Nature generously gifted us with a perfect weather day on June 22nd while we were away in New Hampshire. We acknowledged that gift with gratitude, and took up her challenge to make the most of it. The high for the day was to be a tolerable 74 Fahrenheit, with a nice, cooling breeze. And, best of all, no rain in the forecast.

The sky was a crystal blue with the most beautiful, fluffy white clouds coasting leisurely along its width and breadth, the kind of clouds that make one think of sheep browsing in a pasture. How bucolic can you get without even glancing at the landscape below? We had a number of potential choices to work off our breakfast of honeydew, bananas and waffles, tea and coffee.

Serendipitously, this would be a longish drive along the Kancamagus Highway, but one that offered two sites for us to enjoy in one afternoon's outing. In and of itself the drive along the Kancamagus is interesting; it rises precipitously, and the highway snakes along between the mountains so there are plenty of scenic areas where you can stop, get out of your vehicle and goggle at the mountains, forests and valleys below.

Well, because it was also a Saturday we knew that anywhere we'd go we would come across other summer vacationers. This area is not all that far from Boston, and it's a popular destination for people from Massachusetts. And although Motorcycle Week was over, there were still frequent parades of motorcycle groups driving through the mountain passes to enjoy the incomparable scenery. So the overlooks were crowded.

Not nearly as crowded, however, as the parking spots at popular trailheads where enthusiastic mountain trail hikers were determined to spend the better part of their afternoon on this guaranteed-no-rain-day making their way on an ascent toward the many summits that offer the challenge of a view of endless mountain peaks once attained, of the many and varied peaks in the White Mountain range. We're familiar with the sight, viewing one peak after another into the distance, but long past the physical challenge ourselves now, relying on fond memory to recall what that's like.

Anywhere the trailheads were, the roadsides were bumper-to-bumper parked vehicles. When we used to ascend those trails with our teen-age children so many years ago, it was rare to encounter very many other hikers on the trails and particularly above the tree line. Now, it must be like Grand Central Station on most of the trails. We hoped, as we drove on to our destination for the day's outing, that the parking lot and consequently the number of people there to gawk at Sabbaday Falls wouldn't be too awkward for our purpose.

We did, in fact, find a parking spot on our arrival, but free ones were in short supply; just good luck. While we're away from home Jackie and Jillie are always harnessed and kept on leash to avoid any potential problems. We found that despite the number of vehicles parked below on the lot, there were not in fact, all that many people at the Falls. We've seen it far more crowded in the past.

The ascent to the chasm where the falls roar down over an ancient rockbed is medium-steep, and well worth the effort to approach the falls. The forest on either side of the trail features a suite of tree specimens that seem to predominate elsewhere in the region, with hemlock, pine and yellow birch growing to a notable size, and of course ubiquitous dogwood everywhere in the forest understory.Not many wildflowers in evidence but there was bunchberry.

The falls storm their billowing way ferociously down the stone runway. The pool below has a lovely blue-green cast as it adds its never-ending volume to the waters rushing into and through the Swift River Gorge. Quite the sight to behold, the sheer volume and power of the gushing water as it noisily trumpets its sovereignty over the landscape; simply awe inspiring.

Thursday in New Hampshire proved an absolute, utter wash-out. The morning began with light rain but by the time we had finished breakfast the rain had picked up substantially and it was clear that if it kept up there would be no hike in the woods for us that day. We've often enough encountered rainy days on our mountain holidays in the White Mountain Range but generally we can find the opportunity to get out at least briefly for a trail hike when the rain relented, between downpours. Not this time. So we decided to drive to Antique Alley and mosey about there.

The prospect for Friday according to the advance weather forecast held out little hope for any improvement. It had rained copiously all the night before. In fact, rain had been so heavy at times visibility was diminished to a few feet, and to venture out into the rain was to invite a personal deluge. So we weren't surprised when we woke to continued rain on Friday.

