Tag: walkers

A Gander At Geese

This was the first time I had left the house since my catheter removal yesterday morning. I therefore stayed in the car throughout, yet rather longer than I would have wished.

After Jackie bought some tulip and daffodil bulbs at Otter Nurseries this afternoon we were thwarted in our intended forest drive by two factors. First our egress from Newbridge drive onto Christchurch Road was stalled by

a very recent crash site causing

a long tailback which had not been cleared when we returned home.

Our chosen route to the east was then closed for road repairs and we were forced down

Snooks Lane. Take a good look at this, because we were not the only ones at what is near enough our rush hour, trying to avoid the continuing blockage along the road on which we live. Snooks Lane wasn’t one of them, but there were other similar winding routes congested by others. Fortunately Jackie got us home.

A gathering of geese now monopolised Little Hatchet Pond as they floated among the water lilies, so we took a gander at them. Passing

walkers and a wagtail, we then made our sluggish way home.

This evening we dined at Rokali’s where I enjoyed Methi Goust and a chapati while Jackie’s choice was chicken biriani; I drank Kingfisher and Jackie drank Diet Coke. As always, the service was friendly and efficient, despite a gathering of customers from the Bournemouth air show.

The Power Of The Web

As we set out on a still warm, but generally overcast, morning for a

forest drive I noticed a feather hanging above a myrtle bloom.

A pigeon was in no hurry to move out of our way along Lower Pennington Lane, alongside which, from a five barred gate

Jackie photographed moorland, and, on the way back,

I photographed walkers pushing a small baby in a buggy.

Before then, we had watched distant geese approaching, then flying over a walking family. The birds travel every day each way between Christchurch and Lymington, presumably finding regular sustenance. (Enlargement by access to the gallery may make them more visible).

Along St Leonard’s Road Jackie photographed me approaching and leaning on a tree in order to

picture a field horse and foal.

Blackberries are ripening along all the hedgerows.

Jackie also photographed this five-barred gate and its view.

Outside the ancient barn ponies cropped the grass on the verge;the animal in the first picture of this gallery hopefully wet-nosed me as I disembarked; finding I had no treats on offer she

stuck her nose through the open passenger window.

This is what it looked like to Jackie inside, while I wandered off.

Joggers along these narrow lanes take their lives in their hands. Those in the first picture were in Lower Pennington Lane. The woman decided to wait until the two cars had gone by; the one in the second was about to be passed by a large tractor towing a long container vehicle.

When, after an hour and a half, we returned home, the feather, despite the stiff breeze had not detached itself from the almost invisible, sticky, thread that held it. Such is the power of the web.

After lunch I posted

From The Saga Of Dietrich Of Bern

This evening the Culinary Queen served up a meal both colourful and flavoursome consisting of lemon chicken on a bed of rice packed with peas, fava beans, red and yellow peppers, onions, and mushrooms, with which I drank Bajoz Tempranillo 2022.

Why Budge? The Road Belongs To The Hoof

Soon after lunch we took a forest drive in hot temperatures between overcast clouds beginning to leak intermittent drizzle which called upon little stirring of the windscreen wipers until gradually requiring more regular rhythm, especially when large blobs gathered on branches splashed down beneath trees.

Heather is now colouring the moorland as seen on a slope at Crow Hill and the verges of Holmsley Passage

hugged by walkers as we passed.

A pony and foal grazed beyond the house at the bottom of the hill. Note the brand on the mare’s shoulder.

The pony planted on the road at Mockbeggar disdained to move from the time we approached; when Jackie negotiated us around her; while I disembarked to photograph others; to the time we departed. She may be there still.

Perhaps she considered there were too many equines and bovines on the green already.

One unfortunate animal blended freckles and flies.

Other carloads of people also disembarked to wander with the ponies;

a young heifer joined in the fun.

Cattle dotted the landscape alongside Abbotswell Road where an intriguing path led into the inviting woodland.

A very new donkey foal on Blissford Hill, its mother apparently unconcerned further up the slope, seemed unaware that anyone might be expecting it to budge.

Did you remember to note the earlier brand? Neither of the foals with branded mothers have yet received one. Their turn will come at the next annual roundup, known as the drift, when all ponies have a health check. https://derrickjknight.com/2016/08/30/the-drift/

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy pasta arrabbiata with tender broccoli in bowls in front of the TV whilst watching highlights of the second and third days of the second Test match between England and West Indies.

Not Summer

Although the rain largely kept away today, the weather remained unseasonably cold and overcast as, after purchasing provisions at Ferndene Farm Shop, Jackie and I took a brief drive along Holmsley Passage and back.

