Now that the garden has finally been prepared for winter onset, satisfaction on that level has been achieved. What remains is a few more pieces of garden furniture to be stored and all the 'stone' and ceramic urns and pots to be covered. A few of the roses still going strong will have to be cut back and other perennials lightly winterized; a bit of soil mounded around hibiscus and rose of sharon, and one of the tree peonies has yet to be trimmed of its foliage up to next spring's nascent flower buds. 

 

It's tiring, regretful work to dig out annuals and compost them, tidying up the garden so that everything is prepared for its deep winter sleep. That said, it also builds up an appetite so the spaghetti and meatballs that Irving mentioned he was missing was just perfect for dinner last night. I had prepared the meatballs much earlier and refrigerated them, so only the sauce had to be prepared; another opportunity to use the mushrooms, tomatoes, bell peppers, onion and garlic languishing in their long wait to be used.

Today was laundry day so that took awhile with four big loads. A heavily overcast day again. There were light snow flurries early in the morning, then the day settled into its cold and overcast formula we've been met with lately. We set out in mid-afternoon, a little earlier than usual for us, and dressed a little more carefully than yesterday to ward off the probing fingers of the wind.

 

Now, there is foliage left mostly on the more immature of the Beech and Ironwood trees. Their bronze colour is quite similar, so unless you look at the bark of the tree it's hard to tell which they are. But they'll hold on to their leaves all winter and won't release them until spring when new foliage begins to emerge. They provide the only bit of colour in the white months when everything is a monochrome of black-and-white.

We felt more comfortable today, so decided to make our tramp through the woods longer than usual, and Jackie and Jillie agreed that seemed appropriate. We came across some of their friends we hadn't seen in a while and cookies were dispensed accordingly. They're always so engagingly polite, even though we may not have seen them in quite a while. Patiently seating themselves in front of Irving while he fumbles around with his cookie bag to extract cookies for them.

 

We passed the oldest wild apple tree in the forest in an area that hosts a number of apple trees. At one time the ravine was surrounded by farms and it's likely that the seeds of those apple trees were carried into the forest on the boots of the farm children that used to play in the woods. The old tree is huge and many-branched and this was a good year for fruit-bearing plants. We haven't been that way for quite some time, and were surprised to see the generosity of fruit that landed on the forest floor under the old tree.

We carried on, visiting old haunts on other trails, saw squirrels scurrying about in their fall frenzy to collect pine, hemlock and spruce cones for winter storage. It's been a good year for the cones produced by the forest's many conifers as well.

 

Soon as we returned home from our afternoon hike through the woods yesterday  we were favoured by the sturm und drung of a thunderstorm. And we love those storms with their window-blasting heavy rainfalls. Fine, as long as we're securely indoors. Even Jackie and Jillie don't mind them, they just add a lazy bark at the first of the thunder grumbles, then curl up and go back to sleep. Last night we couldn't figure out why Jillie was so restless, leaping off the bed repeatedly, until we finally saw a fly. It had got into the house as they tend to do on these steamy hot days, given half a chance, and she hates flies.

 

 

We were hoping for more rain today so everything in the garden would be nicely watered, but the sky remains pacific blue and the sun has been dominant all day. We had gone out early in the morning for our daily ramble in the ravine, so it doesn't matter all that much how hot it is, with an air conditioned house supplemented by floor fans in critical areas. 

 

 

At the time of morning we were out it was extremely pleasant walking through the trails. Even climbing the hills and descending them failed to build up internal heat, given the comfortable temperature we were exposed to. The wind, much reduced from yesterday, was very welcome. The slant of the early morning sun through the tree canopy made for some quite sun-exposed areas, but we moved right along.

 

 

Except for those times that Irving stopped to pick the scant few raspberries that are left, for Jackie and Jillie, and the stops made to accommodate neighbourhood dogs out for their ramble through the forest who break away from their human companions to race over to Irving, knowing him as the dispensers of cookies. We can't leave the house heading for the ravine without first checking the contents of his cookie bag.

 

 

We encountered an old acquaintance we haven't seen in a year, with his now-three-year-old white German Shepherd. And that was an interesting encounter. Dogs, like elephants don't forget people they've known since they were puppies. And running into people you know and haven't seen in a while makes you privy to some interesting things known to these people who are only too willing to share.

 

 

We're still feeling shocked whenever we come across areas in the forest where large old trees lay shattered, some flat on the forest floor, others remaining in a partial-fall position, held up by adjoining trees that were fortunately not impacted by the violent series of tornado-strength gusts that ravaged the forest a month ago. The suspended trees will eventually fall, and all the forest casualties will eventually rot to form a part of the cumulative compost that takes generations to enrich the soil and growing conditions for vegetation that takes their place.

 

 

When we left the ravine Irving stopped by the group mailbox for our mail, and we sat awhile in the garden, me and the puppies more interested in wandering about, while Irving went through the mail. After breakfast we both had things to do; his involving a few projects in his workshop. My workshop is the kitchen, and I baked a half-dozen large coconut-lime cupcakes. I grated the zest and Irving squeezed the juice; a cooperative effort.

