Tag: woodland

A Frantic Baaing

The day began in fairly bright sunshine and gradually deteriorated in afternoon rain which didn’t bother me because I was watching the BBC transmission of the Six Nations rugby match between Scotland and Ireland.

Before then Jackie and I took a forest drive.

Suggesting that they may have heard the weather forecast, most ponies appeared to be staying safely hidden until we arrived at

Charles’s Lane and its accompanying woodland, where, accompanied by sweet birdsong sometimes competing with the clanking roar of cars crossing a cattle grid; the graunching of gear changes when suddenly encountering animals on the road; the whirring of bicycle wheels; the thudding of hooves on the turf or their clanking on the tarmac, a small group foraged until, as we left the vicinity, they decided to meander off ahead of us.

When Jackie parked the Modus against the entrance to a farm field so that I could photograph

daffodils on the verge of Beckley Common Road

the air was rent by a frantic baaing as a flock of sheep dashed from the far side of their pasture towards the restraining wire, no doubt in the disappointed expectation of feeding time.

After the match, I recovered the pictures and provided headers for the following posts featuring our arrival at Old Post House in April 2014:

The Final Stage

It has been long on my mind to add a category entitled Garden. This will involve renaming some Uncategorised posts, this being the first.

A Fun-Filled Adventure

The garden is mentioned in this one, yet it is far more about the practicalities of the move, so its category remains unchanged.

A Further Piece Of Quirkiness

Although the header picture is from the garden, the main thrust of the post is the same as the one above, so there is no change of category.

This evening we all dined on oven fish and chips, onion rings, garden peas, pickled onions and gherkins, with which Jackie and I both drank Poggio Civitelle Orvieto 2021.

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.

Tail End Charlie

When my struggles to pay a couple of bills on line, although ultimately successful, this afternoon had reduced me to a state of apoplexy, Jackie suggested a forest drive. This seemed a good idea.

We had driven up to and beyond Penn Common without finding anything of photographic interest until we found fauna galore down

Newbridge Road, where Jackie parked the Modus and I wandered

among the cattle in the woodland where winter- shaggy curious cows and calves roamed, scratched, canoodled and occasionally disrupted traffic.

Further down the hill was the domain of ponies, also sporting their extra thick coats brought on by our recent cold spell.

A few of these had crossed the road to converse with field horses at their gate.

As we approached Bramshaw a string of Saddleback piglets escaping from a pen somewhere streamed across the road in front of us. Jackie wound down her window for me to catch them rushing by on the muddy verge. I almost missed Tail End Charlie who had put on a spurt in an attempt not to be left behind. He had even missed out on the complete colouring carried by his porcine cousins.

Later this afternoon, with the usual help from SueW, I recovered pictures to the following posts:

Frustrated
Dripping Rain
Ponies On The Road

This evening we all dined on tasty roast gammon, piquant cauliflower cheese, creamy mashed potato, crunchy carrots, tender runner beans, cabbage, and leeks , with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Coonawarra Shiraz 2021.

Hung Out To Dry

Early this morning Jackie stocked up with provisions at Ferndene Farm Shop while I sat in the car, then continued into the forest via

Beckley Common Road, which, like all lanes on this decidedly damp, drear, day bore reflecting pools along the verges,

and soggy autumn leaves there

and in the bordering woodland, where someone had hung

a pair of toys out to dry.

Equally damp were the ponies foraging alongside Forest Road.

Distant landscapes, as, for example, visible from Wilverley Road, were distinctly hazy.

Martin and his younger son, Arlo, visited briefly at lunchtime to deliver a Christmas card with a warm message, and beverages for Jackie and for me selected from information gleaned on this blog.

This evening we dined on more of Hordle Chinese Take Away’s excellent fare with which I drank Gran Selone Italian red wine.

Shadow-Streaked Woodland

Although still cold, today was brighter and sunnier, casting long shadows early this afternoon, so we took a short forest drive after lunch.

Tempting me out of the car, a trio of ponies grazed or snoozed on the moorland outside Sway.

I then tramped over the shadow-streaked woodland floor featuring meandering fingers of mossy roots carpeted with golden, glinting, leaves on the approach to Bisterne Close.

This area has its share of decaying trees gradually returning to the soil;

and of scooped out bowls of winterbourne pools reflecting now skeletal trees on their surface on which float fallen leaves slowly descending like rocking canoes onto their clear beds.

Although the anonymous knitter of Pilley Street appears to have stopped decorating her letter box with the death of Queen Elizabeth, the group in Tiptoe Road are continuing their work.

This Christmas offering was rather windswept when I photographed it on our way home.

This evening we dined on tender roast lamb; crisp Yorkshire pudding and roast potatoes, some softer ones being sweet; crunchy carrots; firm broccoli, Brussels sprouts, and cauliflower, and meaty gravy with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden, I drank more of the Gran Selone, and Flo and Dillon drank fruit juice cordial.

Black Swans

Our friend, Paul Soren posted a picture yesterday that I said I thought would make a good screensaver.

This morning Jackie took me on a forest drive.

We began with the woodland alongside Bisterne Close where

the soft forest floor alongside contained

dry acorn cups,

fallen branches and crisp autumn leaves,

clustered beneath long decaying trunks and branches gradually returning to the soil.

The sculptural quality of an abandoned artefact was somewhat incongruous outside one of the houses.