Cyclists and dog walkers travelled along the disused railway track; walkers and ponies graced the moorland; and one runner jogged down the hill.

Ponies in particular foraged unconcerned with what went on around them, where

heather purpled the landscape despite the

glowering skies silhouetting the tree line.

The almost dried up stream beneath the road once more ripples, flows, and nurtures weeds.

On Burley Road a pony defied the traffic to encroach upon its companion foal.

Whatever the season is it is definitely not summer.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’ s fusilli pasta bake containing bacon, boiled eggs, and various vegetables, accompanied by baked gammon, with which she drank more os the rosé and I drank La Vieille Ferme vin rouge, 2021.

Rhinefield Ornamental Drive

We had intended to photograph Beechern wood on our forest drive today. This has been one of our regular trips.

It was a shock to find a locked gate across the road forbidding access to non-members of the Caravan Site at the far end. The woman approaching the Forestry Commission gate had left the camper van and opened it for the driver. Who, I wondered, owned the road from which I have produced many photographs of woodland, ponies, and Ober Water.

We diverted to Whitemoor Pond, over which stretches this

branch with flaking bark;

a number of trees were reflected on the shimmering surface

on which fallen leaves float above the clearly visible bed.

From there we drove on to the Rhinefield Ornamental Drive along which I took

a short walk amongst others along the now soggy footpath.

Although it wasn’t at all cold, most were wrapped up, and this gentleman clearly need to raise his collar.

This friendly family were very pleased with this photograph showing their dog really straining at the leash. I could not resist asking who was taking who for a walk.

Fallen leaves clustered at the roots of trees,

even of long-dead stumps.

At Wimbledon College, we were once taught by an art master who told us that trees were never just brown. These trunks were obviously what he meant.

We are now recognising so many fallen giants in the forest that we are able to follow their journey back to the soil from which they sprung. We passed this one a few years ago when it had just been snapped by fierce winds and quickly sawn and removed from the road. Its constituents will probably outlive ours.

Over recent months my library has been taken over by items destined for charity shops and the Council Recycling Depot. This has been a losing battle as further goods have appeared as fast as we declutter – one of the consequences of an increased household with many relatives being keen to bring gifts. Now Christmas items are being added at a rate of knots. This afternoon Jackie and I cleared and organised the space so that I can once again reach individual volumes.

This evening we dined on tasty fish cakes: haddock for me, cod for Jackie, and salmon for Flo; crunchy carrots and tender cauliflower leaves; the Culinary Queen’s piquant cauliflower cheese and colourful savoury rice, accompanied by the same beverages as yesterday.

Coming Clean

This morning our friend Giles visited to collect me for a walk. Unfortunately his idea of flat terrain varied a little from mine.

The footpath from the Taddiford Gap was so narrow that when we met oncoming traffic, unable, like crows, to perch on a post, we needed to squeeze ourselves into rather awkward spaces.

Barbed wire fences lined either side of the path, so there was no point in grabbing theirs.

We walked along the path, watching others on the hilltops

and eventually arriving at the path alongside the clifftop with its view

across scintillating seascapes to the Isle of Wight and The Needles.

There we had the option of turning left

or right. This seemed the gentler route.

After we had passed the time of day with the walkers in the above two pictures, knowing that I had my limitations,

my concerned friend asked when I thought we would reach the halfway point of my capacity. “We’ve passed it”, said I. After a brief discussion we decided that turning back would involve slightly less distance than pushing on to Barton where it wouldn’t be very easy for him to pick me up.

It was no easier for him to pick me up outside the car park that was our starting point. At one point he suggested I rested on a tussock. “I wouldn’t be able to get up”, I replied.

Back I staggered and eventually with the end in sight, like the wobbling Italian Dorando Pietri in the 1908 London marathon, I fell over. And couldn’t get up. Considering the number of people we had met along the route, it was something of Sod’s law that no-one was around then.

Giles went hunting for a car driver while I turned myself onto my front, abused the knees of my pale fawn trousers and the elbows of my equally light hued linen jacket, and dragged myself to the the concrete post at the entrance to the car park. My hands clasping the top of the bollard I struggled, without success, to haul myself up.

Welcome voices heralded the arrival of my friend with Damien and his dog. The dog was confined to his owner’s car. The two men each took a hand and heaved – successfully. Back on my feet I was OK.

Now, when posting our trips over the last twelve months, I have not dwelt on the gradual decrepitude that has crept up on me. My knees really don’t work at all well, and remain painful, so any use after about twenty minutes is really tough. For “walk”, “stagger” should sometimes be substituted.

Today’s final photograph is of one of the last 6,000 surviving pillboxes of the 28,000 placed at strategic points across the country in anticipation of a German invasion during World War II. After that I needed all my concentration to end our journey.