 

 

For days we've been seeing online warnings for our area of an approaching heat wave. Even without temperatures in the 30C-range, this region's high humidity tends to make days feel even hotter than they are. The really hot weather failed to materialize, however, until today. So when we heard on the news that we could expect a humid 29C, with afternoon thunderstorms, Jackie and Jillie persuaded us that it would be a good idea to get out before breakfast, before the thunderstorms, before the extreme heat hit, for our daily ramble through the woods.

It had, actually, already rained, but the sun peeked around the corner of some clouds and we felt confident enough that further rain would hold off for the next hour or so, to get ourselves into the ravine, guided by our intrepid puppies. Breakfast could wait. And on our return we would refresh ourselves with a nice, long shower.

Jackie and Jillie must have mysteriously telegraphed our intention abroad, because we weren't venturing through forest trails with no other trekkers around. The usual suspects showed up, their intentions mirroring ours. And so, Irving's preparations before leaving the house to ensure that he had enough doggy treats to satisfy the demands of his fans, turned out to be well planned.

As for me, I knew I should have charged my Canon Elph's battery but hadn't bothered. So, as it turned out the exhausted battery was good for three photos before it pooped out entirely. Somehow, making our way through the woodlands without the prospect of taking photographs of landscapes that grip my fancy left much to be desired in total satisfaction. My almost automatic reach for the camera as we progress through the trails was foiled.

But luck was with us, no rain came down and we even were graced with occasional sunbeams before that golden orb retreated once again behind assertive grey skies. For a change I had worn half-length (we used to call them pedal-pushers) pants of a light tan colour. They were soon decorated with paw prints as happy-go-lucky familiar dogs, large and small, were delighted to greet us; cookie free-for-alls has that effect on spontaneous-minded creatures. 

After breakfast, the rumbling of thunderclouds alerted us to two thunderstorms passing, drowning the atmosphere in reams of rain. And each time that happened there was a brief and brilliant appearance of the sun. If the gardens don't appreciate these optimal-growth and flowering conditions, then nothing ever will. Walking through the gardens in dry breaks from the rain, it was obvious that everything was thriving.

Most spectacular of all at  his particular blooming time are the peonies and the roses whose blooms so closely resemble one another with their layers of petals and exquisite bright shades of pink and red. Strangely, our two tree peonies this year haven't produced blooms, though I'm always careful in how I cut them back for winter, ensuring that incipient buds are not touched. They're quite unlike the shrub peonies growing right up from the ground year after year.

As well, several of our clematis vines, though the foliage has grown vigorously, have failed to put out buds. I regret one in particular won't be producing any of its gorgeous double-blue-layered flowers and hope it will recover for next spring's production.

In deference to the heat of summer days we've been eating a bit lighter lately. Light meals are perfectly expressed in summer salads. And last night we had a fresh vegetable and bean salad along with tiny Riga (Latvia) 'gold' sprats (smoked sardines) served separately. They make a good combination, each dish complementing the other, we've found. J&J are neutral about it.

 

We had actually meant to spend part of the day driving the Kankamangus Highway to Sabbaday Falls and then go on to Rocky Gorge, but we somehow got turned around and decided to leave our original destination for the following day. Instead, we drove to Franconia Notch, a much shorter drive, on a beautifully warm and sunny day with a good brisk breeze to keep mosquitoes at bay.

Jackie and Jillie have been there before. But it's been a three-year hiatus. The weather has been iffy enough in northern New Hampshire to dissuade quite a lot of people from venturing forth, but this day had nothing to apologize for. And there were far fewer people about than usual, a bonus for us. The temperature gradually rose to the mid-70s, just perfect for a climb.

When we arrived at the Basin, we took the short detour down to the Baby Flume. It's quite a sight, and one that most people seem to bypass. It does take some dexterous footwork to get there on a narrow, winding path that snakes its way through the forest. There are laceworks of roots and rocks to negotiate. The stream running off the mountain that has formed the Basin continues on, falling over flat, grey granite slopes and around boulders and the sound is a baritone musical.

A short hike brings the intrepid searcher to the Baby Flume, water cascading noisily and beyond picturesque on to the Pemigewasset River beyond. Jackie and Jillie are interested and make their way through little byway trails closer to the raging stream. They're on leash and cannot go further than we allow them to. They're not interested in going into the water where still pools defy the thrust of the boiling stream.

Back on the main trail we make our way to the Basin, and there's a handful of people assembled there on the right side of the protective wood rail, taking photographs of the raging waterfall. The Basin itself is just that; an upright carve-out of the grey granite into a wide oval, the work of thousands of years demonstrating the power of water.

From there we make our way toward the trail that will lead us to one ledge after another of wide grey stonework, smoothed by the fall of water tumbling down from the mountainsides. The trail has been worn deeply since we first climbed it with our children many decades ago. Constant foot traffic on this popular tourist site (though only a minuscule number of people who come to ogle the Basin move on to the mountain trail beyond it)has worn the trail quite bare. Tree roots that would otherwise be underground have been bared, forming a root-stairway interspersed with rocks as you make your way through the forest up the trail.

We pass one ledge after another, then finally take a brief side trail toward the ledge we feel we've climbed high enough to attain. Then we sit awhile on a raised semi-flat boulder, watch the water spuming downhill, look at the forest on either side, admire the puffy white clouds like sheep pasturing in a blue meadow, and relax. 

Jackie and Jillie are treated to cookies and water and they're content after sniffing about, to sit quietly with us, before we finally turn back and make our way down the trail, our little expedition for the day concluded.