Ah, the weather. Where would we be, what would we speak of when we meet in social groups, if we  hadn't the weather to discuss, exclaim our pleasure, dismay, censure and appreciation of and how we're coping, on alternate occasions. And since July 1st is Canada's 150th birthday, nature has decided to give us a very special gift.

Yesterday was a 'tolerable' 32C, under bright blue skies. Tolerable, because most people sought relief in air-conditioning, and others sought the pleasure of being out under open skies to appreciate summer freedom and the invitation to pursue summer recreational fun. We found it strange that through the length of our hour-and-a-half circuit through the forest trails in the ravine early yesterday afternoon we came across only one other person, our old friend Max.

He theorized that everyone imagined it would be intolerably hot out in the forest under its sheltering canopy. Perhaps most people might think that, but those who regularly hike those trails must surely know that the canopy's effect is to send a broad screen over the landscape, preventing the sun's hot rays from penetrating. With a slight breeze, the prevailing temperature could just about rival any air conditioning system.

And so, our ramble in the ravine, even at our slower rate caused by my carefully measured speed taking into account post-surgical caution not to exceed reasonable exertion was most pleasant indeed. Affording all of us, inclusive of Jackie and Jillie, ample opportunity to observe and to take our pleasure while sharing our delight in the vibrancy of the landscape we were immersed within.

As for the gift from nature, it is destined to continue. Today, another 32C day, with an extreme thunderstorm warning in effect. And the possibilities of a series of thunderstorms overnight. That will be followed by 33C on Sunday, Canada Day; 35C on Monday; 33C on Tuesday; 36C for Wednesday; back down to 33C for Thursday and relief at last! on Friday, at 28C!

Last night the temperature cooled down to 20C by eleven and I went out to see how the garden was faring. Everything appears ship-shape there, nothing is suffering, in fact the heat continues to accelerate growth and flowers are happily blooming. It helps that much of the garden is in shade for the greater part of the late afternoon unlike the backyard garden beds, in the full glare of the sun.

After my early-morning surgery for cataract removal in my left eye yesterday, I had to more or less step back from my usual activities. The timing of the surgery itself necessitated that we wake early to arrive at the hospital during early rush-hour traffic, at the assigned time. So we were kind of sleep-deprived all day. My husband's intention was, in the early afternoon, to take Jackie and Jillie through the ravine for their daily walk. He'd have to put them on leash to stop them from heading for home on their own initiative because I was absent.

I thought about how well I felt, and insisted that we could undertake a shorter circuit than usual and I'd take my time, since I wasn't supposed to exert myself. Actually for the following several weeks post-surgery instruction for recovery dictates against physical stress. Donning sunglasses and taking care not to bend down too low -- another no-no; my husband insisted on tying my hiking boot laces -- we set off. A perfectly lovely day, as it happened.

The morning had begun overcast and humid in the wake of all-night rain. And though light rain did come down again during the time we were in the hospital, there was no more throughout the balance of the day. The forest was wet, foliage still glistening with accumulated drops from rain, everything covered with that especial colour-enhancing sheen, looking intensely beautiful.

I did take my time, forbore from struggling uphill at speed, and felt quite well. Although the sun wasn't out, it did glimmer behind the loosely-formed clouds sending brief shafts of sunlight through the leafy canopy from time to time.

Sumac candles developing

We came across a woman we see on rare occasions, walking her little spaniel, a happy and friendly little dog. Several years ago that little dog had been set upon by a Doberman whom another acquaintance had been walking. He was in the process of developing a dog-walking service because he was getting on in age, tired and fed up with his regular job as a roofer. The woman rushed her little dog to the emergency veterinarian service nearby. The ensuing surgery and follow-up care cost her several thousand dollars. She had decided not to take the man to small-claims court, knowing he would not be able to come up with the funds to pay the vet bills.

The little fellow is just fine now, remaining her faithful companion, but she never now allows it off leash, to be able to react and control any similar such situations that might arise. As for the Doberman, attacking that little dog wasn't the only assault it was responsible for. It had bit a previous dog walker, and went on to threaten and attack other dogs as well. Eventually the owners felt they had no option but to euthanize the animal.

