There aren't many days throughout the course of a year in all seasons when the weather presents enough of a constraint to shut us out of our usual daily ravine walk, but yesterday certainly qualified. After yet another night of rolling thunderstorms, rain continued relentlessly all through the daylight hours. We never knew when a thunderstorm might strike, and it isn't fun being stuck in the forest during a thunderstorm. Our little dogs become drenched even if we have taken along raincoats for them. And yesterday's high nudged up only to 17-C degrees.

In fact, in the afternoon we decided to turn the gas fireplace on to take the chill out of the house a bit. We've never before had to do that at this time of year, the beginning of summer. At dinnertime there were a few episodes of the house shaking slightly. We're in an earthquake-prone zone, but it wasn't that. Despite the rain, construction engineers who normally give those rainy days a pass, were hard at work. Two large building cranes had been moved behind the three houses on the street backing onto the ravine where the hill above the ravine on which they were constructed, leading down into the ravine, had slumped.

They're still there. A month ago a drilling rig was brought in to test core samples and determine how deep they'd have to go to reach bedrock. The result of that is now taking place. Iron rods in a fence-like shape are being placed deep into the forest floor at the hilltop level which has in any event been partially levelled in that particular area for months by bulldozers reducing the slope and lining the bottom half with heavy rocks. Earlier a forestry company had come in to harvest and haul off the trees that remained on the slope.

That we could feel the house trembling at our distance from the site, speaks volumes about the difficulty and the depths to which the engineers have devised a method whereby they feel the threatened homes can be saved and the homeowners (one middle-aged couple whose adult children have since moved out on their own, another elderly couple one of whom is in the early stages of Alzheimer's, and a younger family with two children) who were forced to evacuate can finally move back into them.

The incessant spring rains that had caused the series of hillside slumps threatening those homes back in April have never relented in volume and constancy since then. All last night the rain continued to drench the environment, interspersed with the sound and fury of thunderstorms. And now, the rain continues as well. The two cranes remain in place, they're being worked and we can only hope that the prodigious effort that has gone into preserving the area will indeed work.

Coincidences and odd juxtapositions abound, don't they sometimes, taking us by mild surprise in the brief shock of recognition, sometimes amusing, sometimes not. Take, for example, my husband's and my bedtime reading titles at the moment. Mine is 'Savage Summit', his is 'Savage Spring'. His is a Swedish crime thriller, and mine is a studied accounting of women summiting K2, the most hostile-to-life mountain in the Himalayas,reputed to be the world's second tallest, and the most destructive of human life.

And just coincidentally, speaking with our good friend and neighbour Serge a few days back, a man in his elder years who has become a consummate world traveller to stave off the boredom of otherwise having it all -- all but a lifetime companion -- taking to twice-yearly guided tourism to the world's most interesting travel destinations there was an interesting revelation. He never fails to return with enthusiasm for what he has seen and experienced, describing to us his adventures.

Guided adventures to be sure, but adventures nonetheless. The latest of his ventures was to Nepal and he was, as usual full of impressions and eager to convey them to us. He mentioned that one of the events he was exposed to, put on by the tourism company he was with, was guided by a woman who had summited K2. She informed the gathering of just what a physical, endurance and good-fortune feat that was.

He wouldn't know, unless she divulged it to him whether she is among the women who are increasingly joining the male-dominated 8,000-metre club, those elite physical specimens who temporarily set aside their fear and count on experience and good luck to guide them to the heights of the world, all the mountains that qualify, at or over 8,000 meters in impressive height of immeasurable grandeur.

Anyone who isn't addicted as I am to reading of the exploits of these climbers hailing from all over the world; Germany, Austria, Poland, Australia, Mexico, Spain, Britain, France, the United States, Canada, Japan and so many others whose ambitions and (sometimes fatal) attraction to those impossible and forbidding heights lead them to risk everything for the ephemeral experience of setting boot atop those summits, would not really know the uncountable threats to life and limb each faces.

