And all of a sudden, it was the last day to spend out in the English countryside. Tomorrow would be the trip back to America. We'd seen so many beautiful coastlines, ancient buildings and scenic countryside, and today we would spend a few hours in an ancient woodland, and here in Dorset is the New Forest. It's called that because 1000 years ago William the Conqueror spent a lot of time hunting in this area, it was 'new', to him, and 'forest' meant a hunting area. Much of the New Forest is actually open moorland, reminding me of North Yorkshire, but the area I was particularly interested in today was the actual forest part, which contains the highest concentration of ancient trees in western Europe, ancient meaning 400 years or older, although some are much older.
Although cold, the day was sunny, with shafts of sunlight spearing the leafy canopies overhead, puddling the forest floor, which was dense with thick leaves, moss and lichen. The ferns looked magical in this light, rusty fronds curled over, as though catching the rays of sun and then throwing them back up into the air, creating a blanket of orange.
And of course, no trip to the New Forest would be complete without seeing the ponies, which have been present since earliest times, and are largely responsible for the moors landscape, which would soon become overgrown with scrub without their grazing. Of course, after all these years of freedom in the forest, the ponies are completely indifferent to humans. There are strict laws about not feeding them, but a small group had wandered into a car park, discovering some discarded sandwiches on top of a rubbish bin, likely left for birds, and set to, demolishing the lot, completely ignoring us spectators, and a couple of men, who were trying to get to the parking meter for a ticket. The ponies on the moors were equally aloof and distant, ignoring all my groveling greetings and exorbitant compliments, sauntering past as though I didn't even exist, it was quite hurtful.
We were looking out particularly for the mustached variety, ponies I'd seen on my last trip with wonderfully excessive handlebar-shaped lip rugs that were stunning to behold. I found an interesting article on them here. But, unfortunately, even though we drove down quite a few roads, the mo-ponies were nowhere to be found.
The gorgeous forest moors were with scattered flashes of bright yellow from the last blooms of the gorse. Ponies were plentiful in areas, some basking in the afternoon sun, while others were taking casual strolls along the roads, mindless of traffic, since they have the right of way. Even though the speed limit is 40mph, there are still accidents where ponies are injured or killed, and this, unfortunately, seems to be an increasing issue.
The woodland areas are my favorite part, with many large oak trees, beeches and holly. The beech and oak was once used by the Royal Navy for ship building in the later 18th century, including Nelson's ship, HMS Agamemnon, which fought in the Battle of Trafalgar. There's no restrictions on where you can walk in the forest, and while we wandered about we had our area completely to ourselves, not seeing a single soul.
Some old trees had fallen, their crumbling trunks becoming an ecosystem of their own, rotting bark carpeted with thick emerald moss. The recent rains had encouraged some interesting mushroom growths on some of the decaying trees, but these were past their prime when I photographed them. It was an incredible feeling to walk through these trees, knowing this area looked almost the same as it had 1000 years ago when William the Conqueror went hunting here. Fallen trees are left in place, providing habitat for smaller animals and insects, and even create small dams in the streams, which provide shelter for fish and other freshwater life. Old trees which are dying are left to fall naturally, since their 'branch death' still provides invaluable sources of food and shelter for creatures, and they can still stand for many years despite their inevitable demise. The forest floor was dense with mosses and soggy fallen leaves, it was like walking on a plush carpet, albeit a little soggy in areas. The air was filled with the scent of rich earth and decaying trees, and with the deep silence, it felt almost mythical. You could sense the centuries that had passed here with little interruption, and feel the magic of it. With the occasional sunlight beaming into the glades, I almost expected to turn around and see a unicorn standing in a clearing, or catch a glimpse of William himself sauntering through the trees with his bow..
As the afternoon drew to a close we drove back to Mum's and stopped for our last fish and chips, which we ate out of the paper, and it was delicious.
And then it was Thursday, and time to leave home to return to the U.S of A. I'd been dreading this day and each visit never makes it easier. We said our goodbyes and left, with promises to return within 2 years. I munched on a pork pie for breakfast, this has now become a Leaving Tradition for me. It was dark as the plane took off from Heathrow, leaving stationery planes below with a foggy lamplight surrounding them. As we rose higher, the headlights from the traffic twinkled like diamonds on a necklace as they slowly wound their way around the motorway. During the inflight meal, I managed to snaffle 4 small cans of red wine to go with the curry and chocolate caramel dessert, which cheered me up somewhat, but I left my heart back on that runway, and knew it would take a few days to get back into 'American mode'. But at least there were 3 fluffy puddytats waiting at the Blue House for us to return, and a ride on my favorite steam train to look forward to on Sunday. And 2 years isn't really that long...
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