A relative rarity. A day when we're forced to bypass our daily hike through the forests with our puppies, by circumstances beyond our control. And certainly weather falls into that category. Not only do Jackie and Jillie balk at being outside in the rain, but when it rains non-stop, and heavily, when it's cold enough that there's a chance the rain might turn to snow, it's inordinately unpleasant to be out at such times. So we had to forego our walk.

In a sense, we shouldn't have minded, since Mondays are house-cleaning days for us. Irving does the vacuuming and leaves the rest to me. For the past several days he's also been busy down in his basement workshop, having finally decided that it was past time to clear away the waste wood that had accumulated with his many projects. So he was downstairs cutting up the wood that lay in waste piles, so he could finally clean up the floor there where his saws sit. 

 

 

As for me, I felt a little less time-stress while doing the cleaning, with the knowledge that there was no need to race through the dusting, mopping and floor-washing. Actually because I had 'extra' time I decided I'd just go ahead and do other cleaning chores that aren't done regularly. And that included using Swiffer hardwood-cleaning wet wipes meant to be installed on broomlike appliances, only I preferred doing it on my hands and knees.

 

And while I was at it, I thought I might as well wash the floors downstairs in the basement; the floor of the basement bathroom and the large one in the 'recreation' room. These are all past projects of Irving's, installing drywall, room separators, plumbing, electrical work, to create separate, dual-purpose rooms out of the large, open cellar, after we moved to this house 33 years ago. 

I like to plan on what I consider to be quick-and-easy meals not requiring a lot of preparation on days like that. So for yesterday I put a Cornish game hen on the menu, along with an egg-noodle-raisin pudding, and asparagus, with fresh blueberries for dessert. The game hen only needs to be brushed with olive oil, sprinkled with garlic powder and mixed herbs, and stuck in the oven to roast. The pudding just needs the noodles briefly cooked, then whipped up with eggs, pepper and raisins.

 

When we awoke this morning it was to more rain. Rain continued for a few hours, then we cheered when the sun broke through, but that lasted only an hour before the dense cloud cover returned us to darkness. On the positive side, the temperature rose from yesterday's 3C, to 15C today, and since it was humid, it felt quite comfortably warm. Warm enough that our pups were clad in light jackets and the same for us. It felt like such a relief to be out on the trails this afternoon. Jackie and Jillie were clearly delighted, spurred on by the delectable (?) odours wafting at them from the wet forest interior.

There were chickadees about, and a loud chorus albeit off in the distance of crows, and we speculated that they were in an uproar about the presence of an owl; that's what often draws attention to the presence of an owl perched high on trees in the forest canopy, when they're surrounded by indignant, hostile crows berating and harassing them.

We stopped briefly several times to chat with an occasional hiker whom we've become familiar with over the years, updating us on what's been happening with them, or around their community, and when we stood there we were certain that all the signals for a return of rain were present. But as it happened, despite the wind moving bruised clouds above us through the brooding sky, we were able to complete our circuit of the woods without the discomfort of a sudden rain squall. All to the good.

 

 

 

The blissfully warm weather of the last two days was too good to believe, and now that cooler seasonal weather has taken its place, it will join weather annals of whacky unusual records for time-of-year. We're back to putting little jackets on Jackie and Jillie and good heavy warm ones on ourselves. Last night's thunderstorms on Hallowe'en Eve, together with a whomping wind sent the unseasonable warm weather packing. It felt so good yesterday afternoon raking up the piles of leaves that had accumulated on the driveway and front walk. Although it was a trial filling compost bags with wind gusts blasting the leaf piles back to their original, unraked positions.

 

Earlier in the day today, I decided to bake a plum pie. Santa Rose plums, big, red and juicy were on sale when we did our Tuesday food shopping, so I took half of the ones packed into the plastic container, sliced them into a pot with sugar, cornstarch and a small amount of water and let them simmer while we had our breakfast. When I put the pie together and arranged a lattice top crust, I washed the crust with beaten egg and sprinkled sugar lightly over it for a nice, finished appearance before popping it into the oven. 

