Time to pay the piper, as it were. There's a cost to maintaining even a modest garden and enjoying it throughout the spring, summer and fall months. For me, that time is middle- to late-fall. It's energy sapping, and there's a lot of work to cleaning up a mature garden to wait out the winter months. And in Canada, there's a lot of winter months; roughly from late October to early April.

The garden is tired, it has worked enormously to do its best to show off its potential. To reach its potential it requires some fairly basic needs; good soil that has been amended from time to time with compost, along with sun and rain. The summers we enjoy here in eastern Ontario deliver the last two ingredients and it's up to me to provide the first.

Although a garden needn't necessarily be orderly, it does require fairly regular tidying-up. And if it's done regularly that requirement is fairly light, just an hour or two -- often considerably less -- here and there to keep vegetation in check and detritus to a minimum. That being so, maintaining the garden throughout its growing season is not the least bit difficult. A minimum of time and effort.

In the spring I like to contemplate a garden that has undergone the rigours of the winter months but is prepared to welcome a paucity of ministration. The effort at that time is focused on planting annuals, for the most part. The perennials are prepared to take on their own schedule of emerging from the warming soil and managing their growth and their eventual flowering.

Because I prefer to clean up the gardens in the fall so that when spring arrives there is consequentially very little to be done, it is in the fall that the major work involved in garden maintenance greets me. It's when, little by little, the perennials are cut back, the annuals are composted, and whatever bulbs and roots that will be saved are prepared for basement storage over-winter.

There was a time when I was younger when all of this work was done within a day or two. But of course that was with a much younger garden as well, with infinitely less work to be done, although to be truthful, I also did a lot more winter preparation in covering some of the more delicate plants, something no longer required because they've hardened off and are now able to survive the cold of winter.

Now, because I'm older and with less energy to spare, I string out the job of cleaning up the garden and other preparations for winterizing the garden. It now takes weeks and weeks of ongoing effort to effect the complete winterizing. Devoting several hours each time I tackle the job, it will eventually all be done with a relative minimum of energy, conserving both the garden and my capacity to do the work without physical over-extension.

The absolute reality is that I find it all enjoyable; surveying the garden and deciding what will be next. Then looking back and feeling quite comfortable with the energy expenditure and the subsequent results. A happy medium for the garden and for me as well.

Our daily forays into the ravine trekking across the forest trails with Jackie and Jillie are mostly sedate affairs, relaxing and offering us all the opportunity to appreciate our natural surroundings. There are times, though, when drama intrudes of one kind or another to be dealt with spontaneously in response to the unexpected.

For the most part we're familiar with others for whom daily hikes on the intersecting ravine trails has become a leisurely habit, over the years. We're often surprised to see people we've never come across before, and sometimes with dogs, unruly or well-behaved as the case may be. Sometimes these are people we'll never see again, sometimes they are those who will occasionally and briefly enter the ravine for short circuits and with whom we acquire a nodding acquaintance.

Two days ago on one of the trails we were suddenly accosted by two very large dogs whom we hadn't seen before they were right upon us, approaching from behind. A bull mastiff and a black, equal-sized Great Dane/Lab mix we'd never seen before, both of which took an immediate and too-assertive interest in Jackie and Jillie whose shrill barking had alerted us to the presence of the other dogs, behind us.

Because of their intense interest in Jackie and Jillie, surrounding them aggressively, we weren't certain of their intentions, and there was no immediate presence of anyone who might control their actions, so we made an attempt to intervene, to keep the large beasts away from our cowering, distressed little ones, but the dogs were so large, their curiosity kept propelling them toward our two, almost knocking us off our feet, before their human companion finally appeared.

He said nothing, though we greeted him, and continued walking at a good clip down the trail, the two large dogs joining him, but before he was out of sight around a bend in the trail, returning to briefly resume their aggressive interest in Jackie and Jillie. It's likely the dogs themselves weren't aggressive but their sheer, overpowering size and muscled strength was intimidating both to us and our pups, and the incident was unsettling.

It's not that we don't often enough see dogs of that size being walked through the ravine, but these are dogs whose companions are accountable and personable and who make it clear they're in control of their dogs. Even so, the close attention these large animals give to our two fairly defenceless ones makes us just slightly alert in their presence.

Yesterday a drama of a different, but fairly similar sort occurred, when Nova, the 8-month-old white German Shepherd, whizzed up alongside us with an emotional greeting, obviously happy to see his friends. He thinks highly of Irv for feeding him bits of apple when Jackie and Jillie are being likewise indulged, and he picked up a sizeable stick to offer Irv as a gift, wriggling his rump happily. Rob, all 6'-6" of his considerable bulk, a former member of the Canadian military in his mid-60s caught up with his puppy and we stood together talking on one of the most beautiful early fall days we've yet experienced this year.