One of the many pools that have spent much of the summer in a parched condition now reflects neighbouring gates.

Ponies perused our passing along Holmsley Passage.

Our friend mentioned above sent me an e-mail asking me to feel free to use his picture as my screensaver and sending me a jpg image of a black swan and cygnets somewhere outside Melbourne seen through his rain-splashed windscreen.

I now see a picture from the other side of the world every time I switch on my computer.

For dinner this evening we repeated yesterday’s fare and beverages.

“He Is Taking Your Photograph”

It was fortunate that we chose this reasonably bright morning to transport the last garden parasol to its winter quarters in the orange shed, and to carry the wooden patio chairs to the comparative safety of the narrow area beside one side of the house, for no sooner had we finished than the clouds darkened necessitating lights being turned on in the sitting room, and once again we were treated to rivulets flowing down our windows.

After lunch we braved the rain and drove to Milford on Sea, by which time it had desisted somewhat in order for us to watch

flocks of gulls and crows sharing drinks in the plentiful puddles on the car park littered with pebbles dashed onto it from the adjacent stretch of shingle

by the turbulent sea’s tossed up spray-bearing waves.

In the distance on the promenade along which two young boys cycled could be seen a little dog in a red coat.

By the time he and his owner reached our vantage point I was ready for them, and encouraged by the windswept woman who advised her pet that a suitable pose would be in order.

Further into the forest we noticed the brightness the rain had lent to the now sun kissed sage lichen

and red-brown bracken

in the Wootton woodland.

A pair of cormorants conversed on their customary perches in Hatchet Pond.

We arrived home just in time for the next deluge.

This evening we dined on tempura and hot and spicy prawn preparations with Jackie’s colourful savoury rice topped with a thick omelette. We both drank Wairau Cove Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc 2021.

Otherwise She Would Block The Road

Early this morning I watched recordings of the Women’s rugby World Cup match between USA and Japan, and between Wales and New Zealand.

Later, I telephoned O2 to ask once more for the PAC Code. I was connected to the Sales team. Carl, the man I spoke to, was very helpful and immediately sent the code – twice because it had not arrived. He then realised it had not been delivered because mine was reported as an invalid number. I pointed out that that had not stopped them sending the six unwelcome and, in the circumstances irrelevant, texts on the previous two days.

He left me on hold while seeking advice. He then transferred me to Customer Services. I offered the opinion that, given this was all about my leaving, that was surely the department to which I should have been sent first.

Before Customer Services answered we were disconnected. I heard no more.

This called for a postprandial forest drive.

“Slosh, slosh”, went the heavy breathing Tamworth pigs on Coach Hill Lane outside Burley

as they smilingly shuffled and snuffled around hoovering up the plentiful acorns

falling from the trees overhanging

this narrow, winding, lane

with its homes hidden behind intriguing garden gates.

Many of the woodland verges, like these running all the way through Shobley, where autumn’s brush-strokes are as yet barely adding seasonal colour, are now lined with posts placed to prevent parking of vehicles churning countryside vegetation. When Jackie drops me off for a photo foray in such an area she drives on and comes back for me – otherwise she would block the road just as the pigs were doing.

This evening we dined on roast lamb with crisp Yorkshire pudding and roast potatoes including the softer sweet variety; crunchy carrots; firm cauliflower, broccoli and Brussels sprouts; and meaty gravy, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Puglia Primitivo.

How Many Centuries?

Jackie drove me to Lymington where I spent the morning in the EE showroom. I had been two days without a service on O2. There is no other supplier’s showroom within several miles of us, and I could not telephone O2.

Cutting a long story short, I decided to transfer to EE, where it is possible to speak to a real person in an accessible building. My old Samsung, a good 10 years old, is now obsolete, so I also upgraded to the current model.

Miraculously, my O2 account worked this afternoon.

Late this afternoon, we took a short forest drive.

I stepped out on Holmsley Passage

and photographed autumn bracken in surrounding woodland

and undulating landscape.

Voices of the two young women on the winding road had carried way up the hill behind me.

Further on, I wondered for how many centuries had shafts of sunlight outlined the mossy mounds of the ancient hedgerow banks along Bisterne Close, or

the backs of generations of smiling young pigs, 

gleefully guzzling

acorns on the steep slopes leading out of Burley.

This evening we dined on second helpings of last night’s takeaway with the same beverages.

From The Passenger Seat

This morning Jackie and I drove to The Oakhaven Hospice Trust furniture warehouse on the Ampress industrial estate in order to offer for collection a Chinese oak cabinet which is now surplus to our requirements.

I took the opportunity to photograph the parched condition of the surrounding verges.

The now golden moorland around Brockenhurst was tinged with purple heather, yellowing bracken, and early autumnal trees.

The usual ponies had deserted the arid Longslade Bottom

for such sheltered spots as they could find among the lanes

and the dappled woodland.

Plants were drying along the verges of Hordle Lane and

Christchurch Road at the point at which it runs alongside our house, the front garage trellis of which has been saved from suffering a similar fate by Flo and Dillon’s valiant irrigation.

With the exception of the first and last all these photographs were produced from the front passenger seat.

This evening we dined on pizza and fresh salad with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden, Flo and Dillon drank Ribena, and I drank Château La Mauberte Bordeaux 2020.