 

I also prepared a bread dough, which is becoming a ritual for Friday, although the dough won't be used until Saturday to form croissants, to serve with a vegetable soup. Routine that reflects these Autumn months of cooler weather and comfort foods. I used honey, grated sharp cheddar cheese, olive oil, sesame seeds and dehydrated milk, along with the egg left over from the pastry crust wash. And the croissants will be whole wheat-inspired. The dough will sit in a covered bowl in the refrigerator until it comes time to roll it out, shape and bake it tomorrow.

 

When we exit the house with the puppies now, our eyes linger regretfully on what was the garden, our summer pride. It's all prepared for winter onset. Perennials cut back, annuals yanked out to compost, soil emptied from the garden pots and urns. What had been the garden looks dull, wan, abandoned. But for several still-perky little rose shrubs, still putting out exquisite roses. Cutting them back will be the penultimate task to complete the garden tidying-up. After which I still have tulips to plant. Which will bring us lovely surprises come spring of 2025.

 

Our  hike through the forest was beyond pleasant, despite the cold and the wind whipping through our jackets. Water in the creek was surprisingly low, given the amount of rain that fell last evening and overnight. But the forest floor was good and wet. The dry conditions of the past week left the forest in fine shape to absorb the heavy rain that came pounding down last night.

 

We had some visitors during our trek through the trails. Old pals that make a streak directly for us to confront Irving, the Cookie Man. They approach hurriedly, then plunk themselves down quietly and expectantly before him to the great excitement of Jackie and Jillie. They score big when there's an occasional fumble from hand-to-mouth. They're so excited about  the cookies, they sometimes bite them in half as they hurriedly take possession, and the half that falls can't be retrieved by them; Jillie will have beaten them to it. 

We noted that where we had seen a pair of Pileated woodpeckers several days back, the big old poplar that had hosted them now boasts a large cavity. The much larger and older willow standing right beside the poplar evidently holds out no promise for the appetite of the woodpeckers looking for insect and grub infestations. 

 

Jackie and Jillie certainly have selective memories. It's Sunday and they know what's for breakfast. We're all creatures of habit and things fall into place in the sense that certain routines are expected to occur at certain times; it just makes life simpler. They were expecting their treat, one of their favourites. Jillie ate her breakfast this morning, but Jackie turned up his nose -- literally -- at his, although the kibble was made a little more enticing with bits of breakfast melon chopped into it, along with cooked chicken left over from Friday. 

 

He was holding out for pancakes and sausages. He leapt up on the settle in the breakfast room, craning his head around to the stove where I was flipping pancakes, awaiting his treat. His sister sat patiently at my feet, emitting that barely perceptible whine that she reserves for anxiously awaiting special edible treats. Finally after being presented with their treats, Jackie turned his attention to his breakfast and finished it off.

 

 

Today was supposed to be a more leisurely day of rest than yesterday proved to be. Sunny, windy and cold, it was a perfect day to work in the garden to complete winterizing it. Cutting back the last of the hostas, those beautiful plants that look after themselves all summer, but come fall get cut back so when spring eventually returns they're ready to begin growing anew. We've got so many hostas, many of them decades and decades old, and they're huge. It's quite a job winterizing them. Unlike the heucheras that often keep them company that need no attention.

 

The garden pots and urns needed to be emptied of the soil that annuals grew beautifully in all summer. Wheelbarrows full of good soil were taken to the backyard to be smoothed over the garden beds there. Come spring fresh composted soil will fill the pots and urns so that freshly-grown annuals will get a good start for their summer-long flowering.

 

 

Fall garden preparations mean that garden statuary, the urns and the garden pots need winter protection. The next step was to cover them all with a protective plastic sheeting secured by bunjies against snow, freezing and thawing, icy conditions and rampant wind. That was done today, and once it was completed, it was time to meet the weather. A cold day of 8C, sharp wind and heavily overcast; jackets in order for everyone, and off we went for a foray through the forest trails in the ravine.