Along came a young couple walking toward us on the trail with their very small dog, a meek little thing, alarmed by Jackie and Jillie's usual barking greeting. Nova, hearing that barking, moved toward the small dog alarming it, so that it turned and sped back in the opposite direction along the trail -- Nova in hot pursuit -- ignoring in its fright, the calls of the young couple, who soon dropped what they were holding and ran speedily after their little fellow.

Rob authoritatively called Nova to return, and Nova, like all puppies out of sight and presumably hearing, didn't respond. Rob, who'd had heart failure some few years ago and was now wearing a Pacemaker to monitor his heart, wasn't about to take off after Nova, but after a few anxious moments, Nova re-appeared. Rob thought they'd all be best off with his continuing on, and we went on to follow the young couple's trajectory taking the leash, bottle and bags they had dropped with us to restore their possessions to them.

As we hoped, once they caught up to their little dog, they turned back to continue their circuit. The little dog, timid and frightened once again exhibited signs of stress on seeing Jackie and Jillie. An endearing little creature, we felt really badly for the cross between a Havanese and a terrier that he was. He wanted to be picked up and held for emotional security, kept well away from our two little monsters, and we could hardly blame them.

This time the shoe was on the other foot, so to speak.

Our destination on the fourth day of our Waterville Valley stay in the White Mountains of New Hampshire was to turn back to the Franconia Notch and go along to the Basin, since no such trip could be complete without checking in to that landscape of mountain and the ancient waterway that has scoured the mountainside down to the Pemigewasset River, since time immemorial. Late in the season, between summer getaways and autumn tourism, we found the site not nearly as packed as it most often can be in peak season.

We decided we would first off take the trail leading to the 'Baby Basin', one we don't often take, but did this time around, with its narrow twisting trail laddered with tree roots, the trail worn, like the one trailing up the mountain slope, by years of countless boots making the pilgrimage to one of nature's spectacular natural sites.

The Baby Basin is considered to be a miniaturized version of the basin itself, but to our uncritical eyes it represents a visual counterpart of equal attraction to the other. The trail isn't very long and it runs contiguous to the highway, which, when the highway at one point comes into view and disturbing sound, goes a long way to negating the sensation that you're in a bit of a wilderness area, but it's a pleasant diversion.

From there we went along to the Basin itself, which unlike its more modest counterpart which we had to ourselves, had a bit of a crowd of sight-seers around it, snapping photos of themselves and incidentally the scoured-out basin with its tumbling, frothing water for good measure. We knew the crowd would thin and then disappear as we made our way up the mountainside on the trail that very few seem inclined to take.

We spent little time at the Basin itself, just a brief pause and then made our way up toward the trail ascending the slope where the ancient granite bedrock of the mountain stream winds its way upward -- and the reverse when you're descending, right? -- nicely accessible through mini-trails off the worn and tree-rooted, rock-strewn main trail for breaks in the clamber; areas where it's an inviting interlude that presents itself, to linger awhile, seat yourself, contemplate the immensity of the landscape beyond, glimpsed through the screen of trees marching up the mountainside.

The scenery is breath-taking in its scope and majesty, the proliferation of discrete landscapes, the rushing mountain stream, the granite hosting it, the tumbled erratics, the trees growing improbably but determinedly in what should surely be a climate hostile to their presence, perched so close to bedrock for trees to take root, much less stubbornly establish themselves.

Jackie and Jillie tried to go everywhere at once, their interest piqued by everything around them, their senses aroused and their curiosity as well. But, as elsewhere we ventured on this trip, we took care to keep them leashed since their instincts are not necessarily infallible to taking the wrong step here and there or meandering off beyond recall, (despite that they normally respond instantly when we call them) and though we enjoyed the pleasure of our leisurely examination of the area, we were also mindful of the need to ensure our little charges were never in harm's way....

Nature, when it seems to suit her volatile, perverse temperament is never averse to treating us to strange and averse atmospheric conditions. And so it was that last Friday we were gifted with violent thunderstorms and high humidity when the temperature soared to 29C, and then, according to Environment Canada and the stark evidence left behind, we were treated in this geographic area, to no fewer than six tornadoes of varying strength and destructive capacity.

We in the east end of the city were fortunate to escape the carnage that ensued in the violent sweep of the tornadoes; those living in the west of the city and beyond were infinitely less fortunate. It will take a long time for those affected to turn their lives back to normal, to amend the horrendous losses, and the memory of the circumstances that afflicted them on that day will linger long.

The April before last we were ourselves plunged into a concerning weather pattern whereby too much rain acquired in too short a period liquefied the Leda clay that makes up such a substantial portion of the ground where we live, the result being that the hillsides of the ravine across from the street we live on began slumping, taking that portion of the forest whose trees stippled the nearby hills crashing and clashing into the creek below. Remediation work took a long time with heavy equipment and their crews working diligently to secure what was left of the hillside, encroaching on the properties of anxious homeowners hoping their houses wouldn't tip into the ravine, some of whom were forced to evacuate their homes for the summer months.

