It's a fairly short drive from the cottage where we stay in the Waterville Valley to get to the Franconia Notch, in the White Mountain National Forest of New Hampshire. About a half-hour, and it's a pleasant drive, mountains enclosing us from every viewpoint on the highway. We had, hours earlier, seen a sobering sight, not associated with the forests, mountains and lakes of New Hampshire. When we took Jackie and Jillie out for their first brief stroll on the grounds, we suddenly became aware of a slow procession of trucks on the near highway, and stopped to watch from our vantage point.

First there was an official fire department vehicle, then a fire truck, and then a succession of municipal trucks, driving very slowly, lights on flash mode, but no sirens, no sound whatever. There was a mournful quality to the procession, as though it was that of a funeral. It was in fact a memorial to the accident in nearby Maine when a propane gas explosion levelled an institute for the handicapped building the day before. A civilian worker and a fire captain lost their lives while responding to the emergency call of a strong gas odour. As they went about evacuating people, the gas exploded, destroying the building, killing two, injuring and hospitalizing seven others.

We continued on with the day, leaving the cottage to head out to the Notch, planning to visit The Basin, where an ancient streambed down mountainsides had carved a wide, deep bowl at the mountain base where the foaming, fuming water thrashes wildly in a circular motion into the basin and onward to join the Pemigewasset River. Not far from the basin there is what is called the Baby Flume, where the geological feature of the basin is repeated, funnelling the furious water on its way with a tremendous velocity.

With Jackie and Jillie on leash we negotiated a relatively short, tricky-footing trail from the main trail in front of the basin where most people tend to gather, toward the baby flume. It's a worn trail, almost as worn as the major basin trail we would later take, both generously laddered with tree roots and rocks, surrounded by forest. It's quite a sight to view the water gushing downstream into the flume, and onward, and we stayed awhile simply to goggle with wonder.

And then we made our way back, past the basin, and on up toward the trail, a steady climb over a damp trail that many hiking boots have over the years tramped through, creating the inevitable erosion of the soil that lies over the granite of the mountain. There are a number of flattened areas of wide, grey granite that beckon the hiker to break their momentum and mosey over to sit on the rockface and contemplate the water falling in great gushing streams down the mountain, over a series of cascades created by the geology.

We keep climbing, as the footing becomes more complex and noted this time that the trail wasn't quite as swampy as it often is, for we've been doing this climb to enjoy this beautiful landscape for decades. Eventually we stop when we feel we've achieved enough height and we're tired enough from the exertion, and make our way through a brief sidetrail to the granite slope inviting us to rest awhile and refresh Jackie and Jillie with water and cookies.

Our eyes are drawn to the rocky surface, to the walls rising above, to the huge erratics that have fallen down the mountainside to settle where they have fallen, immovable and impressive, the water coursing steadily around them, finding their way back to the runnels that time and water has etched into the carapace of the mountain. We see stunted evergreens and some truly massive trees as well. And wonder how tree roots can even establish themselves on the soil deposited over thousands of years to create a forest on a mountainside.

All the more when we see trees growing where none should, where the soil is barely there, and roots cling desperately more to mineral than soil. A beautiful, clear, sunny and windy day.

It certainly didn't look too hopeful for the prospect of outdoor activities yesterday morning. The pouring rain made certain that the house interior was dark. Unlike when it's sunny and I have to double-check that we haven't left lights on because the rooms at the front of the house are so brilliantly illuminated on a sun-filled morning. Instead, it looked yesterday  as though dusk had long fallen and we hadn't bothered putting on any lights.

Listening to the weather forecast failed to make us any the wiser. The weatherman stated with complete confidence that the rain would be over by noon. The temperature would rise in the afternoon, he informed his listeners, to 21C. Actually it rose no higher than 17C, and then only briefly. When noon arrived the rain kept pounding down. So we hoped that by early afternoon, the rain would stop as predicted. While it failed to completely stop, it was light enough that we gambled the forest canopy should keep us reasonably dry.

Jackie and Jillie were pleased to agree. They knew what they wanted to do, and it wasn't to be agreeable to sitting around waiting any longer. We prepared ourselves with rain jackets, and tucked their little jackets into our pockets in case while we were out in the woods the rain decided to really continue tumbling down on the landscape.

Meanwhile, the intermittent light patter of rain posed no problem for us, and off we set, up the road to access the entrance to the ravine. The landscape shone with that very special sheen reflecting off bright colour, making the various greens we encountered brighter than normal. So different from a dry, bright day, that it's dazzling in the sense that the colour hues are much deeper.

