There was another spectacular light show outside our bedroom windows the night before last. Flashes of electrical light entered and moments later the boom of thunder alerting us to the impending rush of rain to come in its full abundant frenzy, lashing the windows and presuming that if light could enter our bedroom via open windows, so could the rain. Time to close off entrance points.

The thought came to our sleepy minds that these theatrics were right on cue as forecast. And that it was likely they might continue through the day. They were, and they failed to. By the time we awoke hours later although the landscape was utterly drenched and dripping, it was under a clearing sky and the sun was already on duty, turning the droplets of water still streaming down the glass of our patio doors into diamonds.

Jackie and Jillie could sense they were in imminent view of a ravine walk as usual. The very transmission of our minds to theirs sending them into a tizzy of excitement they express by leaping madly about, challenging one another to their interminable physical duels where each performs precision moves to foil the other and someones one is ascendant, sometimes the other.

In the ravine they became somewhat becalmed, too busy being alert to the wide assortment of odours, fragrant and pungent reflecting things we ourselves likely would fail to appreciate if we could but interpret them as little dogs are adept at doing. They veer about from one side of the trail to another seeking out the source of the fragrances that waft toward them from everywhere on the forest floor.

Yesterday's forest was as dripping and as bedazzling to our eyes as was that of the day before when similar conditions; rainfall minus the thunder and lightning inundated the landscape transforming it into a venue of deep blazing colour, everything with an especial sheen of rainwater turning the vegetation into a seemingly magnified version of exquisite detail and colour.

Jackie and Jillie had the opportunity to importune and intimidate Sasha, herself a fairly boisterous dog, but never failing to humble herself before the onslaught of two smaller, arrogant dogs who think that because there's two of them they have the upper hand in claiming possessive rights to the ravine and all others must accede to their 'ownership' of all they survey.

When we returned home from our ravine jaunt it was to view a garden saturated, colourful and exuding confidence in its beauty. We find ourselves unfailingly amazed at the size of the hibiscus blooms that proudly parade themselves day after day. And we're finally satisfied that the zinnias have managed to branch out and up to rival their robust presence of last year's garden.

The copious rainfalls the gardens have enjoyed this summer went a long way to satisfying the needs of thirsty growing plants. The trees overhanging the walkways at the centre of the garden beds and borders tend to shed bits of foliage in such heavy rains which also prod spent flowers to loose their grip and fall to create a growing heap of detritus. From time to time so much of the walkways become covered with vegetative cast-offs there's little choice but to assemble the clean-up brigade and tidy things up.

After breakfast my attention was turned to a Friday dessert, and because both cream cheese and fresh pints of blueberries had been on sale when last we did the food shopping I thought to pair them and bake a blueberry cheesecake. So that's just what happened. I used a scant 2/3 cup of Graham cracker crumbs, 2 tbsp. of butter, 2 tbsp. of dark brown sugar and a half-tsp.of cinnamon to make a bottom crust, pre-baked it briefly, then scattered a thin layer of white chocolate chips over the partially baked crust.

Then I put together a half-cup of granulated sugar, a small 340 gram tub of cream cheese, 2 large eggs, 1/4 c.sour cream, 1 tsp.vanilla, and whipped it all together to a nice smooth froth, poured it over the crust, and baked it in a 325F oven for about an hour. Meanwhile, I mixed a half-cup of granulated sugar, 2 tbsp.corn starch, 1/4 c.cranberry juice, and the washed blueberries into a small saucepan, stirring, bringing it all to a simmer, then stirred until the blueberries had 'melted' and the mixture was thick. Turned off the heat, added 2 tbsp. butter and a tsp. of brandy flavouring.

When the cheesecake had cooled sufficiently, the blueberry topping was spread over, and the finished product was set aside to cool for dessert at dinnertime. Our weekly concession to a shared sweet tooth. My husband would later barbecue chicken drumsticks and cauliflower in a casserole dish in the barbecue. I had a chicken soup cooking on the stove (Jackie and Jillie get to eat the chicken from the soup through the week supplementing their dry dog food). I cooked a small amount of rice to go with the soup, along with finely chopped green onion.

