You'd think, wouldn't you logically that anyone traversing a landscape for almost thirty years on a daily basis would no longer be surprised, pleased and anticipatory day by day lingering over that very same landscape, and finding something new and appealing each time they venture out. But this is not a static landscape, it changes day by day, and there is always something to be noticed and noted that hadn't been in evidence previously.

Sometimes an old tree has succumbed to wind and rain despite that to your untrained eye it seemed healthy and in your mind such a large, old tree that had seen so much in its lifetime would suddenly collapse, leaving a vacuum in the area that it dominated takes you by complete surprise, and saddens. No one could not notice its huge girth lying prostate, when it should be regally reaching as it always did, for the sky.

And then, of course, there's the small things when your eye focuses on minuscule objects that might catch your notice because of its colour, like a sturdy thistle whose flower buds have evolved and finally blaze forth in bright purple, attracting bees to collect pollen to produce honey.

Nature's inevitable, inexorable cycle of renewal; death and new life, nothing going to waste, everything repurposed, everything having a purpose in whatever guise it takes.

As for us, our purpose daily is to take along our little poodles, Jackie and Jillie to enable them to do as we do, feel free to fully exercise our limbs, our sensory perceptions, our admiration for the incalculable treasure that nature presents to us, for we are of nature, an infinitesimally minuscule portion of her grand, all-encompassing scheme.

Nature has endowed us with the senses to perceive, and to wonder, to admire and to understand that what she offers is precisely what we need, and the offer is on constant standby; we have only to determine our need to access it. Jackie and Jillie do so spontaneously, we do purposefully, and gratefully.

Indigenous people the world over all seem to regard nature with especial veneration, awe, respect, and the 'civilized' world tends to regard those people as innocent of worldly intelligence, knowing nothing of the wonders of technology, of urban life and all its impressive life-style qualities and opportunities. Some of us know instinctively, called from a deep inner source of yearning that nature soothes and fulfills our longings for peace and there is a deep-seated sense of security when one is surrounded by nature.

It is there for us to appreciate in all its visual and tactile manifestations. We respect nature for its power over us and our environment, and feel gratitude toward it for our very lives and the quality that thriving green environments brings to those lives. And we invest time when we can to immersing ourselves in natural surroundings seeking balance in our lives.

And now, lo and behold, the regard with which societies like those of the North American native populations invest in their heritage in living within nature, and like that of Japan which holds nature in such a special place, is spreading. There are some North American physicians who have decided that research showing that immersing oneself however briefly in green surroundings has an absolute health benefit for people, physically and psychologically and that research proves much.

They have gone to lengths to prescribe for many of their patients presenting with signs of impending mental illness, emotional stress and other symptoms of emotional and psychic deprivation, a break away from city culture to focus on forests, on camping opportunities. This is a whole-life value that we have recognized, the entire lengths of our lives, my husband and I, and embraced to fulfill an inner need and longing we have.

We continue in our 80s to embark on daily hour-long visits to a forest adjacent our home, grateful for the good fortune that it can be accessed so readily. In earlier years we made an effort to take ourselves and our children out as frequently as we could to the great outdoors, to forests and mountains and lakes to bask in the health-giving qualities they are responsible for, and to enjoy the landscapes for their visual beauty.

One can accept all the benefits of modern life in cities, but still understand that we lose touch with nature at our own peril.

Some of the raspberry bushes that we were plucking ripe fruit from the last few weeks have been bearing much smaller products than normally, since they weren't the beneficiaries of the copious rain that has been falling for the last week, after a long spell of drought conditions. Now that other raspberry shrubs are just preparing to come into full ripeness, we can see their fruit is larger. They need both sun and rain, and we have ample sun, without which they aren't sweet, while too much rain prompts them to grow large but with a tendency to lose firmness while failing to acquire sweetness.

We don't get blueberries in the ravine, but there are wild strawberry plants and an abundance of thimbleberry and some blackberries. All this sweet goodness is hugely appreciated. Even Jackie and Jillie know they represent a treat. The apples this year, however, are scarce in number, and we theorize that April and May, colder than usual this spring, may have nipped their flower buds. It's odd to see how some vegetation flourishes in the forest, while others seem to suffer.

