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.

 

The month of August is certainly living up to its unpredictable nature. On the other hand, if there can be said of this month that anything about it is predictable it is that it is an amalgam of just about everything that nature can conjure being thrown into a general maelstrom of whatever rises to the surface being certain to dominate on any given day.

We've had a little bit of everything, from extreme heat to melting high humidity, ferocious winds including micro tornadoes, violent thunderstorms and voluminous rain events. And we've also had lots of sun, cooling breezes and days that remind us we're soon to begin approaching fall in the coolness of their day-time highs and night-time lows.

 

Last night was one of those very cool nights following afternoon thunderstorms which have become a given these days, when the bedroom window thrown wide open invited cool, fresh air to flood the bedroom to the extent that it invited us to throw a light blanket over for perfect comfort. By the time we woke this morning the temperature in the backyard read 16 degrees. And if that isn't perfect for an hour and more roaming about forest trails, nothing can be.

Mid-August, and we're beginning to see more wan leaves littering the trails. Not a lot, but it isn't yet fall and we would expect to see none. Under oak trees shattered and bitten-into-pieces by ferociously greedy little squirrels are acorn remnants littering the ground. Squirrels are obviously feasting well these days, leaving us to wonder how many of the acorns are being prudently stored away for winter. 

 

These days we've been taking another route toward the end of our circuit, where the forest briefly recedes and makes way for a clearing bisected by the creek that runs through the ravine. A slightly different landscape occasioned some years back by a hillside collapse taking with it the trees growing on the slope. And there we look about at all the wildflowers that we find there and nowhere else within the forest with the exception of goldenrod, pilotweed and fall asters.

There, we come across bittersweet vines winding about tall upright stalks of vegetation such as pilotweed, the vines now dangling with ripened bittersweet berries. Exposure to full sun makes all the difference to these and other plants. Down by the sides of the creek itself there is a well established border of tall jewelweed growing in abundance, unreachable unless you have the dexterity and confidence and balance of a mountain goat, but in the near distance we can see the bright orange orchidlike jewelweed flowers glittering in the sun.

And there, in the overgrown forested field are black-eyed Susans, some entirely yellow with their dark brown bullseye centres, others with petals half gold, half dark orange complementing the dark bulging centres. These forest gardens of nature's have us spellbound in their diversity and the brightness of their presence, from the light purple of clover flowers to those of purple loosestrife here and there among the grasses.

 

Jackie and Jillie are so accustomed to following us through those forays in search of the presence of wildflowers, it's become part of their hiking ritual as well, through default.

The robust presence of thistle also flowering discretely one bulb at a time, with the giant of the species, the bull thistles, attracting bees, butterflies and hoverflies, as do the bright, deep pink of the Himalayan orchids now profusely blooming on the ravine hillsides companionably near the yellow-headed blooms of the pilotweed that has insinuated itself thoroughly along the forest trails.

 

And then we arrive back home, where cultivated flower species await our appreciative notice. Flourishing in the garden and in the garden pots we have long been accustomed to planting in spring, in preparation for long bloom periods throughout the summer months which we derive such pleasure from.

 

In spring, long after frost has released the garden soil and the sun and rain has warmed and comforted it, it's ready to be worked; friable and obedient to fork and spade. Any eager weeds that have come up are easily removed. And the garden soil seems to want to tempt the gardener to get on with things. Nothing quite speaks to the dedicated gardener anxious to get out and begin clearing away winter organic detritus, coddling the perennials eager to present themselves, and entertain thoughts of annual planting, like the weather that has finally arrived with its sweet breezes, warm temperatures and brilliant sun.

And if anyone needs to have their appetite for gardening whetted, there's nothing quite like a stroll of inspection through whatever is emerging from the garden beds and borders. Like tulips, hyacinths, scilla, lilies and irises, anemones, bergenia and more. Their presence is always a surprise. We know they're there, that they're faithful to spring, that their pop-up presence seems overnight, that their sparkling, bright colours are breathtaking, but we never take them for granted.

Early this morning my husband set out to acquire bags of garden soil, firm in the belief that the early hour would mean a sparcity of others with like intentions at garden centres. That reasoning was soon abused. There are a number of garden centres in close proximity to one another and at each one there was a long, looonng line-up to be enabled to enter. My husband isn't fond of line-ups for anything, at any time.

And then there's serendipity. On his arrival back home he noticed one of our good neighbours out on his front lawn, supervising a crew of workmen who were repairing his lamppost, knocked over when an overzealous winter snow-clearing tractor driver was in too much of a hurry. During their conversation my husband mentioned what he'd been up, and our neighbour informed him that he had 21 bags of soil in his garage which he had no intention of using. A simple commercial exchange took place and now my husband has the wherewithal to fill all of our many garden pots. He already has the sheep manure and the peat moss he needs, bags of it, left over from last year.

Then we went off for our ravine walk with Jackie and Jillie. Warmer than yesterday by far, and with full sun leavened by a temperate wind, the weather was sheer perfection. Surprisingly, we encountered only a scant few people out on the trails. They must have been in line at the garden centers. We heard the bell-like but piercing call of bluejays. There was a time when we'd often see and hear bluejays when we lived in the Toronto area of southern Ontario, here in Eastern Ontario we hear and see them only in spring and occasionally in fall, on the move, passing through.

Before we left the ravine circuit we had chosen for the day, we made a bit of a side trip down one of the hillsides to see if any of the rare (in this area) white trilliums had yet fully opened. And though the plants of the white trilliums are only just beginning to establish their blooms, and they're in scant numbers in the woodland ravine, there was a small clump and some singles fully opened, the flower heads proudly raised to the sun, not shy and downcast like the red trilliums that are far more numerous.

After we returned home, because it was yet quite early in the afternoon we decided to take a drive over to a near-distant, more bucolic gardening centre, family owned and in operation for many years. They have a large footstep in the area where they operate, and there is a lot of room for people to wander about as they select their choices of plants, annuals, perennials, trees, shrubs, rocks, gravel, soil, quite an established operation. Of course anywhere one goes the requirement is to wear face masks and gloves.

However, unlike the place we had visited yesterday, also a family enterprise, on the opposite end of the city which had people walking through their greenhouses, this one, though it has wide open spaces for people to meander about, offered curbside pickup with online ordering only. And so, sadly, we drove home without the many colourful flats of annuals we had intended to take possession of. Just in case ... we drove over to a handful of other centers, commercialized in a different way, large seasonal operations, attached to large box stores. All had closed direct entry to their gardening centres, to have people enter their building premises first and then be permitted into their garden centres. Baffling. And the line-ups for entry were each a block long.

Home we went again. And found, each of us, plenty to do in the gardens, mostly cleaning up, cutting back trees and shrubbery, feeling the sun on our backs, taking out shears and long-handled cutters, re-acquainting ourselves with gardening as we know it, in preparation for the summer of 2020. Shopping for all the flower flats we anticipate using will have to wait, until the general public is satisfied they have all they wanted, and the opportunity will arrive for us to revel in row upon row of annual flowers prepared to do their best to entertain and beautify our surroundings for another year.