I always find it difficult to accustom myself to sharing a double or 'full-size' bed, since we've enjoyed the luxury of a queen-sized bed for so long, at home. It isn't that there is a lack of room for my husband and me together in that cottage bed, but Riley, despite his pint-size, takes up a surfeit of room and I'm always fearful of smothering him. He doesn't take kindly to moving over and when I manage to get him over to the side of the bed then I'm anxious to ensure he doesn't tumble off the edge. Minor but irritating little details.

On the 8th of June dawn crept in dark and heavily overcast, but it was no longer raining, having exhausted itself throughout the nighttime hours. We decided to drive back to the Franconia Notch and parked at the Basin Cascades. Under those conditions the parking lots were relatively free, although we did see a group of older teens troop through the forest toward the Basin footpath under the highway, preceding us, heavily laden with serious backpacks.

When we caught up with them later, at the Basin itself, I wished them better weather for their obvious trek up the mountain, likely headed toward the lake at the top and the cabin, for an overnight stay.We'd experienced the rigours of that climb many years ago. The young man to whom I spoke laughed and said they'd gotten over weather anxiety; they'd already experienced two solid days of socked-in rain, traversing various mountain cols and summits. I know what that's like; it's just what we experienced in the northern British Columbia Cariboo Mountain Range when we did the Bowron Lakes circuit years ago; unremitting rain. Which, regardless, doesn't stop the determined adventurer from enjoying their nature-bound enterprise.

We made our own way up the rock-strewn and heavily-rooted trail, in a light drizzle, glad we'd taken light raingear for the occasion. There was so much muck underfoot there were times Riley, faced with a leap over bogs and rocks he couldn't manage, had to be helped along, but it was exceedingly pleasant, given the spectacular views to be had beyond the forest and over to the Basin stream rushing down the mountainside toward the Pemigawasset River, more full and widespread than we'd ever seen it before.

The sound was all-enveloping and thunderous as the water tumbled and raced down the wide granite face of the mountain raceway, sending up spray to compete with the light rain, and tossing itself furiously against boulders, in a froth of white. We took photograph after photograph, each with our own digital cameras, reminding one another to mind our balance on the rocky, uneven and very wet tree-root-mangled surfaces we trod.

Most often the place is full of tourists and sight-seers, not so much on the trails, but certainly down below at the main bore of the Basin. Not this day, however. Too cool and too wet and windy for most to consider its attractions worthwhile, evidently. We did come across a family, parents and two children, one barely out of infancy on his father's back and stopped to chat briefly. The young woman, mother of a ten-year-old boy who clung closely to her, offered to take a photo of us together, quite surprising me, and we gratefully acquiesced. It hadn't occurred to me to offer to reciprocate, an unfortunate oversight.