The day we visited the Franconia Notch Basin Cascades with its spectacular series of rushing, spuming cascades heading down to the Pemigewasset River running below the mountains, heavily swollen in magnificent volume by incessant spring rains this year, we had ample time left over to make an appearance at a family garden party we had been invited to by our genial hosts.

The party was in celebration of the third and youngest child of the couple from whom we have rented cottage accommodation over the past decade and more, graduating from high school. Extended family living within a several hours' driving radius were expected to attend; about 25 people, we were told, and that invitation had been extended to us. Where the party was taking place, close to the main house, was quite far from where our rental cottage was located, and there was no need out of courtesy or any other considerations to invite us, but invite us they did, regardless. We offered up several bottles of wine for the occasion.

Driving back to the cottage from the Franconia Notch took under an hour, and by then it was late afternoon. We were introduced to grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins. It was evident the twenty or so people who were there, sitting under canopies which held back the rain that never did materialize there, were a happy lot, comfortable with one another. We met our host's brother, of whom we'd heard quite a bit over the years. It was his honey my husband was always so eager to buy on our annual arrival, taking home enough to last the year. Honey that was far superior to any other he'd ever had, insists my husband.

And father/father-in-law, mother/mother-in-law to our hosts as well. The brother's youngest child, an infant not yet a year old, was the apple of everyone's eye, handed over from one adult to another. We stayed and we talked for awhile. (The everpresent blackflies seemed to ignore everyone else and head directly for the back of my neck and ears only.)

The young graduate had changed his mind; his father had informed us he would attend college for museum management, but now he has focused on American history instead. American history particularly at the turn of the century, he told me, that's where he had narrowed his focus, he said, definitively. We'd been to an excellent bookstore the day before and I thought about a missed opportunity to look for a book as a gift focusing on his interest.

What put a glow on the afternoon garden party for me was the discovery that both the father (in his 70s like us), and the apiary-owning brother were avid gardeners. We talked about wildflowers, we discussed garden-variety cultivars, our favourites among both, and exchanged tips on gardening. That was immensely satisfying for me. Wind me up and I'll happily talk gardening to anyone who's similarly intrigued by nature's immense bounty.