Unsurprisingly, as we forged our way through the trail, light rain continued dripping from the overhanging trees though barely touching us, from time to time a seriously heavier, but short-lived burst fell, on a few occasions, quickly swooped up by the protective trees surrounding us, and only obvious when we briefly stepped out of the shelter of the canopy as happens now and again.

There were still a few, very few, thimbleberries left to be plucked off their sodden perches, and halfway through our hike my husband came across a ripe wild apple at pluck-level, to be shared with Jackie and Jillie. Droplets of light-blinking rain sat on needles and leaves, and despite the dark interior of the forest, light was picked up from some source to be reflected in the prism of the raindrops.

And then all afternoon into the evening hours, more of the sun. Except that at one juncture, even while the rain fell copiously, the sun came out brief, coinciding with the rain. A most peculiar of weather anomalies.

Cool and sunny but very windy, we decided to make the trip to West Rattlesnake. It's the only mountain, at a modest 1260 foot elevation that we will now trust ourselves to ascend. We plan to enjoy ourselves within the bosom of Mother Nature, and just mildly challenge our 82-year-old bodies, not create a dilemma for our energy, endurance and musculature to attempt to mount mountains of any significant height.

It's a popular mountain climb because of its modest energy challenge. Young children with their parents, teens, those in midlife and the older generation can all achieve its height with the intention to do so and in good health and physical condition. We take our time. We stop and rest when we feel the need to. Others overtake us on the trail, but we don't mind. We were among the 'others' too at one time.

Jackie and Jillie are happy to be out on the trail. We keep them on leash, both to control their propensity to bark and run after people, and to ensure they don't wander off, leaping after something that takes their interest -- and horror of horrors! potentially getting lost in the forest. We don't, in fact, see that many other climbers out this day. There have been times in the past when we've been on this trail when the flock of other climbers seemed never-ending.

When we first began to climb this picturesque trail where oak and hemlock predominate, and dogwood crowd the understory, our children were young and so were we. At that time, so long ago the trail was as nature made it feasible. Now, the trail has been 'enhanced' over previous decades, presumably to make it easier for climbers to negotiate its twists and turns. We find it otherwise.

The slabs of rock that have been laboriously put in place, along with timbers to form little 'stairs' are a nuisance, impeding our progress, not aiding it. There are many places where erosion has taken place, and the ladderwork of intertwined tree roots form their own kind of stairway, as do the tumbled rocks that have tumbled off the mountain slope at some time in the distant past.

The wind on this occasion has made short work of mosquitoes and that's a good news story. It's cool and windy enough that we need windbreakers, so we wear jackets to shield us from both. Jackie and Jillie wear their harnesses; they won't feel the cold until November arrives. Having them on leash while we climb is a nuisance. It's not Jillie, she is accustomed to walking in a straight line, ahead. Her brother, on the other hand, constantly veers from left to right, tangling their leashes continually.

His nervous disposition inclines him to want to inspect everything, satisfy his curiosity over everything, his moves sudden and erratic, quick and irritating. But there's little point in chastising him, it's the way he works out his nervous energy. It's why he is lean as opposed to his sister's stocky conformation, it's the reason he consumes double the food she does.

There are acorns scattered everywhere on the forest floor, on the trail, and they're much larger than acorns we're more accustomed to seeing. The girth of some of the oaks and pines attests to their venerable age. We see some truly impressive trunks, widespread crowns. Few wildflowers are to be seen adjacent the trail. But we did come across some fairly fascinating mushrooms, a brilliant red, close to the lookout where we eventually take a side trail and come out at the rocky outcropping.

It's always amazing to us that despite the granite face, there is obviously enough soil deposited over time to host ambitious young and sometimes old, gnarled pines and spruces. When we reached the lookout, I was close to being blown over by the wind as it gained strength at the height. We sat awhile, offering water and doggy treats to Jackie and Jillie. Several other hikers came along to view the valley below.

It's a splendid view, in fact, one we never fail to appreciate. And, as we did in June, we decided we would forego the trail leading to the official 'summit' of the mountain, overlooking Squam Lake. Also a very nice view, but mostly too crowded for our liking by others who've made the climb for that very purpose. The 'summit' is at a slightly higher elevation, the granite top wide and flat, but not by much. We simply prefer the serenity of the lookout which we usually visit before or after achieving the summit, but bypassed this time around.

And then we made our way carefully, but relatively speedily back down the mountain, Jackie and Jillie in the forefront, we following, treading over networks of roots and rocks, satisfied with our day's outing, and anticipating the rest of the day before us. So we decided to drive on to a lovely little town, Laconia, to mosey around a group antique shop there.