 

 

The autumn colour has just about spent itself at this point. By early November -- just around the corner -- all the deciduous trees will have shed their foliage. There's very few leaves actually left on the maple, birch, poplar and willow trees, although the beech leaves are still clinging to the trees as are the oak and sumac. The beech leaves are a bright bronze, and the sumac foliage brilliant orange-reds.

 

 

Jackie and Jillie have a penchant for running far ahead of us, although they frequently look back to ensure we're still in sight, for the most part. We usually remove their leashes as soon as we enter the trailhead up the street from our house. Most days we pretty well have the trails to ourselves, but for the past few weeks, others within the larger community have been coming out for at least one tour of the fall woods. Those who avert their heads as they come abreast of other hikers and who cannot extend an acknowledgement of the presence of others don't add much to the experience of a shared appreciation of nature.

 

 

 

To the present, this has been so far, an  unusual, although not entirely rare fall for the balmy weather we've been enjoying. Ample sun, wind and rain and temperatures oddly mild for this time of year. The temperature does drop overnight, flirting with frost, but hard frosts though on the way, haven't yet arrived.

 

 

Usually it's winter that is loathe to leave and this time it's summer, with fall struggling to assert itself. Still, each day we go out into the ravine we can see subtle changes. And lately, the acrid fragrance of drying leaves, that smell that brings back youth memories making us nostalgic over this season, has begun.

 

The last few days have been a little cooler than the low 20Cs we've become accustomed to this early fall, with a bit of a chill wind rustling through the leaves, bringing down a steady rain of pine needles, along with yellow poplar leaves and bright red maple leaves to clutter the forest floor. Soon it will take on the aspect of bright confetti.

 

The leaves are beginning to pile up though and already it's hard to see the partridgeberry that clings to the forest floor. The late wildflowers like asters are still around, though a bit wan, but gone are the fleabane, the Himalayan orchids, the goldenrod and the coneflowers along the banks of the creek and the trails mounting the hillsides.

 

From early to mid-October is the time I usually disassemble the garden, and it takes many days to prepare everything for the arrival of November, then December, when snow begins to cover the landscape. I've taken down the vines, cut back some of the perennials, the hydrangeas, black-eyed Susans and peonies, and now it's time to do the same with our many hostas sprinkled throughout the backyard garden and the extensive ones in the front garden; even the rock garden and shade garden at opposite sides of the house have to be trimmed.

 

I began on Wednesday of this week, and  continued today, taking several hours each of those days to begin the process. Today I also cut back our backyard Magnolia tree which has taken to hanging over one of our stone benches. The older climbing roses are no longer producing blooms and they've been cut back, but the shrubs that produce tiny clusters of roses are thriving, sending out beautiful little blooms.

 

I meant to continue a little longer tidying up and bringing fall order to the gardens, but suddenly it began to rain. And soon after I went into the house after putting away all the garden tools I was using and leaving the large compost bags that will be put out for pick-up tomorrow in the garden shed, thunder began. So we're getting a thunderstorm! Relieving me of the need to water the still-flourishing garden pots.

 

Although it's early yet seasonally speaking of fall, I like to get ahead of cleaning up the garden for its winter rest, because it is such a huge job. Which means I take an hour or so several times a week at this point to get into the garden and begin tidying up perennials and shrubs. Cutting them back necessarily means there will be gaps in the garden, blank spots, where I'm accustomed to seeing various plants nudging one another, but it can't be helped.

 

I am glad to see the Hibiscus tree beginning to rebloom. The presence of its large flat-frilly flowers can even be seen from the front door when I look out morning, noon and night through the glass window of the front door. And the giant dahlias that I'd planted in the spring are continuing to produce huge flowers of their own, their bright orange petals almost luminous at dusk. We've so many garden pots and urns planted with annuals that have to be composted, that too will take a while to get through.