The atmosphere in the ravine has freshened considerably with the cooler weather now in the mid-20s that we've been enjoying -- cooler than that for us given that those are the daytime highs and we now venture out onto the forest trails fairly early in the morning. Along with the cooler weather we've got high humidity, so it seems just as warm as it was when 30C was the normal high for the day unless it has rained, lifting the humidity even though the forest drips with moisture.

Yesterday, because we'd had so much rain and so recently, it was both humid  and dripping. So anyone foolish enough to fumble about in the shrubbery to retrieve ripe berries would come away with more than they bargained for. Not only becoming good and wet because all the vegetation has been well glazed over with rainwater, but assailed by mosquitoes as well, those blood-sucking little monsters that thrive after a rain event, when it's humid and the forest shadows the trails.

Jackie and Jillie thought they'd do a little prospecting of their own, stopping beside one another to sniff appreciatively at the fragrance of ripening berries on the thimbleberry bushes but having no idea how to go about plucking the berries from their  high perches. Button in her day grew adept at nosing out dropping raspberries and blackberries and helping herself at random.

The creek is running high, wide and muddy these days, sweeping detritus fallen into its swiftly moving waters along with it. All the accumulated rainwater is making its way steadily down to the mighty Ottawa River via the Bilberry creek along with other regional waterways large and small. The creek is the favourite destination for many dogs like Labradors who adore paddling about in it. Our two have no interest in dabbling in the water, and it's just as well since runoff from farmers' fields as well as from local gardens and the fact that the municipality regards it as an arm of the storm-sewer system ensures it will have some fairly nasty chemicals in it.

And not to be overlooked is the fact that young people are known to smash bottles and toss them into the creek, making it hazardous for unsuspecting people and animals. Button once sustained a considerable gash down the length of on one of her legs at a time when she was allowed to enter the creek, and after that she never again did. There are far too many people who have no respect for the house of nature that we all rely upon to keep us healthy and safe. When its health is compromised by carelessness and stupidity, so is ours.

There are bittersweet vines intertwining with tree branches, drooping their berries of bright orange, and some of the many hawthorns growing along the forest trails are also showing off their late-summer haws, like tiny wild crabapples. We stick strictly to the wild apples ripening beautifully now on the wild apple trees, as particular favourites at this season with Jackie and Jillie.

The sun did come out, it always does. Never would we be justified in complaining that this area we live in is short in sunlit hours. Irrespective of the season we have ample sunlight exposure. Jackie and Jillie came across some of their friends, and so did we. A Lab we've all been newly introduced to, and two little fluffy terriers that we've known for years, sweetly affectionate little dogs, companions to Scott, the young fireman whose mother we've known for even longer and who named her little Shih Tzu Angus.

Usually when we get back home after our hike in the ravine, Jackie and Jillie have a vigorous run-about chasing one another all over the house. Something about our daily walks seems to energize them to the point where they indulge in quite frenetic antics with one another, challenging to races, leaping about, wrestling. Any time I attempt to photograph them in action, they notice the camera and come to a sudden, complete stop. Game over, ma.

Jackie will look at me expectantly. Just as he does in the afternoon when he feels that if I'm in the kitchen doing some pre-preparations for dinner, it's logical that I should think of their rumbling tummies and offer up some treats; vegetables, little doggy biscuits, anything will do, thank you very much.

If we've been out on the deck, relaxing and reading, Jillie will always move out from under the canopy covering the deck, to splay herself right out in the sun. By the time we're ready to re-enter the house she is decidedly over-heated, her black coat absorbing the rays of the sun. Jackie prefers to leap up beside one of us and snooze for an hour or so. When we decide to go back into the house Jillie makes a swift beeline for the family room to settle herself under the coffee table which she obviously regards as the coolest place available for her to shake the warmth that has pervaded her body.

By four in the morning the night before last we became aware that there was a drenching downpour in full action outside our bedroom windows. We keep our upstairs windows open at night to catch any stray night breezes for their cooling effect and of course the unmistakable sound of heavy rain penetrates our consciousness if it's sufficiently emphatic. We mumbled to one another that the garden would be pleased and turned over, back to sleep.

