It is so hot here at a humid 33C, it feels as though you could fry an egg on a paving stone, in the backyard. Where I was out, briefly early afternoon, watering the garden. As usual, Jackie and Jillie were enthusiastic about coming out with me, but that enthusiasm was quickly diminished. It was hot after breakfast, but not quite as much as a few hours later. After breakfast their enthusiasm turned to laying splayed out on the deck, full exposure to the sun. That too didn't last long, but they repeated it several times.

It was hot too, yesterday, but the heat spurred (we thought) the Stella d'Oro lilies to begin blooming again. Those same blooms have been fried in the heat, they're completely shrivelled. Though I note that the hibiscus is working hard at producing new blooms. Different heat-strokes for different vegetation. So though I had planned to use my free time today to do some gardening -- mostly tidying up for there's so much constantly that has to be done in the garden to keep it respectable -- common sense argues against it.

But that doesn't stop us from doing other things indoors. Not that we necessarily look forward to doing those things. Some chores just have a habit of haunting you. You find yourself procrastinating and it just goes on until the irritation factor spurs you finally to action. Like Irving deciding he's had enough of looking at the raw, unpainted mouldings he had decided to install a few years back in the laundry room, the hallway connecting it to the kitchen, the kitchen and the breakfast room.

It wasn't needed, but it was something to do, and he felt inspired to do it all at that time. Nothing ordinary, but woodwork that took time and effort, skill and imagination. In any event, I didn't mind the look of it, but  he did, and he set up his painting apparatus yesterday to begin painting what he had left off. It's just about the most finicky, boring job imaginable. Today he's still at it, and he'll be at it for days to come. I admit, it does look fresh and appealing with a coat of clean white paint.

Yesterday I had thought to try again to guess the ingredients and methodology of a yeast-raised buttercake my mother-in-law used to bake. I know how much Irving enjoyed it. I'd tried before, and the results were all right, but nothing special. He'd never say that, but it's my opinion. So yesterday I prepared a batter with butter, eggs, milk, yeast, sugar and salt. Not a kneaded batter, but a relatively loose one though mixed thoroughly to a fine, smooth batter. When it rose I packed it into a springform pan, dotted butter on top, then sugar and ground almonds. Not my idea of a perfect dessert for Friday-night dinner, but one he liked.

It wasn't hard this morning to decide for a pre-breakfast ravine hike with our puppies. Just too muggy and hot even at that time of day. When we plunge into the ravine's dusky shade there's an ambient coolness quite the contrary to what we feel up at street level, so there's immediate relief. Our intention was shared by others another handful of people and their dogs who sought out the trails for leisure exercise and the pleasure of just being there.

We came across a little girl with her father and their dog whose comfort at being there was obvious. She couldn't have been more than three years old, perhaps even younger, and she was confident in her gait, almost careful about where she placed her little feet, but stumbling now and again to splat on the forest floor, then gamely restoring herself to an upright position to continue forging on. We had seen her first poised on the edge of the bank by the first bridge when their dog entered the creek to cool off. The little girl, as we looked on from above, sat on the ledge portion, kicked off her shoes and looked as though she was ready to copy the dog, until her father intervened.

We took our time through the trails, choosing to lengthen the circuit this morning just because it was so pleasurable to be out in the forest. Hot it was, but the sun illuminating the crowns of trees in the forest canopy and shooting its bright shafts of sunlight down to the forest floor here and there, looked so dreamily beautiful we wanted to extend our time there. And so, apparently, did Jackie and Jillie, spurting ahead randomly searching out adventure.

The last portion of our circuit was, as has been of late, into the meadow beside the creek, where the forest opens up briefly, and there the sight of the wildflowers instilled a sense of serenity in us. We had a rare sighting of a Monarch butterfly among the cabbage variety, and hoverflies and bees were everywhere.

Finally, it was time to return home, and so we did. Where Jackie and Jillie, as usual, mill about the gardens after spurting onto the porch to see who might be present having at the peanut offerings. And finally, it's time to doff our hiking boots, wash up eight little paws and prepare for breakfast.

