A revelation finally, yesterday morning. We were just rounding the corner to descend into the ravine, following in the wake of Jackie and Jillie's alertness to someone else on the trail before we even entered properly, when we came abreast of one of our neighbours who lives on the street behind ours. Christopher, a very tall, lean man closing in on 70 was wheeling along a large wheelbarrow. We never, ever see him or Margaret in the ravine. Margaret, wraith of a woman that she is, shudders at the very prospect of negotiating all the hills, much less the uneven surfaces of the trails.

As soon as we saw him, it clicked in our minds simultaneously why he would be there with a wheelbarrow. We had watched as the pile of discarded apples so obviously from a cultured tree had made its appearance once again spilling down the slope of the nearest hill to the ravine entrance. This had become, for someone, a yearly ritual, discarding cultivated apples and we had always wondered who it might be; no one we mentioned it to had any idea themselves. And now we knew.

Chris seemed a trifle embarrassed, as indeed I would be, consigning edible fruit to waste. Inedible, he told us. Dry, astringent, not an iota of sweetness. He had tried making applesauce with them, baking them, and nothing seemed to improve their taste. He has two other apple trees they planted in their backyard, and the two others produce excellent fruit; no resemblance whatever to the one whose apples he brought to rot on the forest floor. Well, that was interesting.

Many years ago Margaret used to present me annually with a basketful of gooseberries. They had planted those shrubs in their backyard too, and they produced more fruit than she could manage to use herself. I thanked her, and used the gooseberries to make jam; time-consuming, having to snip away both ends before embarking on the venture, but rewarding. There have been no such presentations the last decade; perhaps they got fed up and removed the shrubs. And so now the mystery of the apples has been cleared.

On Christopher went after a lengthy discussion, back home, and forward we went into the ravine, no longer wondering who was responsible for the apples crowding one another on that slope, looking ravishingly appetizing, but evidently entirely lacking taste, but not, perhaps basic food value. The small, unblemished wild apples we pick as we stroll along the forest trails are mostly divinely edible; not only do we enjoy them but so do Jackie and Jillie. Of course those two little scamps will eat just about anything; they're not terribly discriminating for two smart little dogs.

It was an extremely cool morning; light jackets required. We had sunny intervals, but mostly clouds crowded the sky, and it was windy as well. It was as though we had ordered the 22C cool temperature prevailing as we made our way through the trails in total comfort. And it seemed as though a community-worth of people felt the same way; we saw so many people and dogs out rambling about, most of them old hiking acquaintances.

In one patch alongside the trail on the upper level of the forest there is a colony of ostrich ferns that established themselves a few years back. They're robust and tall, as tall as I am in height. I keep looking for them to 'flower', sending up a stalk in maturity, but they haven't managed to yet. The sumacs on the opposite side of the trail are about as large and tall as they tend to get in this landscape, holding their candles high and proud.

We engaged in the habitual walk-about the garden on our return home. Noting in particular the morning glories rampaging along the side fence at the top of the rock garden. They've mobbed and are busy taking over the large urn we installed up there many years ago. These are morning glories that have naturalized, returning year after year with no encouragement from me. The reverse, actually, since I tear out hundreds of their seedlings where they tend to emerge in areas not meant for their presence.

They also claim part of the fence on the opposite side of the backyard, as well as an area in the garden border at the front of the house alongside the garage wall. Yes, I had originally planted morning glory seeds. And from then on had no need to consider re-planting them at any time. They have entitled themselves to a presence, and that's that.

Later on, after breakfast, I set about my usual Friday morning baking, deciding I'd improvise a recipe to produce butterfly cupcakes. Those are cupcakes that I used to make for our children so many years ago when they were young. They become edible 'butterflies', when the top of the cupcake is sliced off neatly, covered with icing, neatly halved, then perched back on top of the flattened cupcake top, canted to resemble wings. And they do. The batter for these cupcakes was comprised of 2/3 cup granulated sugar, 1/2 cup Becel margarine, 2 large eggs, 1 tsp.vanilla, 1/4 tsp.salt, 1-1/2 tsp.baking powder, 1 cup of cake and pastry flour, 1 cup of flaked coconut and 1/4 c.sour cream. Baked about 28 minutes or less at 375F. For the icing I used 1/4 cup of cream cheese, 1/3 cup Becel, 1 tsp.coconut flavouring and about 2 cups of icing sugar.