When we finally awoke to greet the dawn not too many hours later it was still raining, so we turned over again. Finally up just before eight it was clear by then that we were in for a rainy day necessitating that we do a mental adjustment from the usual expectation that we would begin the morning with an energetic though relaxing ramble in the woods, to holding off until we could be assured we wouldn't be drowning in the woods.

The forecast had been for morning showers morphing into an 80 percent chance of afternoon thunderstorms. Showers, we always reason, can be dealt with by the forest canopy, even one drenched by hours of steady rain, but thunderstorms are far different; penetrating and with a tendency toward stormy violence in serious downpours. And these were no mere showers we were being treated to, but constant heavy rain throughout the morning hours.

When we looked out the front door, prospects for an outdoor adventure any time soon seemed pretty remote, so we resigned ourselves to the rare possibility that no ravine jaunt would be possible, yesterday. As it happened, our guests had chosen Wednesday to drive back to Toronto and a driving, incessant downpour certainly doesn't represent ideal driving conditions. But our daughter-in-law was expected back at her office the following day and that was that.

They left after breakfast and packing up their car, and we settled down to await a break in the weather. Upstairs, making up our bed, Jackie languished in a kind of doggy-despair that our routine had been interrupted, cocking his head at me as though to ask when we'd be leaving for our hike. I discovered where Jillie was when I walked down the hallway to see her little head pop up behind the top stair leading downstairs.

But the rain did stop. And we did get out. And Jackie and Jillie enjoyed the full opportunity to range about freely in the ravine, sharing it yesterday with no one else at the time we were out. All the vegetation glowed bright green, glazed with what looked like a thick layer of rainwater. From above excess rainwater dripped steadily. It was a sodden forest we strode through yesterday afternoon.

Tranquility and silence accompanied us through the forest trails. Not a sound out of our two puppies busy burying their snouts in plots of ferns and grasses we passed. Zipping ahead any time a squirrel momentarily appeared out from the forest and across the trail. We heard a pileated woodpecker hard at work in the distance, and the exquisite, high-noted melody of a cardinal floated over to us through the screen of the forest.

Although the temperature rose to only 22C it seemed infinitely warmer as a result of high humidity and no wind. The very act of letting our minds wander as we walk in a familiar rhythmic leisure over roots and rocks scattered here and there on the trails, seeing familiar landmarks as we pass, on occasion calling one or other of the puppies to return to the trail from their occasional sprint into the woods, is infinitely relaxing and familiarly reassuring that all is well with our little world within the greater world of misfortune and strife for so many others.

We haven't yet seen any signs that we will be proud possessors of a neat green lawn before this summer is out. None of the grass seed laid down less than a week ago has yet sprouted, no surprise. And this was special grass seed, a more robust variety, impregnated with fertilizer to hasten things along. The lawn still looks forlorn. Of course the state of the garden beds alongside the lawn does provide some visual assurance that all is not lost.

If I really had to choose between a well behaved lawn of weed-free grass or a mischievous but attractive garden, my choice would always come down in favour of the garden. Lawns can be very attractive, but gardens can be impressive, rendering much satisfaction to the gardener. I'm convinced that the care of lawns weigh heavily on the minds of men, not women.

And that it is women largely who cling to their gardens, even though I know that men too are avid gardeners. I don't think there's anything quite as satisfying as viewing a garden that has decided it might just as well corroborate with the ministrations of a gardener who takes the time and trouble to pamper the vegetative residents of the garden to persuade them through gentle care and attention that it would be to everyone's advantage if they responded with grace and an amplitude of blooms of size, shape and colour to delight the eye.

Their reward lies in the enrichment of the soil they grow in, to enhance their growth, in the life-affirming irrigation courtesy of a watering pail, and the admiration they elicit from the gardener, grateful in turn to see that his/her ministrations have borne fruit, so to speak.

We never tire of looking at the garden, at peering at minutely-displayed floral offerings, or at the entire landscape of the garden as a whole to gain a moment-by-moment appreciation of all the changes that take place throughout the emerging and progressing and maturing of the seasons from spring, to summer to fall.