Some of the garden furniture gets stored in one of our two backyard garden sheds, and some of it gets shoved to the back of the 4'-5" high 'patio' under the deck. It's a patio only in the sense that Jackie and Jillie like to roust about there on occasion, and find shelter from rain and snow if it's pelting down when they're briefly outside. Otherwise, though it's floored with large square pavers, it's unusable. 

My little hexagon-shaped garden shed holds garden tools, including a wheelbarrow and often unused bags of soil that will overwinter to fill next summer's garden pots. The other, much larger shed, is one that Irving put together about twenty years ago from a kit, and it stores lawn mower, snow thrower, a set of scaffolds, ladders, winter tires and other like things -- including some summer garden furniture.

First out of storage was the glider (which had to be put together again) and the love-seat bench, both meant for the deck, stored in the large garden shed. The wrought-iron table that accompanies them was stored under the deck, and up it came, its glass top rediscovered, everything scrubbed down and for the past few weeks it's been allowing us comfortable leisure time out on the deck with Jackie and Jillie.

Although we get quite comfortable there, reading the newspapers, talking, dozing, sheltered from the sun by the canopy above, Jackie and Jillie get restless. They don't appreciate exposure to the heat of a summer day, unless there's a good reason for it, like going off for prolonged hikes through the nearby forest trails. It doesn't take long before they're anxious to return indoors, and they let us know it. We put out a fresh water bowl for them, share the comfort of the cushioned loveseat and glider with them, but it's the cool comfort of the house interior they prefer.

Once they're back in the house they realize we're outside and they're inside, and they're unhappy about that turn of events. So they linger at the sliding glass doors yearning to have us back indoors with them. It's one of those 'can't win' situations. This morning, Irving decided it was time to set up our usual seating arrangement at the front of the house; another wrought-iron table, a sun umbrella, and two chairs of the same design and vintage as the deck's loveseat.

The chairs were stored in the garden shed, the table under the deck, the umbrella and its stand in the garage. Go figure; some assembly required. Another scrub-down and once everything was in place it was time to plop down and relax, and feel comfortable with the weather while not expending any energy, surveying the surrounding close landscape of the garden. Another dilemma raises itself; no room on the chairs to share with Jackie and Jillie, so they mill about restlessly, conveying an unspoken but obvious message that 'hey, wouldn't it be a great idea to go back into the house?!'

Finally, time to trot off to the ravine, Jackie and Jillie triumphantly leading the way, we in tow after them. True, once on the forest trails with the forest canopy shielding us there was some relief from the close heat of a sun burning through a dense cloud cover. Maybe it'll rain while we're out? Who cares, it would relieve the heat and humidity, right?

Well, it didn't rain and our trek was enjoyable as usual, and uninterrupted by the presence of anyone else. Everyone's off shopping, exulting in the lifted lockdown and all commercial outlets, grills, restaurants and bars now once again accessible. Works for everyone; those doing the shopping and treating themselves to the open patios and us having the forest to ourselves.

 

Habit is when something becomes so deeply ingrained through repetitive experience that you don't give it any further thought, you just do, think, expect and feel how experience has accustomed you to. One of nature's devices to give sentient creatures opportunities to set aside deep thought and just react in the most visceral of ways; rinse and repeat.

It's been a quarter century since we both retired from active paid employment. Yet like everyone else we're geared to anticipate the weekend. Which is rather amusing since if we're going to do anything like shopping as an example, we avoid the weekends, since that's when working people do their shopping errands. Still, the prospect of an oncoming weekend resonates in our consciousness as a time free from work, a time to relax, a time of our own.

 

Needless to say, no one 'relaxes' on the weekend, not exactly. All the chores from shopping to laundry and cleaning, difficult to catch up with throughout a working week await, and somehow everything is shoehorned into Saturday and Sunday. Granted, most people, as we certainly did, find the time to still treat themselves to an outing of some kind. For some, it's a movie, watch some organized sport, for others it's incidental shopping, hairdressing appointments, for others it's getting out in the great outdoors.

 

Lucky us, we're able to do all those things and more (minus the movie, and sports and incidental shopping and hairdressers) at any time, because our time is literally our own. Stretching out in comfort still in bed this morning, thoughts of leisure and relaxing are reminiscent of the time when our weekends were preserved for as much of both as we could manage, which wasn't much, in actual fact.