The dog walker who had been with the Doberman when it attacked the little terrier was able to control the dogs he walks quite well; they responded instantly to his directions; he seemed to have some special communication skills that dogs respected and he never used coercive methods. Even his dog-handling skills couldn't save this animal from the ultimate punishment.

The high temperature for yesterday was only 25C, and under cloudy skies with a bit of a breeze, it should have felt warm, not hot. Yet hot it seemed, given the high humidity level. More to come, it seems. By evening rain began falling and down it came through the night. Which has worked wonders for the grass seed my husband has sprinkled on the front lawn over a generous sprinkling of soil and compost.

We knew from the advance weather forecast that we would be in for a substantial heat wave, now on its way. We'll have a high of 32C on Saturday and then we'll likely shatter a heat-record for Canada Day, July 1, when we'll be in 36C-degree territory. That's when Environment Canada and Health Canada collaborate on warning people that such extreme temperatures are particularly dangerous for the young and the old.

Humidity be damned, we made the most of our ravine ramble through the forest trails. And weren't we surprised to note that the muellin this year -- which has attained quite admirable proportions thriving in the mix of sun and  rain so far -- have already begun their flowering stage. All years in this region turn out to be unusual from one year to another, and this one is no different.

And then in our rambles, admiring the proliferation of wildflowers on the verge of the forest, we came across another plant we'd never before seen in the ravine confines, with tiny yellow flowers on long delicate stalks in splendid profusion. Since I'd never before come across the wildflower I thought to do a bit of online sleuthing and I think I've identified it as small-flowered crowfoot, in an area they've never been before, a tall grouping of them, quite beautiful.

Jackie lately has been quite spirited, racing off at the slightest provocation into the forest interior, after squirrels. When he makes his initial sprint, Jillie has a tendency to reflexively dash after him but she hasn't his deep-abiding commitment to making the effort to confront those spirited little squirrels so acrobatically talented, and after her first attempt, just stops short, once within the dusky gloom of the forest among the bracken. Jackie leaps like a miniature deer in graceful spurts, his movement fluid and muscular; Jillie is more of a plodder.

The result of this is that Jackie gets far more exercise, covers far more territory than Jillie does, though she is always the one to be alerted first and to go into a reactive challenge when we come across others on the trails, most particularly those not familiar to her. On those occasions, Jillie is the leader, Jackie the follower.

When they do see others with whom they are familiar, they are excited yet relaxed at their presence, anxious to greet one another, to caper about a bit then move on. Yesterday we came across a fellow traveller excited to tell us that he and his wife had attained a dream and are now the proud possessors of a cottage with a sizeable property and close access to a small lake where motorboats are not permitted and where they intend to spend a lot of their summertime leisure. Their three high-powered dogs, he said are beyond themselves with pleasure.

Heaven knows what we would do without the forest so close to our home. No matter where we lived in our 63 years of being together, sharing all our experiences, enjoying life as an intimate tandem we have always sought opportunities to appreciate and immerse ourselves in natural surroundings. At times that would necessitate that we drive either short or long distances, exploring new places and new opportunities. But the goal was always there, to spend as much time as we could in nature.

From the time our children were infants to when they became young adults we shared with them our passion for our natural surroundings. Our fondest memories can be traced to those years. And we continue to indulge in that deep-seated need we recognize in ourselves  the subconscious urge to amble about in landscapes that have been as untouched by human presence as possible.

In the house where we spent twenty years raising our three children we had easy access to a vast area of unspoiled green space. Simply walking out our back door, through our backyard and into an area of pathways preserved by the construction company that had built the homes in that subdivision of the city led us as far as we felt inclined to walk, ski, snowshoe or hike through a large green space comprised of fields and forest.

In our current house where we have lived for almost three decades we no longer answer to an urge to drive any distances to achieve proximity to a green environment as we had so often with our children. We do on occasion venture elsewhere than the forested ravine adjacent our house, to take pleasure in nature walks but these are infrequent occasions.

When we first came to look at the house we now call ours and realized it was but a short walk from trails in a preserved forest, that fact alone excited our determination to take possession of the house and in so doing possessing the privilege of regularly accessing the ravine and the forest within it. Our two little dogs now enjoy the pleasure of roaming through the forest trails with us at daily leisure, just as our two little companions that had preceded them had done.