The most time-consuming task is cutting back the lilies and the hostas since we have so many of them. Yesterday I began carefully cutting back the foliage of the tree peonies, far fussier than ordinary peonies since the next year's buds already form in the fall and mustn't be snipped off inadvertently else their large, lush blooms will be absent come spring.

 

As predicted, our warm dry spell has come to a close, and cooler weather has arrived, along with rain. Yesterday's rain came down in sporadic and gentle sprinkles so that when we took Jackie and Jillie out for our usual trek through the forest trails they wore light raincoats. Different story today when the sky's cloud-drenched spigots opened fully and drenching rain was the order of the day. A day that calls out for just relaxing. We did that, but by 2:00 in the afternoon the puppies were restless and so were we.

 

Rain had begun some time during the early night-time hours and continued steadily. There was barely any light to penetrate the bedroom when dawn arrived. And nor did the house interior get any lighter through the morning hours. When the sky is heavy with dark clouds spilling their watery load the outdoors is dark and consequently so is the indoors. It's when we most appreciate the beautiful, bright colourful stained glass windows Irving designed and produced so many years ago. 

 

Finally, we'd had enough of waiting for the rain to pause. On went heavier rainjackets for all of us against the cooler temperature and off we went, in a steady rain. Although the forest interior was steeped in the kind of dusk one normally expects as the day wears into evening and during periods of rain, it is ameliorated by the vegetation being liberally lacquered with water that catches even faint ambient light. The bright red haws of hawthorn trees and the red berries of American bittersweet stand out against the rain-varnished bright green of the forest.

 

We trod the uphill and downhill forest trails with necessary caution, avoiding networks of tree roots since they tend to be slippery when they're wet, as do the trails themselves when the Leda clay of the forest floor becomes inundated. The furious sound of the creek lapping over rocks had no competition from birdsong this afternoon. But we were momentarily taken unaware as we began backtracking alongside the creek, when our presence obviously disturbed a Great Blue Heron, and the bird rose quickly and majestically, its large wings widespread and casually flapping, out of the water as it rapidly gained height and sight of it was quickly lost as it faded into the tree canopy.

 

 Jackie and Jillie trotted ahead as usual, a little faster than usual, though, as if they were contemplating the warm dry albeit darkened household interior as a reward on our return home, and the fresh-cut salad they anticipate after every walk as their special daily treat.

 

Just as we set out today in mid-afternoon to walk up the street with Jackie and Jillie for our daily foray through the ravine trails, I realized that the standard hibiscus that Irving bought to surprise me with in early June for our 69th wedding anniversary was beginning to flower again. It had taken a well-deserved rest from its last flowering when bloom after gorgeous bloom flaunted their beauty day after day. So I've fertilized it and watered it intermittently and it began to set new buds that are now ready to burst into their ball-gown-like perfection.

 

Another late summer day, sliding into fall. The nights have been cool, although the days continue warm and breezy, and mostly sunny. Those cool nights had me thinking of the comfort food of cooler days to come. So on a whim yesterday I decided to do a seafood paella for dinner. I was a little generous with the saffron and hot smoked paprika, but the bell pepper, tomatoes, garlic onion and green peas and rice soaked it all up, and the cubed haddock and shrimp gloried in the savoury mix. We enjoyed it, and the strawberries in yogurt that followed provided a good, fresh-tasting counterpart for dessert.

 

This morning dawned to a clear blue sky and a warming sun. In fact, the  high for the day was reached before noon. Then the temperature began to drop and the wind picked up. Soon the sky was cloud-packed and the house interior looked dusky. I was busy in the kitchen as usual for a Friday morning. The order of the day is chicken soup to begin our evening meal and I always let it simmer for hours. I made a bread dough to refrigerate for use later in the week; good for a pizza perhaps, or rolls. And grated a large carrot that would accompany chopped dates and slivered candied ginger in a whole-wheat cupcake batter. Topped by a cream-cheese frosting.