We were resigned to the rain, and decided we'd have to make the best of it. We had no intention of remaining cooped in the cottage to avoid getting wet, even if it was cool out as well. Some discussion of our options led us to decide to return to Franconia Notch, only a half-hour away, and to visit The Basin, a spectacular spot on our hiking itinerary -- that this would be as a good a day as any.

We would all wear raingear, and forge on, and this is just what we did. We'd expected to see a mostly empty parking lot reserved for The Basin, but a surprising number of vehicles sat there. Clearly others saw no reason themselves to waste a day by sheltering from the rain. And by then it had changed to a fairly light patter. Under the tunnel we went, Jackie and Jillie eager to begin our day's adventure. Any time we would park at a site throughout the week they would become excitedly animated, voicing their anticipation of a pleasant experience, and this one wouldn't disappoint.

At the Basin itself there is always a crowd of people gawking at the smooth bowl that thousands of years of gushing mountain stream water had carved out of the granite at the foot of Cannon mountain. Most people who visit the site go no further than the adjacent areas where the mountain stream gushes over smooth granite, continuing to carve its gradual signature.

We decided we would take The Flume trail before heading up to the trail leading to the various cascades where the stream tumbles down the mountainside to eventually reach the Pemigewasset River below. This is a relatively, short, narrow trail hemmed in by old yellow birches and hemlock, where the stream runs alongside, roiling and boiling until it reaches what is called the Baby Basin then continues on its way.

In fact, we find the Baby Basin to be just as spectacular as the Basin itself, perhaps more so, and we were surprised, though we shouldn't have been, at the intense volume of the water this year, and the accompanying roar of it flushing downriver. We did encounter a few other people making the side trip, and it was well worth the time and effort.

Just as we feel ascending the larger, much longer Pemi Trail has always been worth the effort, to us. There was a time when we didn't mind extending the energy and devoting the time to do the entire trail which took us eventually to a mountain lake. Now, in our 80s, we're content with making our way over the root-and-rock-strewn trail, to emerge from time to time on side trails onto the bare rockface of the mountain where the clear, clean and cool mountain stream burst down the slope.

We have never before seen the volume of water that tumbled endlessly from the mountain down to its foot and into the Pemi. It was a magnificent sight, and a memorable one that emphasized the force of nature in its raw magnificence. We encountered few other people making the trip upstream on the trail which was itself sodden with rain and beyond boggy in areas as it winds its way through the forest.

Stopping from time to time on the ascent to make those side trips onto the rockface to view at close hand the spuming, rushing stream bouncing down the mountain was a true trip highlight.

Following the long drive of the day before, and all the settling-in activities at the cottage in New Hampshire on our Waterville Valley trip and week away from home, an early bedtime seemed appropriate for all of us. Jackie, in no uncertain terms, informed us he'd had enough excitement for one day and was fully prepared to go to bed, but refused to until we all turned in. So at ten on Tuesday we all popped into bed and it wasn't long before we were all soundly asleep.

Trouble was, they were up soon after the crack of dawn. So we took them out for a brief ramble-about the property. Wildflowers proliferated there too, including daisies and lupins raising their bright heads to the morning sun just rising above the mountains in the distance, and burning off a bit of fog. Wednesday turned out a sunny day, and warm enough at 25C, to be quite comfortable for a nice woodland hike.

That was our plan, in any event, irrespective of the weather, and that it turned out to be a lovely day was an unexpected bonus, defying the weather report warning of pop-up showers and the potential for thunderstorms. Oh, they both appeared eventually, but not while we were out in the woods on the forest trails long familiar to us.

Not long after entering the trailhead for Smarts Brook, we could hear the mountain stream gushing noisily over rocks and boulders that line the sides and bottom of the stream runway. The streambed itself becomes a ravine with striated rocky cliffs rising steadily on either side of the rushing waters. The forest understory is packed with dogwood, moose maple and sumac, the forest itself comprised primarily of yellow birch, hemlock and pine with oak and maple interspersed.

We often see Yellow Admirals in this woods and last Wednesday was no exception, they were in evidence flitting about, their large beautiful yellow wings coasting on a breeze. At one point we saw a group of the lovely creatures congregated close to the trail, interested in something we were unable to make out, before they began dispersing as we approached.