We're back to normal, but the folks out in the west end having just experienced a catastrophic weather event that destroyed many houses and buildings and shut off power to a quarter-million residents, face a much greater challenge than we ever did. Back to normal, we've had so much rain and accompanying high winds that the forest is now steeped in rain puddles -- where all the rain that fell incessantly last week had made no impression whatever, the forest floor remaining high and dry.

We hardly imagined we'd be able to get out for our usual walk in the forest with our puppies, yesterday. We had been locked out on Tuesday; too much rain to enable us to embark on even a short trail circuit. But finally yesterday afternoon we went off, wearing rainjackets with Jackie's and Jillie's raingear tucked into our pockets, under dense, watery clouds that had for the moment ceased leaking, planning to hustle back in a hurry if the skies opened up again.

Our tentative foray took us on a shorter-than-usual circuit, but then we decided since it hadn't rained again yet, to elongate the circuit, taking a trail we hadn't bothered with in ages, which took us to the remediated area where huge iron rods had been smashed down to bedrock to stabilize the hills and logging trucks had hauled out all the downed trees. It's open looking in that area now, barely resembling how it once looked, but it made for an interesting trek, and we were grateful for the opportunity to get out and about.

One of the never-fail items I attend to when we're planning a trip to the White Mountain National Forest in New Hampshire is to check the weather forecast for the days when we'll be there. There's a ten-day forecast and what it portends regulates what we'll be packing in clothing, whether for cold and wet days or primarily sunny warm days. This time was no different.

And when the weather forecast advised that we'd be heading into wet, wet, cool days with little relief in the offing we mostly packed cool-weather clothing with ample rain gear for us and for Jackie and Jillie. Better be safe than sorry, right? Well, turned out the never-fail advance weather forecast was not only wrong, but spectacularly so. We used very little of the cold weather clothing and none of the raingear.

No complaints, really. We did have enough warm-weather clothing to do us for the week away, stretching it a bit. And when we were off on the forest trails we were grateful to see blue sky above between nice white fluffy cloud formations. Just as well we spent so much time on the forest trails where the tree canopy shielded us from the sun in fact, since three or four of those days were warm at 80+F-degrees.

At Rocky Gorge off the Kancamagus Highway not far from Conway, we admired, as usual, the ancient effect of powerful mountain streams scouring the granite into a deep channel as runoff from the mountainsides into the Swift River roared and foamed through the gorge. Our destination, though, was the trail that looped the Falls Pond just beyond the gorge, a mile-long forest trail that offered Jackie and Jillie and us the opportunity to enjoy a pleasant hike through the forested area whose geology is so incredibly spectacular, drawing us back to visit, year after year.

The still beauty of the small lake in its serene setting, reflecting the forest that surrounds us, is one that anyone would appreciate. There, the blue sky and its attendant white clouds were mirrored in the lake, along with the brilliant green of the trees.

The Lovequist loop trail that we take is picturesque, the trail itself steeped in orange pine needles and the surrounding trees of various vintages soaring on elevated areas reaching out to the mountain slopes presenting a wide and fascinating canvas. There's a modest series of ascents and descents, and for the most part the lake can be glimpsed through the screen of the trees. The sun, streaming down on the lake transforms its ripples into diamonds of brilliant light.

The modest effort it takes to complete the loop and arrive back at the gorge provides us with an experience we all enjoy and value for a multitude of reasons; the physical, leisurely effort, the aesthetic of the scenery, and the satisfaction in once again being immersed in some of nature's most remarkable landscapes.

Many years ago when we first began taking our-then teen-age children to the White Mountains of New Hampshire for an annual mountain-climbing holiday, there were no fees to access that huge federally-administered geological site of great beauty and renown. An immense tract of mountains, valleys, forests, lakes and rivers. We were free, as far as we knew back then, to venture on any of the mountain trails through the Crawford and the Franconia Notches and less frequently the Pinkham Notch, and we indulged ourselves happily.

Much later, there was a modest fee imposed for a one-week permit to enter the National Forest and on our arrival we would make a trip to the closest national forest office and procure a permit that cost us $5; free to U.S. citizens of our vintage, but as Canadian visitors a fee imposed upon us, and an inconsequential one we gladly paid for the privilege of accessing mountain trails.

For the past several years the weekly fee has been abolished and in its place an equally modest $30 fee good for an entire year, which nicely covered our spring and fall trips to the Waterville Valley area. For the past several years one of our favourite waterfall sites, Sabbaday Falls, has been closed to remediation work. When we first visited the site decades ago there was no access infrastructure, later built as a series of platforms and stairways, and it was this infrastructure that was being repaired.

