Once the heavy morning rain had stopped, the sky semi-cleared. There were plenty of puffy grey clouds to be sure, and some that bore a very strong resemblance to even darker thunderclouds, but there were also some blue shadings up there, so off we went for our ravine perambulation with little Riley in tow. Within the forest all was still, and water kept tumbling down off foliage. The creek was running quite vigorously and underfoot there was plenty of sodden clay, but for the most part the forest detritus that gathers from season to season kept the footing fairly good, and we completed the usual circuit.

We had decided, instead of going off to far-off (relatively speaking) rural feed and seed destinations as we had accustomed ourselves to, in securing large industrial-sized 50-lb. bags of peanuts, we'd do better to stay closer to home. There is, in fact, an urban-located feed and seed source, one that we had frequented over the past 40 years quite often, but had latterly fallen out of the habit of visiting. This would be our third time to pick up peanuts from Richie's Feed and Seed, available, to be sure, only in 25-lb. pound bags or less, but good enough for our purposes.

So off we went to pop into their store, vastly expanded from when we originally used to go there for bedding plants back in an earlier time of home ownership, when the first house we owned in Ottawa was closer to that source. It took us no time at all to load the bag of peanuts onto the shopping cart that Riley also rode in, in the front infant seat, secured in his bag. And after that it took an enormous amount of time as we wandered about the store, looking at publications, at seed packets, at gardening tools, and above all, at their outdoor offerings of perennials. Last time we were there we came away with a bright pink-flowering hydrangea a, white-flowering echinacea, and yet another hosta, my very most favourite plant.

We've definitely no more room in our garden beds and borders for any more plants, none at all. Nonetheless, temptation beckoned when we saw a hosta cultivar that we don't already have plunked down all over our garden space, and we bought one, hauling it home, wondering where we could possibly put it, but pleased in any event, that yet another hosta will be joining our garden community.

As we were still moseying about through the aisles holding robust specimens of flowering perennials and shrubs, one particularly dark thundercloud positioned itself directly above us, and speaking in ominous tones warned us that rain was imminent. Not yet prepared to leave, since we hadn't exhausted the entertainment value of enjoying the sight of so many appealing growing things, we yet lingered and then came the first fat drops alongside lightning and thunder. Still, we lingered, until we felt it was no longer wise to do so, grabbed the chosen hosta, and entered the store to ring up our bill.

The rain came pelting down furiously, a lovely sight to behold, when you're able to watch it in dry comfort. My husband, wearing his hat for rainproofing his head, ran the short distance to his truck, then drove it under the store eaves, and we loaded ourselves into it, then drove off home, happy it was raining once again, hoping it hadn't been a microburst that missed our street. It hadn't.