 

A lovely day greeted us, a not-unreasonable temperature heading to 25C, with wide blue skies and warm, bright sun. So, to the garden we went. Lots to do. One of our oldest rose shrubs has grown to an impressive height, and this year there are more thick canes than ever, though I tend to discard some in the fall. It became so heavy with an embarrassment of blooms the canes leaned over precariously, though the main plant has long been fastened more or less to a wrought-iron stand.

 

 

My husband hammered a steel rod behind the rose, and with nice thick leather/rubber gloves we managed to tackle the shrub and pull it back to a good upright position freeing other plants from its oppressive sprawl. That done, we turned our attention to the weeping Jade which had developed over the years arching branches extending its reach into a nearby Japanese yew and Sunrise maple. Setting up an aluminum workbench, up we went for height, and with a pair of long-handled loppers off came those far-reaching branches.

 

Eventually we got around to taking Jackie and Jillie out for their afternoon ravine trek through the forest trails. They were so well behaved while we were working at the front of the house, remaining with us, never taking advantage to go on little trips off our property, they needed rewarding, so we took along treats for them aside from their water bottle.

 

Yesterday was the official re-opening of the province to 'normalcy'. Stay-at-home orders lifted. Retail establishments open. So, needless to say, with the opportunities open to people to visit bars and restaurants' outdoor patios, and shop 'till they drop, there were scant few other people and dogs out rambling around the forest trails.

 

The daisies are now in bloom wherever there's good sun penetration, and that's mostly around the banks of the ravine's creek. And the thimbleberry shrubs have all attained a good size now, actively sporting their bright pink flowers to be transformed into berries by late summer. For the first time in a while, we spent our hour-and-a-leisure-half rambling about in comfort, the tree canopy shading us, a light breeze cooling the atmosphere, everything bright and green, arriving back home still fresh feeling, hot overheated as we were feeling in the spate of 30C weather that preceded the weekend.

It's been a busy day. Mondays are always busy. Cleaning day. Just as well I don't mind spending hours cleaning the house. Actually, it's a fine way to notice everything you've assembled around you during a lifetime. Ownership of all kinds of things to look at, crowded into every room of the house. And fact is there's a memory behind every one of those objects. So it's an interesting exercise. You're on autopilot doing the dusting, the mopping, the vacuuming, washing the floors. All the while your mind is free to wander. 

And then finally it's all done for another week. There's satisfaction in that. Getting through the process setting everything to rights, cleaning and tidying. An orderly  home is one that can be enjoyed to the fullest. Jackie and Jillie think so, they're absolutely thrilled when I'm finished because they can gain entry to the kitchen when the floors are dry. They leap around me in a joyful swirl as though something special is awaiting them. And then my husband remembers it's time for their snack, a tiny bowl of fresh vegetables.

We had one of those lovely pink sunsets last night as the sun was tucking itself below the horizon. I'd baked croissants to go with our dinner. This time when I was preparing the bread dough I dumped a quarter cup of sesame seeds in and kneaded it thoroughly into the dough. They were cheese croissants, lots of old cheddar grated and sprinkled over the croissants as I rolled the dough over and folded it and rolled it out again.

 It was meant to accompany cream of cauliflower soup. I thought they'd make a good combination. It's our little dogs' favourite vegetable, and one of ours, as well. Tonight I'll make a light, quick dinner; fresh vegetable salad and cheese omelletes with sliced fresh Ontario plums for dessert. Easy and filling; that should do the trick.

I would have been a little faster finishing up the house cleaning if I hadn't gone out to do a little gardening when I was  halfway through dusting. My husband was doing the vacuuming and I had asked Jackie and Jillie if they wanted to go out for short while, so I accompanied them, and took the opportunity to cut back some rose shrub canes. And while I was about it, straightening out one of the garden beds by removing some of the colourfully intrusive Harlequin vines.

We had been out hiking through the raivne pre-breakfast as usual, this last day of August. A truly beautiful day, comfortably cool and sparkling bright. There were scintillating drops of morning dew on the bright pink petals of the Himalayan orchids that we passed, catching the rays of the sun and catching our eyes as well. They'll soon enough be winding down when the night-time lows turn the corner into frost-zone.