On this trip in September finally the site was open, unlike June when it was still closed. So we were able to indulge ourselves in the appreciation of a powerful and magnificent landscape, one that offers a trail that we took ages ago and had no interest in repeating, knowing that just down the Kancamagus Highway was another spectacular geological site combining forest, mountains and lake complete with a pleasant mountain trail that we looked forward to accessing with Jackie and Jillie.

We've arrived at that sentimental, pensive time of year, when summer has declined and fall has arrived and all the signals and symptoms remind us that winter is on the horizon. In the forest, trails are now liberally sprinkled with fallen foliage, the forest floor has absorbed most of its luxuriant green summer vegetation, and in our garden there has been a noticeable slump in the floral production, most of the perennials preparing for their long sleep.

The hydrangeas maintain their appearance, however, and roses are blooming their last hurrah of the summer, those faithful standbys. Most of our plentiful hostas remain in fine shape, their various types of foliage in shape, size, colour and texture an ongoing pleasure to view, along with the cold-hardy heucheras. The small hibiscus in the back is still pumping out its vibrant golden flowers of impressive size and presentation.

The larger, more weather-hardened cultivar in the front garden has taken a rest in between its bloom season, but it has been busy the last month producing new flowerbuds which will soon bloom as its goodbye to summer.

The front lawn which had suffered such a disastrous dieback from the activity of the Japanese beetle grub infestation has been transformed by the second grass seeding my husband applied with such high hopes a month earlier, to once again resemble a glowing green lawn. So that much at least has been accomplished in our ongoing battle with the Japanese beetles which had feasted heartily on our many rose shrubs in the past several years.

The begonias, such industrious little plants producing such gorgeous blooms, are still at it. In short order I'll be cutting them back, collecting the bulbs, shaking excess dirt off and storing them overwinter in the basement, to be re-planted in the spring. I'll do the same with the canna and calla lily roots, responsive to the same treatment.

I could save some of the flowerheads of those magnificent zinnias and marigolds that have brilliantly ornamented the front garden bed this summer to be liberally sprinkled over the same area come spring. It's something I used to do many decades ago when I first introduced myself to the craft of gardening. In the meantime, for the month we have left -- we hope that much, at least -- before serious night-time frosts set in, we'll still enjoy whatever the garden produces.

We've had weather events in the last week all over the atmospheric map in this area. When we returned from our trip on Tuesday it was very warm at 26C, and sunny. The following day we had copious rain in the morning after an all-night rain event, but the sun came through and we had a lovely day, after all. More of the same in the day to follow, but Friday capped it all. Again, Thursday overnight heavy rain, on into Friday morning, and quite cool, around 14C. Then the sun erupted out of the cloud-shrinking sky and the temperature rose precipitously along with the humidity levels to reach 29C. Throughout the day there were really strong winds.

In the morning my husband had driven his truck to Canadian Tire to find out why the engine light had come on again. Before our trip he'd had it tested and everything was fine. The test analysis result was that a part needed replacement. By the time we'd had our early afternoon walk in the ravine, and my husband mowed the lawn, it was time to retrieve the truck, and he walked through the neighbourhood to the Canadian Tire store to pick it up. All the way he battled heavy headwinds, as the sun receded and heavy dark clouds returned.

He stopped by the supermarket close by to pick up a few food items and when he exited, rain had once again begun to fall, amidst raucous thunder and he watched on the near horizon as lightning lit up the sky and bright daggers erupted from black cloud to penetrate the ground below, then he reached home just as the wind increased and the rain came pelting down. I was at home, noting the flickering power in the house.

It was only the next morning that we realized the depth and extent of the weather phenomenon that had passed through this area. Two tornadoes, one hitting West Ottawa and Gatineau, Quebec with 235kmh winds, and a slightly weaker one hitting elsewhere in the area. Fifty homes were destroyed, a quarter-million people left without power, trees uprooted, hydro lines cracked, vehicles overturned and people evacuated from their homes until it was deemed safe for them to return. Two days later some have been allowed to return, and power has been restored to about 200,000, others will have to wait until emergency crews working frantically are able to fully restore capability.

Meanwhile, we've been able to resume our normal daily routine with no disturbances whatever. Going out daily for our usual ravine walks with Jackie and Jillie, working in the garden to begin the fall clean-up in preparation for winter onset. We've seen no damage in the forested ravine, other than a sprinkling of fallen twigs and foliage.

And we consider ourselves personally very fortunate indeed. Able to take satisfaction in the security we enjoy, while appreciating the misery visited upon others who have the misfortune of -- in this instance -- living in the direct path of a freak, weather-anomalous system whose powerful dimensions have shredded the security of their lives however temporarily. On the positive side of the ledger, no one lost their lives, and no injuries were reported.