When I say 'know' even that is questionable, since description as careful and as detailed as skilled writers of mountain landscapes can make them in an effort to fully convey the threats of oxygen-deprived executive function, epoxia, avalanches, unstable ice-and-snow shelves, extreme fatigue, hidden yawning chasms, extreme cold, a step in the wrong direction, snow blizzards and high winds so fierce they literally, not figuratively, blow human figures off the mountains to their deaths.

We may mentally tuck all that data away in our minds for reference purposes, but the larger question of why these people are driven to tax their physical and psychological resources beyond their limits is never completely answered to our satisfaction. One would have to be addicted oneself to the imperative of the beckoning mountain and the exhilaration felt despite intolerable fatigue and fear, and finally the overwhelming joy and satisfaction of the final, completed ascent, to fully understand.

K2 is ascended far less frequently than is Everest. While the death toll on Everest is impressive enough, despite the skills of those making the attempt (not to mention its popularity with fit but ambitious people with the $60,000 or so it takes to buy a place on a commercial climb these days, where Sherpas do all the heavy lifting and servicing and trail preparation), it is the descent of K2 that takes a toll representing death, for approximately 40% of those who experienced the mind-blowing success of reaching its peak.

Elementary school will be dismissed tomorrow; placed on hold for the next two months. High schools already have been, for the summer months. Usually at this time of year there's a brief, but notable influx of young people coming into the ravine. Very few of them walk along the trails. Usually they're on bicycles. Our little dogs, not quite familiar or understanding of what bicycles are, view them as threats and react accordingly, barking furiously while they're in view.

It is seldom that we see young children, pre-teens and older normally in the ravine. But when we do it pleases me mightily. Not those who are destructive, who try to start fires, or push over decaying tree trunks, or snap the slender trunks and branches of saplings. Or those who build earth ramps in the middle of trails, to give them the thrills they seek skate-boarding and trick-bicycling. Let alone those who toss huge chunks of granite from the construction, into the creek. This is, however, typical bored behaviour of young people who have never been taught to respect nature.

Often, when there a public holidays we brace ourselves for the presence of family groups sauntering through the woodland trails, on a yearly tribute-to-nature outing. Or when people have guests over for dinner and later take them on pleasant post-prandial tours through the ravine. At least they are enjoying exposure, however brief, to the natural world that all too many people have no idea exists, and couldn't care less that it does.

When I was a child some of my earliest memories are of being taken to a public park by my parents. And then, having had that exposure, yearning for more. As I grew older and more independent I would seek out those green spaces where trees grew and all seemed calm in the order of nature's benevolence. When at the age of fourteen my husband and I wanted to spend quality time together we searched out parks, to stroll among the trees and talk, talk, talk.

So when we come across several or a crew of young people curious about what might be in the creek or the forested ravine in general that they would like to have a closer look at, or strolling about, talking to one another calmly and with a semi-awareness of t heir environment, it brings back to me old memories. I enjoy seeing them there, as though they too are on a lifelong voyage of discovery of the natural world.

It is a world we have divorced ourselves from, living in our concrete landscapes interspersed here and there with public parks and playing fields with playgrounds and climbing apparatuses that encourage children to exercise their limbs and familiarize themselves with the out-of-doors. All too often forgotten, discarded and shunned for the greater attraction in this current era of online social media and exploring the Internet, as though the two preoccupations cannot live in harmony in anyone's life.

So far for spring of 2017 a record has been set in this area for rainfall. Now that summer has arrived it appears that rain events will continue their unceasing presence. Now, more than ever, we have to gauge the weather reports to determine when best we should enter the forest for our daily perambulation among nature's treasures.

And so far we have managed to avoid being drenched in the process, by taking advantage of brief windows of opportunity when we think we'll be able to take our usual hour-long ramble and more enjoying ourselves in the woods before the skies once again lift the levers to the overflowing dike to inundate the world below.

Several days ago when we ventured out for our walk much earlier than usual armed with the knowledge that Environment Canada warned of a series of thunderstorms continuing to move through the area (after a night full of the same) we came across other ravine regulars with the same idea; getting out before the forecasted weather changed. Encountering one another we tend to stand about awhile and talk companionably. And there were so many such encounters we somewhat overstayed our intended exposure.

