I’ve heard of a white stag seen in the lower garden, a magnificent beast who has been known to appear at dawn and dusk, an almost mythical animal which has loomed large in my imagination. He leaves his calling cards in the arboretum; stripped bark and trampled and torn tree guards bear witness to his presence.
This winter is different here, for so many reasons; the uncertainty and the quiet.
Yesterday barely a breath of wind stirred through the gardens as if the world had inconspicuously come to a halt. Today a biting wind has returned setting me shivering and the gardens in motion.
Down at the very end of the arboretum the snowdrops are in full bloom beneath a brooding sky as clouds scud across the treetops. I’m back repairing tree guards in the arboretum: more signs of our phantom visitor.
In ten acre field beyond the garden where the ground drops steeply into another valley a small flock of well insulated sheep regard me briefly. Many of our own small flock have been getting stuck in the brambles recently which had meant rescue trips up and down the valley.
On the far side of ten acres, a white figure is visible at the woodlands edge. I set off for another sheep rescue when I’m stopped in my tracks, as the shape resolves itself, I see that it’s not a sheep
at all, a fine set of antlers, a long graceful neck and stately head with a look of unconcerned majesty; it’s the white stag.
No phone for the photo?
Steve, welcome to Substack! I so look forward to reading about beloved Iford Manor and its surroundings. You capture a magical atmosphere just so beautifully