No suffering for the Queen Anne's lace, the fleabane, daisies, buttercups, dogwood, yellow loosestrife, goldenrod and asters, however; they've been perky and much in evidence. The colony of jewelweed is sporting as many blossoms on their delicate stalks as they do in any normal mid-summer. And the beaming bright faces of sunflowers on their robust, tall stalks spell summer loud nd clear.

These latter days of July which had brought few rain events, have been accelerating in making up for the rain deficit. Though the follow-days of constant rain and thunderstorms seem to be behind us now. Rain events are interspersed with surprisingly cloud-free skies allowing the heated rays of the sun to dry off everything in between rains which erupt surprisingly quickly, as high winds seem to push an abundance of rainclouds episodically throughout the course of the day, shutting out the sun.

It makes for some quite interesting concerns; as in will we be able to get through an hour's ramble in the woods with Jackie and Jillie before the rain starts up again, or won't we? So far, luck has been with us. We can look up through the leafy canopy of the forest, seeing nothing but clear blue, and a half hour later, the inner sanctum of the forest has turned to dusk, then dark -- and then we're home and marvelling at the ferocity of a thunderstorm we're grateful to witness from the interior of the house and not from the perspective of shivering and drenched under a copse of trees.

Is it soggy in the ravine? Yes, yes it is. With intensified colour sensibilities, as well. And the appearance here and there of mushrooms growing where tree roots and old stumps still stand, feeding on the woody underground detritus as it decays.

The creek has been running full ever since t he rains have begun, needless to say. And even the spread-out tributaries of the creek now cradle ponds of muddy rainwater. It does make some parts of the forest trails slippery and muddy and we have to exercise due caution, preferring not to slither downhill on our backsides. But it's all part and portion of enjoying our good fortune with such easy access to such a natural treasure.

We were certainly aware that we were taking a chance, preparing to venture out into the forest yesterday afternoon. While the sun was no longer searing the landscape in an overheated frenzy of extreme temperature, the likelihood of getting caught out in a downpour was pretty high. The day before, opportunity had eluded us completely, just no break in the rain whatever, and it was too heavy to brave a lengthy exposure only to become drenched and miserable.

We did take what we thought was a sensible precaution, once we decided to take advantage of a rain break, to stuff rain jackets for us and our two little dogs into a small backpack and haul it along with us. Every now and again the sun poked its shining face out of a cloud-crowded sky. And now and again rain would come pelting down, a pattern repeated in previous days. Sometimes heavily, sometimes not-so-much. Environment Canada had warned of heavy thunderstorm activity, so we knew that if we were caught out in one of those explosive events the rain jackets wouldn't do any of us much good.

Off we went, regardless. And we hadn't progressed very far in fact before we had to stop and haul the rain jackets out. Jackie and Jillie didn't seem to mind. It wasn't really hot to the degree that it had been in weeks previous to begin with, though we were certainly more comfortable without the rain jackets before the rain started up again. It was a fairly light rain event, though and not prolonged. So before long we shed them again, stuffing them back into the backpack.

The forest has been inundated for days, the forest floor illustrating the obvious, that it couldn't possibly absorb any more moisture. For at least a month, while it was hot, humid and bordering on a real water deficit with a paucity of rain, we hadn't been bothered by the presence of mosquitoes; nowhere for them to lay their eggs. Now, it's a different story, they can indulge in an orgy of egg laying with the copious amounts of rainwater pooled on the forest floor.

Some of the vegetation in the forest had been well smashed down by the force of the rain and the wind carrying it increasing its momentum. But others look just fine, the thimbleberries still blooming fresh flowers even while beside them earlier-blooming flowers are forming their distinctive thimble-shaped red berries. And the thistles now blooming their deep purple-pink flowers have attracted bees for their pollen. The delicate jewelweed were recovering from the battering, and some of the taller ones were sporting blooms.

There were occasional additional light sprinkles, but nothing emphatic enough to warrant getting out the jackets again. By the time we were three-quarters through our lengthy circuit through the forest trails, though, the sky had become quite dark with swiftly-moving dark clouds auguring the arrival of a thunderstorm, and we could in fact hear warning thunder in the distance. By the time we exited the ravine and made our way down the street to our house, the wind had whipped up greater strength and those dark clouds were nearing our location.