It's a steady climb on the trail, with ample opportunity to veer off from time to time to take in the roaring stream at close range, as the waters leaped in great spurts over the rocks and eddied in its way downstream in beautiful cascades swirling and racing along and around the rocks on its journey down from the Sandwich Mountain above to reach the Mad River.

We climbed the fairly stiff gradient until we reached Pine Flats, a short trail that is, as the name implies, flat. We were looking for the presence of Ladies Slippers, the lovely wild orchids that we've seen on so many occasions there, but we saw only straw lilies this time around. Eventually, on our way back down, we did see one sole pink orchid, and wondered where all its floral companions had gone off to.

Usually, we continue on from the Pine Flats to an adjoining trail that hugs the forest intimately, the Yellow Jacket trail. It's a much longer trail, and takes considerably longer to pass through, about twenty miles in length. It's been taking us at least three-and-a-half hours to traverse in these later years as a circuit which exits just about twenty yards or so from where we entered. We thought we'd leave the circuit for another day when we would feel a little more energetic.

We don't travel light. Although the cottage we've been renting for the past twenty years in New Hampshire comes fully equipped, there are so many kitchen items we tend to take along so I'm comfortable knowing that the items I want to use are close at hand, from strainers to knives, cutting board to pizza pan and casserole dishes.

We never know what the weather will be like in the mountainous Waterville Valley. Usually there's plenty of rain. Sometimes it's warm, sometimes it's cold. So lots of clothing changes for both cold weather and warm, and the inevitable rain events. Raincoats for Jackie and Jillie too. And their bed. It's a little ridiculous all the stuff we pack and carry with us. But we do, and it makes us comfortable while we're there, though it's a right royal pain to pack and unpack.

We used to get up at the virtual crack of dawn many years ago to embark on a road trip like this, now we content ourselves with getting up at seven, and getting things rolling, from feeding the puppies to showering, preparing a packed lunch, tea and coffee, and loading up with suitcases and boxes. Years ago we'd slip into the ravine for a quick walk through the forest trails before leaving, now we no longer do. Once we're fully packed, off we go. Last week that wasn't until 9:30. There always seems to be so many things that need to be done to secure the house before leaving.

On the positive side for a change it wasn't raining. We had a lovely warm, sunny day ahead of us to make for a good drive. Jackie and Jillie were well aware that something unusual was happening; before we left their excitement was manic and they were concerned we would be leaving without them. Once we were all in the truck together they settled down, but didn't sleep, just nervously stood looking out the windows as we drove off and onward.

At the border there was the usual grim hostility of the U.S. border agents with their suspicious questions; above all the ridiculous focus on whether we'd be bringing oranges with us from Canada to the U.S. Funny thing, most of the oranges we buy in Canada are those grown in the U.S. and exported to Canada. But if you've got one with you it'll be confiscated.

Just over the border is our favourite Vermont rest stop adjacent a working farm and in the near distance, the Green Mountains of Vermont. The spacious lawn was freshly mowed, their Viburnum bush was in flower, and everything smelled fresh. Tiny buttercups and daisies were in bloom along with wild strawberries in flower and the fragrance of thyme underfoot was quite deliciously pungent.

Once we had our brunch of clementines, bananas, sandwiches, coffee and tea (sharing with Jackie and Jillie, of course), we set off again and when we reached Franconia Notch over the border in New Hampshire it was photo-snapping-time. Around Montreal traffic is always heavy, but it's close to non-existent on the highways we travel in Vermont and New Hampshire. At 3:30 we arrived at the cottage and our hostess was there to greet us. The puppies know her and ran barking happily toward her for their reunion. They also remember the cottage and were anxious to get inside, out of the sun.

And then the work of hauling everything out of the truck and into the cottage began, leading to the unpacking, a drill Jackie and Jillie know well, as they scampering about, re-familiarizing themselves with everything. When we took them for a bit of a walk around the property they were absolutely delighted, enthusiastically chasing one another. Donna's and Byron's two miniature goats are still there, along with a new bunny, and they're setting up an enclosure for a dozen chickens they just acquired as chicks.