We have indeed been privileged.

Just about everyone in the neighbourhood -- and I suspect far further afield -- mentions with justifiable pride how lush and beautiful their gardens appear. After early spring's cold, slow start nature has accelerated her growing/renewal process to the extent that we're caught by surprise at the early appearance of blooms we recall having a later appearance in most years.

No one is complaining, however, and everyone's surprise has turned to appreciation for the newly robustly emphatic presence of plants much taller and healthier in appearance than we usually hope to see. These are the kinds of surprises that we can always take more of.

The peonies are almost spent and that's a pity, but the roses are in full, bursting bloom, while the clematis vines still retain some of their lovely flowers. Rose mallow is starting to bloom, joining Canterbury bells in their burst of form and colour.

The ornamental crab apple trees have long since lost their blossoms, as have the magnolias, but their foliage has taken front and centre in bursting verdancy. Canna and calla lilies are in bloom, and day lilies are ready to burst forth. My neighbour's beautiful perennial dianthus shrubs are smothered with gorgeous little flowers and my envious gardener's heart is telling me to get out to the nearest plant nursery and see if I can emulate her show piece.

Hostas and heuchera have sent up their flower stalks; large and showy on the part of the former and delicate little bells held aloft in the summer breezes for the latter. The garden pots and urns are bursting with form and colour, the annuals showing off as is their wont. For the first week of summer, the garden beds are thriving beyond expectations.

We were out much earlier than is usual for us on the forest trails yesterday, with the intention of hoping to get in a long circuit before the forecasted rain for the day started. Environment Canada noted that much of the day would be rainy, and we did awaken to cloudy skies, but glimmers of sun managed to get through the cloud cover throughout the morning. Despite which there was a short-lived but emphatic little shower before noon.

We could use some more rain. Not that we haven't had ample up to now, but all growing things thrive when rain falls regularly in the spring and summer; not only farmer's fields require the rain but all vegetation everywhere including the forest which is now busy sprouting blackberry blooms for late summer picking.

And our garden, despite the pop-up mushrooms in one of our garden beds, could certainly use more rain interspersed with the heat of the sun. Not to mention the front lawn which my husband covered liberally in many places with fresh garden soil, sprinkling it with grass seed, hoping to undo most of the damage incurred last year from the incursion of Japanese beetles and their grubs hungry to eat the grass roots. I cringe at the very thought of seeing those admittedly beautiful insects, gathering once again on our roses and the foliage of the corkscrew hazelnut, destroying their beauty. But that too is nature.

We were amazed, actually, on yesterday's traipse through the woods to see ripe red berry clusters on a number of the baneberry plants in the ravine. Such a rapid transition this year is highly unusual. Speaks volumes of the weather we've been experiencing, since the reverse inclemency of early spring.

We came across several of our ravine acquaintances and their large dogs one of which was enjoying himself in the creek, in it up to and over his head, cooling off and getting quite brownish in appearance in his white lower half from trampling up the clay base to muck. Fortunately, his human, a lovely woman with two wonderful young adult children, doesn't mind, counting on the ambient warmth and breeze to dry him off as they continue to amble along the trails, before they head back for home.

As for the other, he is a former military man. Quite the physical specimen, his physiognomy far more emphasized than most people of normal height and size. I can only surmise that it is his military background that makes him impatient, curt and too physically emphatic with his six-month-old German Shepherd, a lovely, good-natured dog that will eventually become very large in maturity.

Because the puppy named Nova, is just a puppy yet he fails to immediately obey this man at all times he elicits temporary disfavour. Such as when he's in the company of our two with whom he wants to play. Leading him to follow us, not his owner, which infuriates him no end. He makes an effort to control his anger, we can see that, but it's obvious nevertheless in the manner in which he puts the puppy on leash and tugs  him about roughly.

In the end, he'll have an obedient dog, but it's hardly necessary to be so rough with the puppy, even recognizing that people who have such large dogs have an obligation to ensure that they respond to command given their size and the potential for wreaking havoc if and when they resort to behaviour inimical to their well-being and everyone else's safety.

