Early to bed, early to rise may make one healthy and wise but sometimes the unexpected intervenes and plans go awry. So it was for us the morning we meant to leave early from our rented cottage in New Hampshire. When we woke at six, it was raining, no not merely raining, but pelting furiously.

Taking Riley out before bed at an early-for-us ten the night before we realized it was raining, but hadn't the foggiest idea it would rain all night and on into the morning hours. So it seems it never quite stopped. Raining far too heavily to pack all our stuff into the truck. So, we waited. And we waited.

First sign of abatement saw us pleading with Riley on the sodden turf to do his daily duty. And my husband crammed all our stuff, as only he is capable of engineering, into the vehicle, and we finally left, at the belated hour of nine. Cold, sodden, hugely windy, the aggressive wind swiped at us braving the elements, thankful this kind of dirty day had held off until then, presenting no challenges to our days of hiking.

There were beds of rain-enhanced purple lupins on the Kancamagus median, perkily bidding us adieu. Mist rose steadily from the mountain slopes; Mount Lafayette, that formidable peak shrouded in low-lying cloud, and Eagle's Cliff barely to be seen. On through New Hampshire to Vermont, and a steady driving rain accompanying us all the way.

We were whisked right through by a Canada Border Agent; they always appreciate my husband's careful listing of purchases, dates, prices, and appended receipts. There was a very apt lull in the rain as we pulled into the Quebec border rest stop. Though wet, cold and windy, it was a relief to stretch our legs and seat ourselves under one of the two canopied picnic tables to eat our bananas, have our tea, coffee and sandwiches which Riley agreed he would allow us to share with him, the greedy little beggar.

As we made off again, the rain resumed. How's that for timing, as though we had a direct line to Nature herself. It was an exceedingly soggy drive, the number of trucks on the highway staggering, throwing up white spray, reducing visibility markedly. As for driving through Montreal; pure gridlock at 2:30 in the afternoon on a Thursday. Patience is never more a virtue than waiting for traffic to move on a busy highway through a metropolis, in teeming rain.

We arrived home in due time, anxiety on my part to see  how the garden had fared, what we'd missed, while a genial neighbour had looked after things in our brief absence.