And when we haul ourselves off along with Jackie and Jillie into the ravine to ramble along the forest trails on our daily hikes, a similar kind of appreciation of the landscape and of the minutiae of the evolving vegetation in nature's untouched garden, through the seasons takes place. We had arisen earlier than usual yesterday morning, before our visiting older son and daughter-in-law, taking a break from their daily lives in Toronto to do a bit of travelling and stopping by with us for awhile.

So we slipped out of the house with Jackie and Jillie to make for an even earlier-than-usual morning turn in the ravine. Cool, sunny and windy it was. We hadn't gone long before we came across a woman we'd known as a friend of a neighbour years ago, with her husband, and two grandchildren in tow. The boy ten, and his sister, six years old, were taken with our puppies and tried to convince them they would enjoy being tightly held and hugged to death.

Halfway through our walk another grandfather, this time with a dog of his own accompanying four grandchildren who, he explained, had arisen before six, and since  he had them for the day while their parents, visiting from Smith Falls, took a few days off from parenting, and he couldn't think of anything else to do with them to keep them occupied he brought them to the ravine. Grandfather held the had of a tot of a boy, two older girls around 7 and 8, wandered widely with energy to spare through the forest beyond the trails and the oldest girl, restrained at 12, walked staidly alongside her grandfather.

It was apparent to us that the grandfather was the age of our older son. Which places things in a thoughtful perspective, prodding our minds in all directions.

In these late-summer days the garden seems anxious to over-reach itself. So many of the plants are either preparing for a long winter rest, like the lilies, or stretching their growth patterns like the hydrangeas, crowding out less assertive plants. The garden beds and borders that looked so pathetically sparse in mid-spring but whose every manifestation of new life delighted us like long-lost relatives come home at last, are now groaning under the impressive presence of late-summer blooms.

There's a type of heuchera (the red-leafed coral bells) that have always thrived in our garden, a lovely counterpoint to the great variety of hostas that we so favour for the graceful presence of their architecture, their foliage shape and colouration, complemented by heuchera that are as hardy and resistant to pests as the hostas.

Hostas are amenable to being split, to having portions of their root system especially in spring, severed in pieces around the edges, then transplanted to new locations. One hosta over a number of years can have 'mothered' countless other hostas. Similarly, heucheras too can be split and separated and planted elsewhere. I've given pieces of both to some of our neighbours and they thrive.

Heucheras of the red-leaf type are also, on the other hand, extremely prolific. They will send little 'pups' into the most surprising places. The garden beds closest to the house were enclosed years ago when my husband built retaining 'walls' of stone where the beds are higher than the walkways. The walkways were put in place according to a pattern my husband designed, comprised of paving bricks at the same time, quite a time- and energy-consuming task he set himself to.

He designed the garden in a manner he felt would be most complementary to the elevation of the house to give us an inner, very private courtyard, with a patio surrounded by garden beds, and another further down the pathway where it meets with the driveway. Over time red heucheras that had been planted at the edges of the beds dropped their pups into the wedge between the retaining walls and the walkways.

At first I would carefully remove the pups when they attained enough of a size that convinced me they would survive the extraction and replanting. As the years passed so many of these pups presented themselves I just left them where they were finally, and now there are red heucheras albeit limited in individual size, lining the notch between wall and path. They're extremely ornamental and I've left them there.

From time to time I've found that lobelia will also send down seedlings to take root elsewhere in the garden than the garden pots they've been planted in, and so will petunias, so they too grow happily and flower in the interstices. And then there are the mosses, some of which are the common type we're familiar with, and other dainty, lacy networks of infinitesimally small moss with the tiniest of tiny flowers coming to bloom upon maturity.

Moss, in fact, has made itself quite at home between the bricks, thickly bright green, happily ensconced and resistant to evacuation. Because our gardens are so crowded and consist of mature ornamental fruit trees and various types of conifers from Mugo pine to weeping caragena and mulberry, flowering crab and false cypress there is always foliage or fruiting bodies or spent rose petals that fall onto the walkways and they have to be swept regularly.

The moss doesn't mind. I can feel the broom when it hits the soft moistness of the moss but the moss is confident in its ability to remain in place and it does. Of course the fact is that we're hemmed in with vegetation from trees to shrubs and flowering seasonal plants although sun does penetrate at certain times of the day, yet there is enough shade to encourage the moss to continue insinuating itself uninterrupted. And it does.

