into the evening.

On our way to Walkford we diverted for a short drive through the moors around Wootton.

I decided that a sprinkling of vegetable peelings in the forest was unlikely to be someone starting a compost heap, but rather food some kindly individual had laid out for the absent ponies. These creatures were keeping a low profile.

The morning mist, even at lunchtime, had not yet completely cleared. Nearer trees were quite visible,

but greater distance led to obscurity.

Naturally we needed no more sustenance when we arrived home.

Natural Monochrome

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Anyone having followed the broadband connection saga will no doubt share my delight in the fact that this morning I uploaded the ten following pictures in five minutes. Until James Peacock flew in to the rescue any one image would take far longer than that.

The Needles foghorn reverberated around Downton this morning, as sea mist combined with low sun to produce beautiful monochrome garden scenes. Silent pigeons in the trees were unfazed by this.

The final picture is of Christchurch Road, showing the murky driving conditions.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lAh25F5jdOc&w=560&h=315]

Incidentally, peacocks can fly, albeit no great distance.

Throughout the day, Jackie worked on the Christmas decorations. She finished the tree, but this is only the start of the festooning. In the last of these photographs I chose to focus on the reflected image of our wedding photograph from 1968 lit by Giles’s stained glass lamp.

This evening we dined on Carbonara pasta topped with bacon and served with broccoli and cauliflower florets. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Collin-Bourriset Fleurie 2015.

A Murmuration

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An underground problem with installation of the new phone line required further attention today. This necessitated a visit from another engineer who completed the task.

Jackie then drove us around the forest in a very wet late afternoon.

Much rain has fallen during our weekend away. Familiar pools have returned to the forest floor.

The moorland in the rain took on a dramatic aspect as the clouds unloaded their precipitation.

Between Brockenhurst and Beaulieu, the River Lymington has burst its banks.

Sunset is early at this time of the year;

it is a reflection of the different light today that this is the same clump of trees beside Hatchet Pond that I photographed at virtually the same time from a slightly different angle yesterday.

As we waited at the level crossing on the approach to Lymington, an elliptical disc that was a murmuration of starlings slid around the skies.

This evening we dined on roast lamb with roast potatoes and crunchy carrots and cauliflower. I drank Clervigny Arbois, 2014

The Witch Hunt

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This morning Jackie drove us to Burley in search of witches.

The landscape across the moors early in the morning offered misty slate layers in the distance.

On the approach to Burley, the leaves on the trees were turning the rich colours of autumn

The car park in the village was largely occupied by ponies who had generously left a few spaces for the traffic.

One little lad in a buggy wasn’t all that sure about the attention he received.

We soon realised that we had missed the real Halloween event which had been on Saturday, two days ago. Our witch hunt was therefore fruitless. We had to settle for carved pumpkins, including the winning mouse, and ghastly ghouls sporting sheets.

Some sorceresses had abandoned their hats in the form of traffic cones that had found their way into the landscape. In the first of these two photographs the bicycle attached to the railing was probably left by a witch as she switched to here broom. In the second, Jackie converses with a garrulous goose.

Its companion practiced its contortions and they both enjoyed a good preen.

A communal field on the edge of the village contained examples of agricultural machinery and artifacts of a bygone age;

a shepherd’s hut;

and the parked up Burley Wagon Rides conveyance with a nearby pitched tent.

Trees, one with nibbled lower branches, one dead

We had been told that a herd of red deer could often be seen on the far side of the field. Like the witches, the deer had flown, but the evidence of their presence was shown by the pruned lower branches of the trees they had pruned.

A bonfire, surprisingly swarming with wasps, was being prepared for the next celebration event, namely fireworks night on the 5th of November, commemorating the failure of the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. Foiled by betrayal, this was a Catholic attempt to blow up the House of Lords and kill King James I. Instead, Guido (Guy) Fawkes was hung, drawn, and quartered. (See LordBeariofBow’s comment below). This involves taking down a hanged victim before death, cutting out living vital organs and quartering the body. It was a common punishment for treachery in those days.

Beyond the field could be seen Burley Manor Hotel. The original manor house dated from the twelfth century. In 1852 the building was demolished to make way for this Victorian replacement which has been an hotel since 1935.

Dew continued to bejewel grass and fallen leaves when we left to return home.

Charles Lane, Bagnum is just one of the sun-streaked roads that rushes towards us as we travel through the forest.

It wasn’t until, watching the 1 p.m. BBC News, I looked beyond Hugh Pym, that I realised the destination of at least one of the Burley witches.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s lovely liver and bacon casserole which was far more tender and tasty than that I had eaten yesterday at Otter Nurseries. It came with new potatoes and perfect Brussels sprouts and runner beans. Lemon and lime merangue pie was to follow. I finished the madiran.

Caught In The Rain

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This morning we took a drive into the forest.

It was not long before the first of the day’s many showers set the burnished bracken sparkling.

We were even treated to a partial rainbow forcing its way through the indigo clouds.