On the other  hand, I can recall acutely how frustrating it was for us when our two were in their puppy stage, undisciplined and difficult to control. We were not always cool headed about it, come to think of it ... later regretting our impatience and anger at the two little imps that share our lives.

Oh, these spontaneous, carefree days of summer, here at last; only dreamed of in the waning winter months, finally arrived. Not that spring wasn't appreciated for it most certainly was, even including its usual early-arrival proclivity to confusing itself with winter. We welcomed spring with the open arms of pure gratitude, and expressed our polite condolences to winter for having to depart despite its obvious unwillingness to do so.

Our landscape has changed so completely. Everything is flourishing, the vegetation in our gardens and the forest, and our emotions with them, constantly appreciative of what we see and experience.
When the mood takes us and the opportunity arises there is no preparation required to take ourselves out to the forest trails, only our little dogs' collars and halters need be placed on them and the laundry room sink prepared to wash off their dainty little feet, post-hike.

Then off we go! And go they do, helter-skelter into the woods, descending the hill from street level to the forest beyond, dark and mysterious. Not too dark and certainly not mysterious to them; rather an environment of complete ease, freedom and pleasure. As it is for us.

Yesterday we had the trails to ourselves yet again. Until we were almost at the end of our circuit, and then galloping behind us, obviously anxious to make our acquaintance, a veritable giant of a dog. We had, in fact, seen it for the first time three months earlier when it was just three months old. Now, at six months of age, the cross between a Great Dane and an English mastiff had attained formidable proportions on its way to achieving full size.

A puppy, regardless of its size, wants to be in the presence of other dogs; above all, it wants to play, to be entertained, to enjoy a social life with others of its species, and this one was no different. It took quite a while before its human companion was able to catch up with this spectacular canine, though he too was young, albeit a young man.

In the interim, this great beautiful beast followed a rather nervously unsettled Jackie and Jillie around attempting to make solid contact while they did their utmost to evade its attention and intentions. Much as we, as human animals, might, through sheer fear of extraordinary size, take evasive steps in confronting a stranger we aren't certain has other than ill intentions. But the dog, as is common with many very large breeds, was intent on making friends, not enemies. And in the end, their acquaintanceship rituals complete, the next time they meet it's likely the event will be less fraught with concern on the part of our two, and anxiety on the part of the other.

Eventually, the young man caught up and took his large puppy under his firm guidance, and off they went. As did we, to complete our circuit and on its way enjoy the remainder of our forest hike -- all of us.

The Summer Solstice entered yesterday surprisingly breaking the heat wave we've been plunged into lately. As spring was on the cusp of leaving us for 2018, it decided on a parting gift of heat and humidity and summer's entrance reversed it. Temporarily, in any event.

So, it was under the most pellucid of blue skies that we ventured out with little Jackie and Jillie yesterday afternoon into the ravine for them to gambol and us to follow along the forest trails. It felt uncharacteristically cool, thanks not only to the prevailing temperature, but a good stiff breeze that penetrated the forest. But it was a decided relief from the previous suffocating heat.

We noted that the thimbleberry bushes were in stiff competition with the blackberry canes in thrusting their blossoms into view, now. The thimbleberry blossoms the most glorious of pinks and the others bursts of pure white. Both will be transformed in short enough order into mouth-watering berries at the height of summer.

The forest interior as we entered seemed crepuscular as it invariably does, despite the brightness of the day. The dark of twilight interspersed with bright rays of sun making their way through the forest canopy, the contrast eye-dazzlingly pleasing.

The creek at the bottom of the ravine is no longer running full, and we're still trying to see if water striders have returned; no sign of them yet, after all the activity of last spring, summer and fall with heavy construction machinery and workers busy ameliorating the landscape to support the ravine hillside adjacent our street which last year's heavy spring rains had caused to slump and side.

We came across an old acquaintance with her little Shih Tsu Angus, ambling about as he usually does, oblivious to any one else's presence, and prone to wandering off at a great distance before realizing his companion, calling for him and unheard, is 'lost'. Whenever we stop to talk as we usually do, Angus keeps on going ... and going ... and going.