All of this gardening preoccupation takes second place to our daily outings with Jackie and Jillie. We tend to the garden after we've tended to the priority of getting out into the ravine for a brisk and lengthy cruise around the forest trails. Yesterday morning Jackie and Jillie were introduced to a giant of their species when they met up with a Labradoodle as curious about them as they were at its presence.

The morning, as has become routine at this stage of summer, began with a temperature cool enough for light jackets to be worn but by the time we exited the ravine an hour or so later the sun had reached a higher point in the sky and accessing street level, walking down the street toward our house felt good and  hot. So much so that when we sat out on the deck at the back of the house later in the afternoon we baked under an atmosphere that had gone from 14C to 26C in a matter of hours.

With a good robust breeze, however, shielded from the sun by the full summer leafy canopy of the forest we were extremely comfortable while out hiking. No need these days to bother taking water with for Jackie and Jillie, they're simply disinterested under these conditions. But not disinterested in eating the berries my husband picks, nor pieces of wild apple proffered them as we stroll along areas beside the trails hosting wild apples, some of them casting off their bright red fruit, others holding them tight until someone enterprising enough to recognize their value picks them.

We're curious to see what will become of all of my husband's hard work in once again laying topsoil over our existing grass to try to coax the grass seed that he newly laid over it to result in a reasonably good lawn. He worked for hours last Friday and Saturday to get the job done, and ours isn't a very large plot at all. For someone his age it represents a considerable amount of physical labour.

He had 22 bags of 28 litres apiece of enriched garden soil to empty into wheelbarrows-full to be sprinkled over our pathetic plot of grass. Since then he's been watering it all in every two days and it will be interesting to view in a week or so whether all that work will have been worthwhile. Truth to tell, at this time of year in late summer most lawns look pretty played out.

Bare batches appear, and the grass looks pathetically dry, even though this hasn't been a particularly dry summer. We do have ample rain events on a regular basis. There was a time when people would regularly water their lawns through the summer months. With greater awareness of the need to conserve resources, water included, that habit has grown out of favour, deservedly.

The theory being that grass will survive being dry. It may look awfully parched, becoming yellow and desiccated in appearance but is capable of recuperating once it is adequately irrigated. And the rainfall we receive is more than ample to do that. The theory also is that grass becomes too highly dependent on regular applications of water, and when people stop watering lawns the shock results in an unhappy lawn, visually unappealing. As though the condition of our lawns is the most important thing a householder can think about.

Still, the municipality doesn't appreciate it when homeowners allow their lawns to become weedy, or they fail to mow their lawns frequently enough. A notice will be received in the mail that the town has taken note of the situation and the owner of the property can either amend the situation on their own or the town will do so and charge them accordingly.

At least the gardens look fairly good. Tending them seems to be less physically onerous than what the grass demands, truth to tell. And the value of the benefits in viewer-satisfaction tends to be much greater, at the same time. The garden pots we have installed all over appeal to our love of colour and form, even when the resident plants have outrun their season's 'best before' dates. The garden beds and borders represent a pleasant oasis for us, even a secret garden up close to the house where they cannot be seen from the road.

And it's where Jackie and Jillie end up at the close of our daily outdoor adventures in the ravine traipsing through the forest trails. They mosey along the pathways, check to see if anything unusual is present, and just seem to relax in a manner somewhat similar to our reaction strolling about taking note of this and that.

On our ravine hike yesterday morning Jackie and Jillie were introduced to a tiny, six-month-old Chihuahua who walked to perfection on leash. This adorable little dog was curious about them and eager to make their acquaintance. It is learning to appreciate the adventures awaiting it in the great wide world it so lately entered. Jackie and Jillie are small dogs but they literally towered over this little fellow.

And then, not long afterward, we came across another fairly new acquaintance they've seen on a few previous occasions, a full-size Standard poodle, black just like them, perfectly groomed, energetic and playful, happy to romp about with his own distant relatives who tend to be yappy, while the large dog holds his counsel wisely.