Before we reached the point at the usual conclusion of our daily circuit where we could dash out of the ravine, down the street the short distance toward our house, near-distant thunder began to roll and the first tentative drops of rain anointed us. Our two little dogs vastly preferring not to be caught out in the rain, and instantly alert, began pulling us at post-haste speed through what was left of our circuit.

By the time we reached home the intermittent drops of light rain had become more frequent and harder, but we were still dry. It wasn't until we had gone into the house that the dam tipped its contents, fiercely lashing the windows of the house in an impressive show of wind and rain as the landscape darkened beyond twilight into night in the daylight hours.

The forest never stops revealing itself to us as year after year, season after season we are confronted with its living green presence, a habitat for small furred creatures and winged residents and visitors, the aquatic life that proliferates in its valleyed creek and insects that live within its precincts.

Fleabane

 

It is a mixed forest of deciduous and conifers. Hackberry, Fir, Apple, Poplar, Yew, Oak, Cedar, Pine, Spruce, Maple, Beech, Ash and more. An understory of dogwood, spirea, hazelnut and much more.

Various types of fern and plants like false Solomon's Seal and Red Baneberry comprise the bracken on the forest floor along with all the woodland flowers that seasonally proclaim their presence from the earliest coltsfoot in the spring to the latest fall asters.

Fungi on a decaying tree trunk

It is a place of happy discovery, an environment where we feel free to enjoy nature at our leisure. And our leisure comprises the physical aspect of hiking the various interconnected trails in all seasons from spring to summer, fall to winter, where the forest takes on its various complexions reflecting atmospheric modifications reflected in those seasons.

Emerging Hazelnut

It is a mosaic of colour in the fall, presenting scenes that swoon the senses. And in the spring when fresh thrusts of perennial plants are finally encouraged to emerge from their winter sleep it is a time of excited adventure for us. Familiar we may be through long exposure to those seasons in the woods, but we cannot help but greet all the denizens, flora and fauna, with expressions of wonder and joy at their reappearance.

Cowvetch

We, and the other regulars who make it a point to daily tramp the woods, as we do. There is a large community surrounding the Bilberry Creek Ravine forest, and of that multitude of tens of thousands of people, a mere handful see the value in regular communication with nature. A situation that we wonder at, and at the same time don't really mind, since when we're there and seldom see other people, we have the impression that this is our personal, private preserve.

Cinquefoil

And so, as it happens, do our two little companion dogs.

So far this has been an unusual garden year. No need to water the lawn or the gardens, and the garden pots only occasionally. All thanks to nature's generosity in supplying us from above with more than ample rain. Perhaps the surprising thing is that although we've been inundated with constant rain events we've also had the privilege of frequent sunny days, so the gardens are truly 'in their element' and it shows.

Plants, both perennial and annual, have had a comfortable time of this spring and early summer. An absence of nothing, required to grow with gay abandon. It seems to me that they've been flowering earlier than they would during a normal such period, and have been growing far more robustly.

Our pleasure in perusing the gardens while perambulating about to see what's new and how the micro landscapes of the garden pots are presenting themselves has been boundless. The peonies, magnolias and rhododendron have outdone themselves this year. The irises and the mountain bluet, the geraniums and the Canterbury bells have been real troopers, flying their colours.

And the roses, the clematis vines, have entertained us right royally with their elegance and beauty. Our leafy favourites, hostas of all sizes, textures, colours and formations never fail to draw our attention along with their companion heucheras.

Each time we gaze out from the house on the gardens, or wander along the pathways, front or back of the house to take the full measure of the natural and cultivated loveliness of the trees, shrubs and plants, from the rock garden to the shade garden, both at the sides of the house, we're grateful that we have this opportunity to indulge our senses in such pleasure-giving sights.

Because our two little dogs are so small it isn't difficult to clean them up after our daily ravine walks. We simply lift them on to towels laid atop the laundry machines on entering the house, and sponge their little feet of the dirt and detritus they pick up. Sometimes it takes no time at all. On other occasions, such as yesterday, it takes numerous applications of a wet sponge to free their paws and pads of hard-packed dirt and muck.

That occurred yesterday because the night before the skies had roiled with thunderstorms passing through the area. And when we awoke the morning after, the rain was still pummeling the environment, drowning everything in an endless sea of water. By early afternoon it had stopped and off we went into the ravine to walk the forest trails.