 

 

From time to time Jackie and Jillie went out to the backyard, and from time to time light sprinkles of rain fell. When we were ready to depart the house we all wore light rainjackets, setting out for the ravine. The tree canopy is still verdant, the forest in no hurry to transport itself into fall mode. Oddly, on the street there are several mature maples that are now caparisoned in bright red foliage. As we descended the first  hill into the ravine, the zany call of a Pileated sounded close by us. And we heard a nuthatch; likely among chickadees. Other than that all was serene. Quiet enveloped us.

And then the serenity of the forest faded into a far-off dull roar that we mistook for approaching thunder. Instead it was military planes, likely fighter jets ripping and roaring through the darkly clouded sky. They were obviously flying over the clouds; nothing could be seen, but the sound of their thunderous presence was almost overwhelming. We were fully immersed in the crackle-thunder of their bypass that matured deafeningly then faded as they flew off. For the next hour while we plodded the forest trails this ritual of flyover and ear-thumping thunder continued. Whereas Jackie and Jillie often respond to thunder, this overwhelming clatter seemed not to impress them at all.

 

 

When we finally emerged from our ravine hike, we saw another  unusual spectacle. Neighbours out of their houses, standing on the road, trying to glimpse the planes. We too stood there, despite the dense cloud cover, eager to see what we might make out so far above. At one point we were able to see a few contrails high, very high in the sky at a semi-parting of clouds. And then, we could make out the tiny image of a plane climbing the sky, dragging its contrail, when suddenly it plunged straight down, nose pointed at the ground far, far below, and we held out breath while the pilot demonstrated  his command of the plane, until it disappeared.

 

 

Today turned out yet another beautiful late-summer day. Considerably cooler than yesterday's 28C, with a good stiff wind, but although the morning remained overcast, that changed by afternoon and we were once again in full sun. We expected, when we set out for the ravine with our puppies in the early afternoon that the forest trails would be steeped deep in muck after last night's prolonged boom-and-light thunderstorm and the deluge that accompanied it, but such was not the case.

 

Yesterday was a fine day, but it was humid and steaming to go along with the full sun. We were relieved to finally get some rain. All the more so that it was such an enjoyable event; to hear the thunder claps, see the evening sky briefly alight and the rain slamming against the windows. We needed it, the landscape needed it, and we expected to view the results of it today. But no. The trails were still damp and muddy in places after the rain events of the previous week, but this rain of last night appeared to make no difference at all, but for our personal entertainment.

 

It complemented a delicious dinner; a fresh salad to begin, bookending a French onion soup with fresh raspberries. When I gave Irving a choice of cheese blintzes or onion soup, he snapped  up the soup. And I was happy to oblige. Jackie and Jillie don't think much of soup beyond chicken soup; we had it all to ourselves. As comfort food it can't be beat, though tonight's Shepherd pie will give it a run.

 

 

In the ravine we noticed that False Solomon's seal's berries were turning red. I'd never seen that before. Another oddity we came across that arrested our attention -- even Jackie and Jillie stopped briefly to give the little tableau a sniff -- but the bees involved, three of them were not to be distracted. At first we thought it was a huge single bee, beginning to expire. Closer inspection identified three bees and they were tightly clasping what appeared to be a caterpillar. Now that's a first for us. Not exactly a thrilling encounter; never is, seeing nature 'red in tooth and claw".

 

 

But in the day's peregrination, we also came across a few little dogs of our acquaintance.  And it's always a pleasure to see them. Irving always comes equipped to reward their expectant presence as they invariably settle down before him with beseeching eyes that only a heartless monster could ignore. Thrilling Jackie and Jillie no end as they claim their share of the treats, even though they've had more than enough to begin with.

 

 

Our walk through the trails was so pleasant we decided to double the length of the circuit we normally take, and so we did. There's always something different to see, things popping up you might not have noticed before. For our puppies an extended hike means more sniffing opportunities. For us, just the pleasure of walking along loose-limbed and foot-sure on terrain that may be familiar, but is forever changing in subtle ways provides a sense of balance to the day.