While Jackie and Jillie without any encouragement on our part remain close by, vigilant to any moves by us to resume our forest circuit. They're exceedingly good on that file, thank heavens.

In our experience and our observations over the years, dogs have as many personality traits as those we perceive in human beings. We've had the experience of our own dogs, of course, but because we walk our dogs daily in a wooded ravine we come across other people and their dogs. People whose lifestyle includes dogs as companions are often more given to extending themselves physically to ensure that their dogs have sufficient exercise. As vitally necessary for the canine species as it is for any other.

In the decades that we have been hiking through this forest on its many trails, intersecting a very wide suburban neighbourhood, we have come across countless dogs. Some infrequently, some often. Some of these dogs have become quite familiar to us, others not so much. But we have been able to observe interactions between our dogs and others. And it's clear that dogs seem kind of stolid in their reactions to other dogs. They do evince curiosity, particularly at first meeting, and then acceptance is the fallback. And with some, the relationship is different; they anticipate and look forward to seeing one another.

There is a very small contingent of dogs that are extremely emotive. They become emotional when encountering other dogs with whom they are familiar and they express that emotion through excited yelps, or more familiarly, squeaks. Our first encounter with such a dog was almost thirty years ago when we had two little dogs ourselves, a miniature and a toy poodle. The other dog, a part husky breed was named 'Crook' because it had an actual crook in his tail. Whenever we came across one another Crook would emit high-pitched excited sounds even before we actually saw him, frolic excitedly back and forth in an excess of happiness, and then proceed to ingratiate himself with our two.

After Crook there was a very small Schnauzer called Kia, and she loved her tennis ball and would run happily after it wherever it would be thrown or rolled within the confines of the ravine, unerringly seeking it out and triumphantly returning with it. She, like Crook before her emitted a combination of trill and squeak of pure  joyous expectation whenever she sighted someone familiar and more particularly their dogs. But Kia, though excited and joyful to see familiar dogs, was more devoted to her ball than she was to actually playing with other dogs.

Now there's a white German Shepherd puppy named Nova who has developed just such a mannerism, emitting excited squeals certainly felt to be uncharacteristic utterances for such a large breed, but when he sights our two little black rascals whom he is rapidly outgrowing in size by a large margin, he becomes absolutely absorbed with canine affection for their presence, inviting them to play with him while he continues to sound like an overgrown mouse on steroids.

It's late spring and already the garden's appearance is that of a lush late-summer-blooming pleasure. If there's any caveat to that it's the realization that in their successive blooms in various parts of the garden, flowering plants' pride of place in showy colour, texture and fragrance is so relatively short in duration it's almost head-spinning. Here today, gone soon after.

So it was with the bleeding hearts, the poppies, the columbine, the periwinkles, the irises and so it will soon be with the peonies. The roses are in full June flush, our old reliable and winter-tough Explorer series roses we planted decades ago and performing spectacularly. The other, newer additions are playing catch-up. Clematis vines have been putting out their lovely blooms on a great vertical scale, drawing the gardener's eye upward.

Lilies, growing taller than I've ever before seen them, are on their way to blooming. The lilies-of-the-valley had their turn and now their fragrance and their flowering bells are forgotten. The huge and superb flowers of the magnolia entertained us for quite a while, and now they're a memory, the same as the ornamental crab apple trees and the Manchu cherry, not to mention the bridal spirea.

Not the Canterbury bellflowers, though, they're just now coming into their bright and lovely own, scattered here and there in the garden beds, happily seeding where the mood takes them.

Surprisingly, our very most favourite garden plant, our various types, colours, sizes and shapes of hosta have assumed proportions even more generous than usual, a result of the copious amounts of spring rain and heat of the sun that has even more than usual distinguished mid- to late-spring. And some of them have already hoisted their flower heads preparing to bloom.

Our garden urns and miniature-garden pots seem to be flourishing with texture and vigour to please us with additional bursts of joyful colour. At this stage in the spring-summer-fall yearly venture into competing with nature there remain more than ample shows of conceited floral offerings as special treats when we venture into the garden or just look out the house windows to give us memories meant to last over the long winter months.