The snow thrower was somewhat balky when Irving used it  a few days back after the last snowfall. It seems the part he replaced that had snapped that controls the machine's directional movement during clean-up from the storm before that one, hadn't been sufficiently tightened. So that's what he set about doing, as it sat in the larger of the two garden sheds, after breakfast. There's yet another snowstorm on the way, and he doesn't want to face the difficulty he encountered cleaning up the last one.

He's still trying to figure out why one of the standard light fixtures at the front of the house isn't responding. It's likely that the freezing rain event penetrated the interior wiring  causing a short. Other alternatives that Irving explored haven't seemed to make a difference. He was set to try drying the line but couldn't find the old warming device he had in his workshop. He thought he'd try an old hair dryer, but when he turned it on, the thing began smoking.

Maintaining a household isn't boring; the expectation that nothing will ever experience operational fatigue or just fail to operate for any number of reasons simply belies reality. Irving has always been able to figure these things out and he's always had success in solving the problem. Patience is a virtue.

He also took apart two heat registers, one in our bathroom the other in our clothes closet in the wan hope that my missing earring  could have slipped into either of them. Where it ended up remains a mystery. I've since replaced that pair that I've worn steadily for decades with another pair I've had equally long, but haven't worn before. They're almost a dead-ringer for the missing one; tiny gold hoops with inset diamonds.

Today is heavily overcast, compared to yesterday's full sun, but the temperature is almost the same; -2C yesterday, 0C today. Snow was supposed to start this afternoon, but it was 5:00 pm by the time we returned home from our afternoon ravine hike and the snow still hadn't started. I've got a dried bean-and-pea soup with vegetables simmering on the stove for  tonight's dinner. Guaranteed to solve the inner chill of a winter evening.

There's ample snow accumulated now in the forest. The trees are still lavishly painted with snow, and the landscape retains its beautiful scintillating appearance of overall white on dark tree trunks, that classic black-and-white combination reflecting this time of year. Jackie and Jillie seem to literally bounce about on the trails, happy to be out and making the most of their daily trek through the forest.

Today, it was one uninterrupted by the presence of others; no other hikers, no other canine friends. We had the trails all to ourselves. Everything was still, the atmosphere windless, sound absorbed by the plush snow covering, equaling pure serenity. And then, dusk entered to fulfill its pact with oncoming, resolute night.

 

The heat wave hanging over us this week has finally relented. Much cooler today. But we've exchanged the dry heat for humid moderation. The weather forecast this morning informed us that we'd be enjoying rain today. Showers in the morning and rain in the afternoon, with the odd thunderstorm thrown in for good measure. We could use the rain; correction, all that grows in the out-of-doors is badly in need of irrigation; vegetation is getting parched. We could see cracks appearing on the forest floor.

 

Mind, the heat and the fiercely hot sun has contributed to the cornucopia of wildflowers we've been coming across in our daily ravine jaunts. So we decided we'd get out early again in the hope we might be able to avoid the rain and get our hike in as well for the day. Jackie and Jillie are now accustomed to this new routine; morning hikes in exchange for our usual afternoon tramps and they're fine with it.

It looked chancy overhead as we walked up the street to t he ravine entrance. A day that no sunglasses were needed. There were dark, bruised clouds in a sky busy with wind and cloud. We thought if things got really rough, we'd shorten our circuit. There weren't as many mosquitoes about, but there was a nice cool breeze which accounted for the lack of flying pests.

 

And more things are appearing every day. The lovely little flowering crab that suddenly appeared several years ago is now in bloom. And the first of the wild hawthorn trees that live in the forest are also now beginning their bloom. So too, the old wild apple trees. Everything is blooming apace, a wonder to behold!

 

As we hauled ourselves up the first of the long hills on our circuit no rain had yet materialized and instead of making our way over the main trail, the ridge that shortens our circuit, we forged on, dipped down again to access the second bridge and climbed yet again up a much longer hill to take us to the heights that form part of the forest outside the ravine proper.

 

Because it was heavily overcast, the trout lilies withdrew, closing their bright little faces in disgust at the lack of sun. Their bloom time is coming to an end with the swift leafing out of the forest canopy that will now throw them into deep shade at the completion of the full forest canopy. But further on is where most of the trilliums make their home, and they politely welcomed our respectful presence.