Last night we had a Zoom call with our younger son. Today he was heading out to the east side of Vancouver Island on a week-long kayaking trip around the countless islands there. He usually makes those trips on the west side, more readily accessible for him after he ferries out from the mainland, but he's decided to explore elsewhere this coming week. We talked for an hour and it seemed like a few minutes. It seems almost miraculous that the medium takes us directly from home-to-home, Ottawa to Vancouver face-to-face.

Our explorations are pretty well confined now to our handy forested ravine, but last night we reminisced with him about some of our trips visiting with him and what a fascinating time that was for us. Our exposures to the natural world were gradually reduced as time wore on and the steady increase of our years. We're more than grateful we have this leisurely natural resource so close to our home. Things just seem to have come together for us, in this last house we bought thirty years ago, since part of its appeal to us was its proximity to the ravine.

We ambled the trails this morning, following Jackie and Jillie as they made their own explorations here and there, stopping repeatedly to interpret the 'fragrances' left behind by dogs and other animals as they marked the usual 'Fido was here' for anyone interested, and our two puppies are always interested. It's amazing what their refined and powerful noses can scent and the messages delivered to them.

Touring the ravine through the forest trails is nothing if not relaxing. We never hurry, taking our time, using the time it takes to traverse a circuit to discuss what we see, and talk about anything that comes to mind, and usually there's no deficit of subjects that erupt for discussion. And when we return home there's also no rush to enter the house as we dawdle briefly along the walkways to the garden beds and borders. As idyllic a life as conceivably possible.

 

Yet another one of those mornings when the overnight rain has just stopped and though the sun hasn't yet pierced the grey cloud cover, it promises that it will before long. Unless, that is, rain decides it has first choice of reappearance and sets the sun's agenda intentions back somewhat. A cool morning, with an underlying message that by afternoon the atmosphere will be heated back to its usual dog-days-of-summer temperature.

August, in any event, excels at being unpredictable. Cool enough the past week to pull on a blanket in the wee hours of the night, as night-time air wafts through the bedroom window. Warm enough by mid-afternoon to feel exhausted, working out in the garden, even in the shade. As we did yesterday afternoon. Jackie and Jillie love wandering through the forest trails with us, but they're none too keen to be out in the backyard other than for official business.

Yesterday they tolerated the heat because we were for the most part at the front of the house, working on the gardens there. They prefer being there to the backyard since it's on the street in front of the house that action, if any materializes, takes place with people sauntering by or children riding bicycles, or people walking their dogs up or down the street, eliciting their attention.

It amazes us that last year at this time in the forest we were confronted with the sight of two Himalayan orchids, their flowers radiantly glowing in the sun. This year it's not merely two of the plants that decorate the forest confines before plunging deep into the interior, for the fast-replicating plants have managed in one season  to colonize an entire hillside leading into the forest, their bright pink flowers capturing the sunlight like little beacons of light.

They're late bloomers and still have plenty of time to continue showing off. But in the same token it's become abundantly clear that fall has sent its initial emissaries to stealthily initiate the process of shutting down summer for another year. All the signs are there; random fallen foliage, mostly poplar and maples, standing out for the brilliant hues they've taken on.

And mushrooms which normally appear in fall have begun to pop up here and there. The forest squirrel population has been busy acquiring and storing food to take them over the sere winter months. We've been discovering lots of spruce cones fully or partially taken apart, their seeds either eaten or taken away for winter storage. Similarly, we see the same with acorns, that in fact squirrels nip them off the oak branches not waiting for them to fall, then chew them apart to extract the oaknut.

There were others out and about on the trails, but only a few, compared to yesterday, and with them their companion dogs. So Jackie and Jillie did enjoy some socializing, everyone behaving themselves for a change (which is to say, Jackie and Jillie did; other dogs tend to be better behaved than our two little rascals).

And then, after taking our time lollygagging about we completed the morning's circuit and returned home. In the interim between when we'd set out and returned the atmosphere had turned decidedly warmer, the humidity level had risen, and now that our morning walk was concluded we were prepared to welcome afternoon rain whether thunderstorms of just plain rain. All the vegetation surrounding us love it. A far cry from what is happening in China where monsoon type rains have been unstoppable for months, resulting in massive floods in the central part of the country. To the extent that there are fears the Three Gorges Dam could conceivably fail.