Rain did fall, not copiously but sufficiently to inform us that had we still been out we wouldn't have felt like cheering. But it wasn't until an hour later that a really ferocious thunder-and-lightning event rolled overhead and this time a veritable deluge of rain came pelting down. It was nice to be at home, comfortable, admiring of the weather drama taking place outside.

Searing heat from a molten sun combined with high humidity have made for some fairly oppressive July days this summer. In efforts to evade as much exposure to the heat as possible, our routine has been altered to a more reasonable time of day before the real heat of the day set in. For the time being now, however, things have changed.

Previously there was heat and humidity day after unrelenting day, with little rain to freshen the air and soothe the overheated forest. We had noticed that vegetation that usually crowds the forest floor had gradually subsided, leaving fairly large tracts devoid of green as the dry earth swallowed up the water-famished plants comprising the bulk of the bracken. For the most part the ferns remained unaffected other than that they weren't growing, just holding their own.

And then came the rain. It entered the picture and things changed markedly. It hasn't yet left, after days of day-and-night presence, nor does the rain show signs that it means to depart any time soon. Days suffused with unending rain events punctuated by violent thunderstorms. By no means stopping us for the most part, from continuing our daily ravine hikes in the forest. We simply awaited opportunities to get out, then made the most of them.

A backpack come in handy for conveying raingear, for example. Raincoats would be of little use in the midst of a  really violent thunderstorm where the rain tumbles in high speed from the sky, the wind lashing it horizontally to penetrate everywhere. But we haven't yet been caught out in that kind of rain, just the on-and-off variety where both the forest canopy and rainjackets ensure we don't get drenched. We've been able to make it back home from an hour's walk in the woods before the really emphatic thunder. lightning and rain devastates the landscape.

Or, rather, while inundating the landscape, leaving the forest floor awash in large pools, also nourishing all that grows. It's true that the wildflowers and shrubs look drenched, forlorn and smashed down, but they'll recover and be far more robust. There are, on the other hand, plants that have thrived in the heat and lack of rain for we've never seen mullein so large and tall, or their thistle counterparts. And then there is always the potential with high winds and lashing rain for some damage in the forest, like trees that topple, are caught by the limbs of other nearby trees and remain suspended, horizontal where they should be perpendicular as in thriving life.

In any event, the drama of the weather and how it affects the forest and by extension our walks through the forest trails with our two little dogs, continues apace. The breaks in the rain that we look for are anticipated by others as well who take brief and useful opportunities of a lull to get out and enjoy the woods with their own companion dogs.

The garden, when I'm not working in it, mesmerizes me. In the sense that I so much enjoy viewing it. From various angles, trying to capture it in a moment when it is unaware that it is subject of my viewing interest.

The various garden beds and borders are quite different from one another. Their focus is varied, and some plants are in greater abundance in one or the other The architecture of each is different. The focal points are different.

Each of the gardens must have perspective, height and depth. Something to anchor them. Which translates to a tree, a shrub, and then the inmates of the garden bed and border descend, as it were, in height, formation, presentation. Not meant to be viewed individually, but as an aggregate of colour, form and texture.

A fusion of vegetation individualism and characteristics that when viewed broadly as a collective take on a personality reflecting the garden as a community effort by all its constituents. And so, when I look out a window of the house, or the front door, or the back, my eye is always entertained, and sometimes surprised.

When we leave our property, I glance back at the garden and it in turn studies our departure. When we return our eyes clasp the garden, drinking in its variations as a series of colourful landscapes. A refreshing experience of which we can never tire.

The gardens pleasures and surprises us because it is visual poetry in slow motion. It changes continually; in the short view, day-to-day, in the longer view when important features reflecting a perennial presence fade once they have served their purpose to bloom in season, with others taking their place in the limelight, as it were.

And then aside from the ever-altering succession there is the weather and how it affects the denizens of the garden; the sun, the wind, the rain. All of nature s nurturing elements which are of critical importance to the life-cycle of the plants and trees that flourish there. There are always losses from season to season, and there are always pleasant reactions when a visitor to the garden presents itself, blooms and makes itself at home.

So I view the garden from endless perspectives. Those parts which 'hide' as it were shyly behind a gate, behind a piece of garden statuary, behind a tree or a shrub, or a garden shed. We have a rock garden and it runs along the length of the house in a narrow interstice between our house and our neighbour's. You have to know it's there otherwise its presence is hidden.