 

As subjects of photographs of sheer unadulterated beauty nestled within the groundwork of the forest with a background of trees they're irresistible. I don't mind risking the wrath of mosquitoes flickering about and trying to settle on my face, my hands, as I crouch beside the trilliums to capture their colourful essence on the forest floor.

 

We've been seeing quite a lot of red baneberry about and more little clumps of wild ginger than we did last year, for some reason. The red banebery is beginning to flower, its white compound flower head preparing to be transformed into shining bright red (poisonous) berries by mid-summer. It's like greeting old friends seeing all of these familiar plants once again.

 

 

Eventually, our circuit complete, we turned in the direction of home. And as we began to exit the trail system I felt a light, wet spot on the back of my right hand. As we retraced our steps in reverse, walking down the street toward our house, it was clear that light rain had begun some time before; the forest canopy had protected us but the rain was now picking up, the road glistening-wet. By the time we reached home it was a steady patter.

And then the rain came roaring down, as I watched from the front door, heavy drops knocking the petals of the large pink, blowzy petals of our large old Magnolia beginning to drift from the branches that held them, to gather on the front walkway. They haven't been in bloom all that long; inside a week actually, and already the rain was interrupting their time of glory.

As comfort foods go, some of my favourites are all-in-one casserole dishes, when  you can just pile everything in nicely layered, then scoop it out once it's bubbling and plate and enjoy it. Pasta lends itself to that kind of thing. So the dish we had yesterday hit all the right notes. Mind, I served French beans alongside the casserole contents, but separately and it more or less complemented the main course, big on savoury cheese sauce.

 

Later in the evening the rain that had held off all day decided to make its entrance. But it wasn't just ordinary rain. We became very much aware of an approaching thunderstorm by the rumbles and claps moving ever closer. And when electrical strikes began lighting up the dark night we knew we were about to be treated to one of nature's occasional hissy fits. She must have been really annoyed at something because the entire night was consumed by an ongoing reiteration of thunder, sheet lightning and heavy rain.

 

Like comfort food, there are comfort natural phenomenon and for us, thunderstorms fall into that category. I should, of course, qualify that by adding -- as long as we're safely and comfortably ensconced at home, out of the rain's impact and the inherent potential of threat in lightning strikes. A bit of alarm for Jackie and Jillie; not exactly cringing, they don't do that kind of theatrical nonsense, but succumbing to the urge to warn nature that she mustn't send her elements within to disturb their rest.

 

Yesterday when we drove to Ritchie's Feed and Seed, Irving decided that since it took less than a month to dispose of a 50-lb bag of peanuts, he'd get two of the bags this time around. All I can do is roll my eyes; it's impossible to convince him that outside of the winter months, the wildlife do just fine on their own in their natural element, browsing for food. He takes his position as custodian of the peanut-porch quite seriously. The birds and the beasts would never forgive him for forgetting their treats.

 

While we were at Ritchie's I browsed about myself. And fell head over heels in love with some of the new bulb cultivars. So I bagged quite a lot of them, actually, torn between petal shapes, sizes and colours. Mostly tulips, but I bought three quite wonderful bulbs, the extraordinary fritillaria imperialis. We had planted several once, many years ago and were more than pleased with its regal splendour. They're not cheap; the larger of the three was $7.99, the smaller two $5.99 each. They'll have to be planted deeply to match their size. As for the tulips, I ended up with about three dozen, so I'll really have to look carefully for suitable space for them all...

 

Today has been cool, the temperature not reaching above 18C, and breezy, mostly overcast. But a lovely day, after all the rain. In the forest it's surprising, though it shouldn't be, to see how much random foliage change there has been. A lot of the bracken plants common to the forest floor are turning yellow and they'll just shrivel and disappear in time. But there are poplar and maple and sumac that are in a hurry to blaze forth in bright autumn garb that strike our eyes.

 

The forest had been fairly dry judging from the cracks that appear in the compacted soil after a long period without rain, so it was more than able to absorb the tremendous amount of rain that fell continually throughout the night. Only in a few areas did we come across parts of the trail that were muddy. There were no standing pools of water as occurs when the forest has absorbed all that it can.

 

For the first time this late summer we can see the tiny bright red berries ripening in the partridgeberry vegetation growing on the ridge of the ravine. Fall asters are in their prime, they're everywhere, all kinds, white, mauve, pink, minuscule in size to large and everything in between in various gradations of size and abundance.