The ravine entrance has changed enormously. Where before, until April when the saturated hillsides leading into the ravine began to crumble and slump into the ravine, we walked down a trail sided with dense forest, now on the right-hand-side where the slumps occurred, there is a sight-devastating void of desolation. All the trees that hadn't themselves broken and collapsed had been removed by forestry crews clearing the area for bulldozers and steam shovels to do their work of moderating the steep rise of the hillside, layering its bottom portions with huge granite rocks for stability and preparing the rest for reforestation.

We were able yesterday for the first time in months to access portions of the trail system that had been closed to us while the restoration work progressed. And what greeted our eyes was not very attractive, since it presented as a vast cleared area where once a forest thrived. All the trees had been removed by great logging trucks. Now, once the entire project has been completed, a tree-planting effort will proceed in due time.

We went on from accessing the now-open bridge and opened trail system to continue with our usual hike through the woods. And it just happened to be a forest whose floor had been re-invested in a soggy mess with large mosquito-breeding puddles re-appearing on the forest floor and the trails. None of which  takes away from the pleasure of being able to amble along those trails at one's leisure, enjoying the forest ambiance.

Returning after a week away exploring forest trails in the White Mountain National Forest of New Hampshire, there is always a bit of a disconnect, coming back to our daily perambulations in the forested trails of the ravine adjacent our street. An adjustment is required, though it doesn't take long.

In this instance, this year included speculating about how far the engineering and reconstruction had progressed in the ravine where the hillside slump that took place in April after prolonged rains threatened the houses backing on the ravine.

The first few days back we simply manoeuvred our way around the steel gated barriers the construction crews had erected, bypassing the signs warning that this was an active construction site and no one should enter, for once we passed that brief area where the work was taking place, all else was normal throughout the ravine and we were able to resume our usual daily hikes.

But a few days ago we were confronted once again with a work crew at the very site of entrance, with a steam shovel actively engaged in moving great amounts of rock being laid down to secure the areas vulnerable to further collapse and so we had to backtrack.

What it meant was walking down the length of our street in the opposite direction, crossing a major thoroughfare, and accessing another part of the ravine which hadn't been affected by the Leda clay that mostly comprises the forest floor dissolving into a slippery gel unable to hold itself together.

It's an attractive option, with flora growing differently there than in our much larger portion of the forested ravine. But though the trail is attractive enough, it is too short in relation to its opposite cousin, and the depth of the forest isn't as great before the rises are occupied by housing. As an alternate occasional choice it serves the purpose well, but lacks some of the distinctions of our own portion.

Still, we were grateful to have such ready access to an alternative.

It is the beauty and the scope of the landscape that beckons us back time and again to Smartsbrook as a destination achievable for us where we are assured of an environment that soothes the senses and awakens one's awareness at one and the same time. It is a mountain-valley trail we have long been familiar with and never tire of hiking.

We know that locally it is a popular trail, but everything is relative, it seems, for we seldom come across others on that trail, exploring its diversity and basking in its quiet beauty. The silence is broken on occasion by the song of a thrush, and certainly when approaching any of the cascades and waterfalls, modest in size, but prominent in sound due to the downstream rush of the mountain stream.

We take immense pleasure in re-acquainting ourselves with it from time to time. And consider ourselves fortunate to be able to do so. It is at once familiar and despite that a place of visual exploration.

We delight in coming across seasonal vegetation emblematic of the White Mountain terrain, from those wonderful Ladies Slippers orchids to common violets growing in abundance in its moist, forest atmosphere amid drifts of ground dogwood (bunchberry).

The understory of the forest is rife with dogwood shrubs whose bloom time appears to be two weeks the other side of what we experience in the forested area we visit daily where we live. Where at home we see striped maple, there in the White Mountain National Forest we see Moose maple and a type of sumac different from what we're more familiar with.

As at home, maple and oak trees grow abundantly, among them the more common sight of yellow birch and hemlock, pines and spruce.

It is an atmosphere and a landscape of surpassing beauty. No one who loves nature could ever be anything but impressed.