July 1st, Canada Day. A time to celebrate the nation whose current prime minister doesn't believe it is among the finest countries in the world. It  may not have started out that way, but over the years it has achieved that status. My parents were children in their early teens when they arrived as refugees; my father alone, picked up on the street of Warsaw, an orphan sent along with other street children by a Jewish philanthropic society to a new life in Canada. He started that new life as an indentured farmhand not far from Toronto, until he paid off his passage, then struck out on his own.

My mother, at age 12, arrived with her older sisters to begin their new lives in Canada, leaving the Pale of Settlement in Russia, as a result of the upheaval during the Russian revolution between the White and the Red factions; imperialists versus 'socialists'. Her older brother, a supporter of the Reds, was the target of a bomb thrown into their home one day, killing father and brother, wounding all others. My parents met through membership in a social club, married, and by 1936 their first child was born, and that child was me.

Though young when they arrived in Canada, neither attended school, both went immediately to work in factories, my father at Fashion Hat & Cap in central Toronto, my mother on Spadina Avenue, at  a garment factory. When I was 13 my mother took me to that same factory when summer arrived and school was out, to earn something to help the family. My formal education stopped after Grade 10, again to find work to help support the family.

In the intervening years we understood quite clearly how fortunate we were to live in Canada, far from the Europe that became Nazi-occupied busily rounding up its Jews to be sent to slave-labour camps, concentration camps, death camps. At a too-young age I learned how Jews were perceived in society and to keep my identity as a Jew out of sight. Even so, neighbourhood people knew, and their children often shouted after me: "Christ killer!". At too-young an age I discovered something unspeakably horrible was happening to my people on the far-off continent of Europe. 

All these years later, we live in a country that nurtured us, gave us opportunities to become educated, to dream about our futures, to find one another, to raise families and to appreciate life while mourning the horrors of the recent past. A country whose possibilities enabled us to prosper in every sense of the word and however the imagination might roam. 

Today we roamed in familiar territory, located close to where we live in a comfortable home, enjoying the pleasures of living well, not worrying about our safety, or the ability to put food on the table, where we are surrounded by neighbours whose own backgrounds reflect countless origins, cultures, languages and experiences. They too, like us, live comfortable lives, and like us are fortunate to be able to do so.

This country has its own background of discrimination and oppression reflecting the tenor of the times. None of which will disappear entirely because suspicion of the other is endemic and ingrained in humanity. But there are standards and values and a general acceptance of accountability and accommodation of others. There will always be social misfits in any society and Canada has its share. Which does nothing to diminish our confidence in the country and its mission as a nation to be all that it can to those within and responsible in part for the well-being to those without.

On the exterior of the forest up the street we live on, there's a broad swath of grass just adjacent the ravine entrance where the super mailbox is located to service the street, and beside the mailbox sumacs have begun growing along with poplars, as the forest reclaims more of its traditional land for itself. Just on the verge, there is some fairly luxuriant vegetation growing; daisies, birdsfoot trefoil, henbane, even cowslips which we haven't seen in ages. Contractors used to come along in the summer and cut the grass there, mowing down all the wildflowers. They don't any longer, so wildflowers have a chance to grow and to bloom. It's nice to see them.

While buttercups, daisies and fleabane do grow alongside the forest trails, they do so in lesser numbers, dependent on glimpses of sun filtering down through the forest canopy onto the forest floor. On the verges they can luxuriate in full sun. Alongside the creek at the bottom of the ravine there is more sun exposure, and that's primarily where elderberry trees have now begun to colonize themselves comfortably.

When we woke this morning it felt hot and humid. And the weather forecast confirmed that it would be even hotter, in the 30Cs, and just to jolt us a bit more into action, warning of afternoon thunderstorms. So of course we chose the option of getting out for a hike through the trails in the forest early this morning, and so we did just that, Jackie and Jillie only too happy to oblige, helping us thoughtfully by lining up to get their halters and collars installed.

No surprise, really to discover that the conditions that brought us out early for a hike through the trails convinced others to do the same. Besides which, today is a holiday. Canada Day no less. The 153rd year since Confederation. A few of our neighbours had put up flags. We never have been the flag-waving type. Canada is our home and native land, and that is that. Pride in that fact is manifest but not extravagantly visual.

No one greeted anyone else that they passed on the trails with a cheery "Happy Canada Day!" Canadians in general just aren't given to that kind of emotionally ostentatious patriotism. No one seems to think they need prove their love of the country and the nation through effusive flag-waving. One new neghbour had a large flag waving in the wind, and a string of little flags flying across his double garage exterior. To each their own.

The forest floor was damp from all the rain we've been treated to in the past several weeks. The heat of the day was far from settling in at that hour, and there was a breezy element to the atmosphere. And there was also a treat awaiting our entry into the ravine first off as we rounded the initial trail to descend the first long hill to the ravine bottom. An immature little rabbit sat there, regarding us. Jackie and Jillie either failed to notice or didn't mind its presence, for they were still and well-behaved; in itself a rarity.

The tiny creature just sat there in the middle of the trail, allowing us to feast our eyes. It's been years since we last saw rabbits where once we would regularly see them. Just as at one time we frequently saw foxes and raccoons and partridges. Now they're rarely seen. When anyone comes across an owl it's a moment of great excitement. It's likely the growing presence of coyotes the past several decades has had an impact on their presence; that they're there, but infinitely more cautious; that their numbers have decreased as a result of predation.

It was the most pleasant of pleasant rambles through the ravine trails. As we approached the last of the bridges we would cross preparatory to ascending the last of the hills we would climb to reach street level, we met up with  an old neighbour of long acquaintance, doing her Tai Chi exercises. She always stops at that particular spot for that purpose, after a long turn in the ravine. And while we were stopped, talking with her, another elderly friend came by with her little dog and we were a quartet of white/and/grey heads bobbing in a social-distanced dance of verbal communication.