You don’t have to know me very long to know that giving up is not in my repertoire. So I will continue to do what I can, but accept that I shall never take on such a walk again.

It was good to have done it again with my friend of more than 50 years.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s mild chicken jalfrezi, pilau rice, and parathas, with which she finished the Sauvignon Blanc, I drank more of the Fleurie, and Flo and Dillon abstained.

Scorching

On another very hot, yet progressively overcast morning we drove to Otter Nurseries where Jackie bought herself another very long hose – this time on wheels to reduce carrying it about – for the garden.

We travelled on to Barton on Sea where I stationed myself

on a bench in order to attach my longest camera lens, while Jackie stayed nearer

the Beachcomber café. These two of her pictures show the burnt condition

of the grasses and the thrift that I pictured on the cliff edge from where I

beamed down on a number of visitors wishing to scorch themselves. I wonder what Barbara, Book Club Mom would make of the couple reading in deckchairs?

We each photographed sailboats in the haze against the Isle of Wight, Jackie,

who also picked out the beach huts at Mudeford, choosing The Needles and their lighthouse as her backdrop.

This evening we dined on starters of Chicken in Nando’s Lemon and herb sauce on Jackie’s savoury rice; followed by her spicy paprika pork, boiled potatoes and tender runner beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Shiraz.

On Tarmac And Moorland

This morning we worked on completing our preparation of guest bedrooms for reasons which will become clear tomorrow.

After lunch we took a forest drive.

Having seen a very large foal being suckled in a field on Jordans Lane I stepped out of the car and sank into autumn leaves in a dry ditch, by which time the ponies had and diverted their attention to me. I was then

distracted by raucous rooks cawing from above.

Further along the road donkeys in the process of shedding their winter coats wandered among the traffic or hugged the verges.

Cattle and ponies shared the moorland off Bull Hill.

Ponies dined by the roadside, spilling onto the tarmac of East Boldre;

walkers led by a dog carrying a branch approached from the distance;

while another equine tore at juicy grass piercing the surface of a puddle.

This evening we dined on pepperoni pizza, hot and spicy prawns, and fresh salad with which I finished the Bierzo.

The Assistant Photographer Saves The Day

This morning I posted https://derrickjknight.com/2022/02/24/a-knights-tale-107-instow-part-1/

After a heavy fall of sleet at lunchtime the darkly brooding clouds slunk away and the sun shone for the rest of the chilly afternoon. We did not receive the expect snowfall.

Jackie drove me to Lymington where I collected a large print for Jan and Bob Beekman; a flash gun for my camera, and two printing inks.

We continued across the forest to Bramshaw where I photographed the gravestones of the 12th Century St Peter’s Church.

From there we continued to Nomansland where I photographed ponies cropping the cricket outfield on the village green.

When I loaded these photographs onto my computer screen every single one was out of focus. How could this be, I wondered. I then checked the settings on my 35 mm lens which I had used for these shots, and found that that it was set for manual focus, which I never use. When the shop assistant who had set up my new flash gun to be fixed on automatic he had said “you could do it on automatic, too”. I had replied “please don’t confuse me with that. I never go off automatic”.

The only shot we have of that earlier trip is this one Jackie took of a footpath sign beside a stile leading into the church.

Even that would have saved the day, but Jackie went one further by suggesting we drove on to Barton on Sea to watch the sun going down. For this I had changed to the

70/300 mm lens which had been left alone.

Sunset Slicing Slate Skies

Slate-dull as it has been, today we experienced the warmest New Year’s Eve since records began.

Plasterer Martin Paulley, who on 5th will begin the work which will complete the Kitchen Makers project visited to check what he has to do.

After lunch I posted https://derrickjknight.com/2021/12/31/a-knights-tale-86-more-running/

Later this afternoon Jackie and I collected medication from the Milford Pharmacy and went on to meet Becky and Ian at the Beachcomber at Barton on Sea.

A photographer on the clifftop at Milford had difficulty locating the throughly obscured Isle of Wight;

a child stood too close to the ever-crumbling edge for my comfort;

others walked along the path which has more than once been brought further inland.

Choppy seas slipped back from the shingle before reaching the rows of beach huts.

We emerged from the Beachcomber with the western skies lightened enough for us to see walkers along the seafront and for the sunset to slice the slate skies.

This evening we dined on cottage pie topped with fried potatoes; firm roast parsnips and Brussels sprouts; crunchy carrots and cauliflower; and tasty gravy. Jackie finished the Sauvignon Blanc; Becky and Ian drank the last of the Zesty; and I drank more of the Merlot-Tannat.