Off we went again, the puppies in tow, along with their over-the-shoulder carry-bags, to do the shopping at nearby Campton. The Hannaford supermarket carries anything anyone might want for a week of home-prepared meals. We deposited one puppy each in the two shopping carts, their bags sitting where children do, at the front, and took our time shopping at the supermarket so well stocked it becomes a pleasure doing the shopping there.

No one asks us to leave because of our two little dogs. Both customers and store employees stop to chat and to take pleasure in the presence of our little black hairy companions for which we're grateful. If on the other hand, we were not permitted to take them along, one of us would remain in the truck with them while the other shopped. But we were assured years ago there was no need to do that; no one would object to their presence in the supermarket.

A long haul for a busy day. We turned in, unsurprisingly, at ten for a long, comfortable night's sleep to begin our week's adventure the following day.

We thought: how wonderful, no rain! That was when we were packing up the truck with all our stuff to return home. True, it was overcast, but it was also cool and it seemed as though we might, just might be able to take the drive home without any concerns about driving rain impeding our progress. As far as 'progress' was concerned, we'd decided to take two-lane highways back, avoiding the boring Interstates, prepared to sacrifice efficiency for interesting sights.

By the time we'd left the cottage in the Waterville Valley and reached Franconia Notch, serious dark clouds had gathered and the rain began. It wouldn't relent for hours. We entered one heavy squall after another. And of course, there were others on the road besides us, and transport trucks kick up a whole lot of water, sending it in spurting gushes behind them to engulf the vehicles following in their wake.

Moreover, in those conditions where visibility becomes very limited the opportunity to pass is pretty compromised. It wasn't, by any means, a boring drive. We could still see Eagles Cliff and Mount Lafayette as we drove through the Notch, as well as the Basin, which we'd visited a few days earlier, clambering up the soggy, root-and-boulder-strewn trail to reach the various points on the smooth granite outcropping of the mountain, in awe at the power of the water tumbling downstream toward the Pemigewasset River.

Jackie and Jillie settled down between us on the front seats of the truck, able to do so because my husband had stretched an outdoor lawn cushion between the bucket seats. Jillie insists on laying her head on my husband's lap; that's 'her' place. While Jackie mostly sits on my lap, peering intently out the windshield and occasionally the side window, at the passing scenery. Until he too nods off to sleep, half on me, half on the cushion. They're good travellers.

We drove from New Hampshire to Vermont and finally New York to enter Ontario by way of Cornwall, to avoid Quebec and above all, Montreal. We usually take the new No.30 highway that bypasses Montreal, but because this was the week that the new Samuel de Champlain Bridge opened, we felt the highways there would be chaotic and congested.

Rain kept us close company for a good long time, relenting gradually only by the time we reached New York State and then slacked off, and finally stopped through Ontario. Before we had left Vermont we stopped at a state rest stop to have brunch that I'd packed before we left the cottage. It's a great rest stop. One thing you can rely on the New England States for, is providing decently attractive, clean rest stops for travellers.

And you can rely on Quebec to close the rest stops it once operated, offering no relief for travellers. Just as the nearby States cordially and civilly offer road instructions in French for the convenience of tourists from Quebec, La Belle Province reciprocates by ignoring the needs of English-speakers, proffering signage exclusively in French.

Since it was raining heavily we were unable to use the nifty new picnic tables and benches for our brunch, and were confined to eating in the truck. We had peaches and bananas, egg-salad sandwich for my husband, and peanut butter on grainy bread for me. As well as thermal carafes of tea for me, coffee for my husband, which he always prepares. Jackie and Jillie shared some of the peach, gave the bananas a pass, and went for the egg-salad, though I had reserved an intact hard-boiled egg to split between the little pigs, which they gobbled up.