 

There was no lack of well-met however briefly, companions for Jackie and Jillie this morning as we all strode comfortably through the forest trails. Beyond comfortable, actually, with no mosquitoes in sight or feel, a wide blue sky above, and we sheltered from the  heat of the sun thanks to the generous forest canopy. A blue jay's welcome followed us briefly, then the wild cry of a Pileated woodpecker informing us that business as usual proceeds apace in the ravine.

Bees and hover flies flit around and about the still-flowering thimbleberry bushes growing everywhere and ripening quickly, their pink blossoms fresh and beautiful. But it is yellow that tends to stand out among all colours, its warm brightness reflecting the sun, and in the ravine at this time, pilotweed has firmly established itself in widespread colonies.

Their ubiquitous presence is challenged in discreet areas by the emerging proliferation of Himalayan orchids, their flowers exceeding in beauty those of the berries' with their deep, bright pink colour and orchid-shaped flowers held proudly aloft on tall stalks. And at the side of the trail on a short ascent we were greeted by the sight of pussy toes beginning to flower. There's just a limited few areas of the ravine where these flowers grow and each time we see them we're surprised, never recalling, year-to-year, their presence.

For the most part, the trails were quiet and peaceful, none others about as we looped around our familiar circuit, from left to right in a wide arc swinging over no fewer than four bridges switchbacking over the forest stream. Occasionally, however, we came abreast of others and their dogs, all a well-behaved clique of regulars who make it their business to daily make contact with natural surroundings to complement their days.

Next week is the delivery date of one of the couples we've lately befriended with their dog whom they follow in good faith, knowing the trails more intimately than they do. They enjoy stopping and chatting. Jillie in particular likes that they notice her and stoop to rub her head so obligingly while Jackie as usual closes in to sniff, then makes himself scarce.

Because they're both fairly large people, generously sized, we hadn't realized our friend was pregnant; we just put her size down to overweight, but carrying she is, with her due date next week, and she is cheerfully anticipatory. She's 39, and they've been trying for years for a pregnancy hoping to raise at least one child between them. That's the kind of story that has a warm glow of expectation around it, infecting anyone who hears about it with a edge of happiness.

We eventually parted after other dogs and people passed us on the trail, while we had parked ourselves at the fork of two adjoining trails, one they would take, the other awaiting our arrival. A trail that takes us eventually to a more open area of the woods which leads to a more gradual ascent toward the long hill that brings us at its top to street level.

 

That glade is where we see more exotic wildflowers like purple loosestrife, Queen Anne's lace, Yarrow, fleabane and black-eyed Susans proliferating. Their whites, pinks and yellows punctuating the otherwise green monotone of the landscape. We've taken lately to using that extended route for the pleasure of coming across patches of these wildflowers, far less numerous in the interior depth of the forest where less sunlight penetrates to encourage the growth and flowering of the wildflowers.

 

Then on home, when our circuit has completed. This afternoon, thoug it warmed considerably since our sun-sheltered tramp in the forest, was perfect to spend an hour snipping back here and there in the garden. The self-seeding Morning glory vines have outdone themselves once again this summer. They appear in unbelievable numbers as seedlings, and I pull most of them out. Then stabilize those that remain, along the side fence, tying them at first, then allowing them to begin covering the fence.

And cover it they do, while countless new seedlings keep appearing at the top of the rock garden amongst the hens 'n chicks and other low-growing rock garden plants, so every week I have to pluck out more of them because they tend, given time, to completely overwhelm everything growing there. They even insinuate themselves in the large urn of geraniums at the top of the garden.

Penelope, overseeing the growth pattern of the garden vegetation must be pleased at the robust presence of all these garden inhabitants. That self-seeded, surprise-presence tomato plant in the backyard which I refrained from pulling, has now gained two and a half feet in height, and still growing. It  has finally put out its yellow flowers, and it will be fascinating to see what kind of tomatoes it will bear, much less whether it has sufficient time left in the season to mature them.