And there's a shade garden, along the opposite side of the house where hostas flourish, though they have a major presence everywhere, in all the garden beds. Viewed in part or in total the garden is my absolute visual delight.

This is the Ottawa Valley region, after all in eastern Ontario where weather patterns are known to shift in the blink of an unwary eye. An urban legend that really does have its basis in reality, as any who have lived here for any length of time are prepared to corroborate.

This has been, to say the least, a most unusual summer. In the prevalence of unrelenting heat, in any event. But the overheated atmosphere is a reality all over the world, as it happens this year, so we in Canada are not alone in suffering through a heat wave that takes its toll on all living things. Environmental scientists have reached the conclusion that the stifling heat, responsible for drought and for deadly wildfires has been helped along by the jet stream deviating from its usual pattern, exacerbating climate change that has brought along the phenomenon of global warming.

These changes are seen in the extreme temperatures, winds, rainfalls and wildfires that have raged across the globe. Here in our tiny portion of that globe we persevere and tut-tut-tut at the changes but our way of life and our health  is not, for the most part, directly impacted other than for the discomfort brought to us through prevailing weather conditions. Vulnerable populations with no access to relief, where agricultural output is impacted, where poverty makes all such seemingly intractable challenges worse, will see the impact on them in the number of people dying attributable to the heat.

Our problems, minuscule as they are in comparison, still do afflict some. The elderly in particular are susceptible to the effects of extreme heat and humidity on their failing systems, and among them and the very young there are life casualties. There are also wildfires burning in Ontario and British Columbia displacing people in the affected communities.

Here, in our little geographic enclave, we've adapted our daily routines to minimizing the personal effects of extreme heat and humidity, the dry atmosphere nonetheless where rain has fallen sparsely. And now, suddenly, we're in a situation of relentless, heavy rain and thunderstorms pouring out of the sky to inundate a landscape below gasping for lack of moisture.

Nature's timetable of weather events is her very own.

Areas in the Ottawa Valley surrounding the capital were already in drought conditions and Ottawa was steadily verging toward that same designation a few days ago. Weather forecasters informed us that rain was on the way, but even though we could expect several days of rain and episodic thunderstorms, the moisture deficit for the month of July wasn't expected to close.

Two days later, the atmosphere suffused with high humidity and warm air, the landscape completely inundated with one rain event after another, and two more days of similar weather yet to come, may prove them wrong. The cracks that have appeared on the forest floor have nicely filled in as the ground absorbs the steadily falling rain.

Everywhere we look on forays into the ravine between the rain events, droplets sparkle on foliage as the diffused light from the sun hits them. A visually captivating effect. The vegetation that had slumped so miserably for lack of moisture has been resuscitated, a marvel to behold. Colours are more vibrant, gleaming with the vigour of one of life's necessities now present, hitherto absent.

And in a year when the seasons appear to have telescoped and given us the sight of wildflowers long before they would normally present themselves, both surprising and pleasing us no end as we wrack our memories to try to recall when certain wildflowers were present the year before. we revel on their surprise appearance in the landscape.

We're certain that Queen Anne's lace, seen in such generous abundance now, has had its appearance accelerated vastly over what we would consider normal bloom time, in late July, early August. Similarly with goldenrod and sunflowers. And most certainly fall asters should be blooming, as their name suggests, in the fall, but already they are present, the blossoms beginning to open on the first pale mauve offerings.

To all of this Jackie and Jillie pay no attention. They're busy reconnoitering, sniffing about, appearing to be busy figuring out how and why things appear somewhat different, and when their suspicions are confirmed that an object they've never before seen is present (fallen tree limb, abandoned bird nest) approach it cautiously, with a few warning barks to match.

Yesterday morning we had gone out early to circumvent the likelihood that if we waited for our normal afternoon woodland trail exploit, we would encounter thunderstorms. Light rain is one thing, we can prepare for that, but the heavy fall of rain during an explosive, thunderous rain event is something else altogether. Besides being potentially dangerous.

But from the comforting shelter of our house, an event to be celebrated as clouds clash above, lighting rents the air, and the resulting rain splashes in noisy punctuation against the house windows and we watch, fascinated as the eavestroughs are inundated, water pouring in a fountain of life-affirming abundance onto the landscape.