The drive did afford us the opportunity to pass through some picturesque little towns, to admire quite a few landscapes, heritage buildings, and on occasion feel pretty sad about signs of local poverty. As anywhere else there are the financially privileged and the economically fragile living in close proximity. We passed wind farms, still unaccustomed to seeing those large, awkwardly alien-looking energy sources that people complain bitterly reduces their quality of life, in situations of close proximity. Not to mention the carnage wrought on bird life.

By the time we were close to home we were certain that the puppies 'recognized' some familiar hallmarks of home. Actually, when we had arrived at the cottage in the Waterville Valley they knew where they were, recognizing a place they have temporarily lived in with us on previous occasions, spring and fall. When they entered our house on our arrival home they were almost delirious with excitement.

And it was how I felt, looking at the garden. Our absence was only a week in duration but what a change in the garden. Clearly, it had rained throughout that week, just as it had where we were in New Hampshire. Our climbing roses were in full bloom, and so were my very favourite clematises. The garden looked as happy to welcome us home as we felt to return home.

The last two days have turned from drenching non-stop rain to full sun, king of the wide, blue sky. All outside spaces are completely saturated. In the garden, the vegetation is uncertain whether to celebrate or to mourn. Most plants are thriving wonderfully. But there are some that look fairly woeful as a result of the copious rainfalls.

Jack-in-the-Pulpit

Our two little weeping flowering peas are losing their tiny leaves at a fairly good clip, and what remains on the trees is covered with powdery mildew. I can only hope it will be reversed when everything finally manages to dry off. Can't complain about the wind, there's a nice breeze helping in the process, and the sun is warm at 22C in ambient temperature.

When we were out with Jackie and Jillie yesterday afternoon tramping through the woods the trail which had finally reversed from its fairly dry condition, reached after months of slippery, mucky condition in recent weeks saw thick muck retrenched as a result of the incessant downpours. Speaking of which, though rain consumed most of the day, we always managed serendipitously to find an hour or so in the afternoon enabling us to get out in light rain, or a brief cessation of rain.

Now, when we return from our hikes in the woods with jackie and Jillie we're back to washing their little paws repeatedly before we can succeed in removing the inky-black mud from their feet. Black detritus kicked up by their nimble feet as they travel along the trails finds itself ensconced in their haircoat even though it's short. It's amazing the amount of it that falls off once we get them into the house and begin to groom them so the house isn't completely overtaken with woody bits and pieces from the forest.

Still, our forays into the ravine along the forest trails continues to consume our interest over what we'll find next awaiting our discovery. And so, when we came across cowvetch mature enough to be in full bloom we thought it remarkable, but it's yet another instance of what all the rain has achieved.

Although the bunchberries are not yet in full bloom, we've come across discrete little patches of them, and their bright white, distinctive little heads are hard to miss. There are other volunteers in nature's varied springtime garden. Buttercups are now beginning to bloom. They are, however, the most difficult of flowers to capture in a photograph, since for some reason their brilliant yellow faces always turn out green.

Wild strawberries are blooming everywhere on the forest floor now. Looks as though it will be a bumper crop for those tiny, luscious berries. The flowers are as lovely as the berries they turn into are delicious-tasting. And it's nice that the much earlier-blooming Jack-in-the-Pulpits too are still around, mature, but as perky as any new-blooming flower could be.

We're seeing far fewer people generally in and about in the ravine. And that's understandable since not everyone wants to encounter mosquitoes and treacherous, slippery downhill trails. We don't use insect repellent, but we do cover up with cotton long-sleeved shirts, taking care to avoid dark colours, and that helps.

We did once buy a special repellent to be used for dogs, and I recall in the distant past having to use it for Button and Riley, but unless we find ourselves in thick swarms of black flies or mosquitoes we'll just manage without the stuff, either for ourselves or for Jackie and Jillie. They too are aware of the presence of nasty little blood-sucking creatures but they haven't yet been in a situation where their presence has been troublesome enough to use chemicals on them.

They are, though, treated for ticks and heartworm as well as fleas and all manner of nasty infections and pathogens. Which makes us wonder sometimes that veterinarians emphasize a little too greatly the potential for our companions to become infected with dire health conditions so that we pump them full of all kinds of chemical agents.