Deep in the valley a string of walkers passed a solitary house,

while far off, optimistic smoke curled upwards to merge into the ether.

A grazing pony fixed me with a quizzical stare, then continued with the business in hand,

until, sensing the precipitation that was about to send me back to the car, it wandered off and crossed a path to take shelter under a tree.

It was then that I heard voices floating across the bracken.

They belonged to another group of walkers upon whom the rainbow had cast all the colours of the spectrum.

The rain really hammered on the car as we drove back though the forest passing walkers and cyclists also caught in it.

This evening we dined on roast lamb, potatoes and parsnip; crunchy carrots, cabbage and runner beans; divine gravy, and mint sauce; followed by bread and butter pudding souffle. I drank Almocreve Alentejano reserva 2014.

Footpaths

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This morning I walked around the perimeter of the field by the disused phonebox and in service postbox, through Honeylake Wood,

and back across the slender ribbon footpath that will soon be obscured by the farmer’s crops.

Oak trees are among the latest to bear leaves, but those beyond the field are beginning to burgeon.

The occasional light aircraft droned overhead; my feet rustled the driest surface that I have experienced through the wood; and harsh squawks of pheasants lent dissonance to the sweeter notes of smaller birds. Otherwise, all was quiet.

Water in the downward sloping ditch often reaches this moss-covered trunk.

Celandines carpet its somewhat dehydrated banks,

and the normally sodden undulating footpath leading up to the bridge over the stream had no inclination to inhale my shoes.

Smaller trees, like this birch, have been left straddling the path

from which ramblers are not encouraged to stray.

As readers will know, we are not far from the sea. Many unsheltered trees are bent into shape by the force of the prevailing winds.

This evening we dined at Lymington’s Lal Quilla where, although it was very busy, we received the usual warm welcome and excellent food. My choice was lamb Taba Shashlik Jalfrezi with pilau rice and a share of onion bhaji and egg paratha. We both drank Kingfisher.

The sun was just thinking about setting as we emerged into the High Street.

Soggy Wootton Heath

Fairly early this morning, before the warming sun had completed the thaw of the overnight frost, we took a drive out in the forest, stopping for a photoshoot on Wootton Heath.

Spiky icing pricked up the grass;

Ice, perhaps indicating footprints, still lay in the churned up mud pools;

and sunlight glittered on the unfrozen temporary lakes.

The monochrome effects are the result of shooting into the sun, the direct rays of which gave a glow to the shrubs and trees, and revealed the green sward beneath the pools.

These shots show pools just behind the lichen-laden trees. Further back, beyond the dogwood, lies a frosted field, seen in the first.

The muddy soil is churned up by ponies, such as these two, apparently asleep. They must be asleep, otherwise they would be chomping grass.

Hello! The one on the right has woken, and, attracted by the prospect of Jackie in the Modus possibly being daft enough to feed it, walked over to the car and waited patiently.

I, on the other hand, crossed the road and focussed on other grazers seeking out the drier parts of the soggy terrain.

Soon, a clattering turning to a thud beside me announced the arrival of the hopeful horse which had crossed to see if the grass was greener on the other side. The clatter was made by hooves on the tarmac, and the thud, from the heavy weight landing on the turf, fortunately not on my feet. Is that frost on the top of the tail of its new companion?

This evening we dined on Jackie’s sublime chili con carne, wild rice and green peas. The Cook finished the sauvignon blanc, whilst I drank Chateau Le Tertre Graves de Vayres 2014.

After The Rain 2

On a crisp, bright morning with a cloudless blue sky, we took a drive around the New Forest.

Lacking a leaf canopy, the treetop roof, like our kitchen skylight, leaked onto the forest floor.

These scenes, photographed at Brownhills near Wootton Heath, were repeated throughout our journey. Branches are traced on the surface of pools reflecting various hues of blue contrasting with the seepage from the reddened soil and the

fallen leaves. It was possible to ignore the soggy refuse littered about.

Redlands house name on stone was also reflected in nature’s mirror.

Ponies generally remain deeper in the forest during heavy rain. Today they were everywhere in the forest and on the heathland.

On Whitefield Moor two members of a basking group appeared to lack the energy to support the weight of their heads. The most likely explanation is that these creatures, usually pretty scrawny by this time of the year, have been eating as if it were Christmas for some months now.

A giant, preening, swan, upon closer inspection turned out to be an itchy pony

that tail-twitched off after gaining some relief.

The magnificent upright redwood firs of the Rhinefield arboretum burned in the sunlight.

A group of mud-caked, yellow-tagged, curly haired cattle, as they ambled along the road hugging the wall of a thatched cottage at East Boldre, successfully delayed traffic for a while.

The yellow tags on these creatures’ ears denote ownership by the commoners who are entitled to allow their animals to roam free. I have never seen these beasts released from their byres this early in the year.

This evening we dined at Dynasty in Brockenhurst. I enjoyed a king prawn jalfrezi; Jackie’s choice was paneer chaslick ; we shared an egg paratha, special fried rice, and sag paneer; and both drank Kingfisher.