It is now after all, autumn. And typical of autumn -- though anything but rare this peculiar past summer -- we had a full night of rain. We could hear it in the eavestroughs running busily off the roof through the night. And it was little surprise when we awoke in the morning to a dark day with unrelenting rain. Not that we mind, really. But it did look as though the rain meant to continue throughout the course of the day. And that we would mind, upsetting anticipation of our quotidian walk through the forest.

And then nature changed her mind, expelled the dark clouds from the sky and invited blue to take the place of the clouds, the sun illuminating a very wet landscape. With a bit of wind and lots of sun the garden began to dry out a bit, and out we went to the ravine for our usual hike.

The creek was rippling heavily, coursing over the rocks that line the creekbed in places, and roaring its rain-swollen presence as we descended into the ravine. The forest was drenched-green and luminous thanks to sunrays penetrating the forest canopy. We should have expected that this would signal perfect conditions for fungi. Despite which when we came across luxuriant colonies of mushrooms here and there feasting on rotting fallen trunks, it was a surprise, in a sense.

Each of those incidents in discovering little caches of fungi introduce us to new shapes, colours and textures. Most of them deserving of a photograph. And so I don't disappoint them, take my time and snap a picture; a process made so easy with my trusty little camera.

There are easily more hover flies around than there are bees, though bees are themselves not in short supply this time of year, swooping in on the multitudes of asters and still-blooming Pilotweed plants. A photograph of the large, bright fall asters that are our favourites among all the various types, with a hoverfly or a bee busy gathering pollen is an irresistible attraction for me and my camera.

Jackie and Jillie meandered about here and there as they tend to do. Usually Jillie in the lead and Jackie preferring to hang closer around us, until something moves in the distance sending them both, but Jackie in particular, leap-frogging through the underbrush of the forest interior. Until the object of the chase decides it's had enough fun for the time being and does a disappearing act up a tree.

Jackie finally understands this to be the case, whereas in the past he would just be at a standstill at the 'disappearance', looking about in a puzzled manner, trying to figure out where the squirrel had gone. Now he knows, and looks up the tree trunk, to see those saucy little squirrels waving their tails jerkily back and forth, a signal they have, as usual won the race.

We've been visiting Sabbaday Falls, a scenic waterfall site on the Kancamagus Highway in the White Mountain National Forest of New Hampshire for decades. Ever since we discovered the wide-sweeping magnificence and beauty of this wonderful natural geology of mountains, forests, lakes and rivers. When our children were in their teens (our oldest son will be 60 next month) we bought a White Mountain guide and began, year after year, to explore the area, both in the Franconia and Crawford Notches.

Soon we began climbing the mountains, our family of five eager to take in the views at the summits, considering each of our forays an adventure to treasure. Each of those ascents represented a day's activity, up the mountain, then descending. Eisenhower, Little Haystack, Clinton, Mooselauki, Lafayette, Lincoln, Cannon, Willey. One day, studying the guide, we came across an interesting site called Sabbaday Falls, where it was explained, early area settlers would gather after church services to gather and view the spectacular run-off of mountain streams into the falls.

At that time many years ago, the hike over to the falls and to the trail beyond took place in a completely natural setting, without added aids such as the infrastructure of wooden stairs, railings and balconies that now exist there, encircling the falls area. They were built decades after we had already become familiar with the area. More recently, the site itself was shut down for remedial work and it remained that way for several years.

And then it reopened once again for tourists and nature lovers in general to feel free once again to roam about the area, through the forest trail and up to the granite cliff where the falls spill over into the Swift River which continues to run its course through a granite, boulder-strewn spillway into the Rocky Gorge miles away.

These days so many years later, our children have long been on their own, busy with their lives, and so have we. These days it is our two little dogs, Jackie and Jillie who accompany and companion us on these trips, as they did a week ago when we visited Sabbaday Falls to watch with the same old awe, the forceful volumes of water that tumble over the falls from its height to the river below.

Rain again overnight on Tuesday, but when we woke in the morning the rain was over, although there were ample signs of a heavy downpour that stopped just briefly before dawn. Everything was well soaked. Which in terms of green growing things is positive. When we glanced out the front door first thing in the morning the garden looked content. And we're happy to note that it is still managing to put out fresh flowers, allowing us continued pleasure into the early fall.

We set out in late morning for our daily ravine walk, under purple-bruised clouds auguring more rain to come, but while we were out on the forest trails we were spared the discomfort of rainfall. It was only on our return after a long circuit on the forest trails that rain began again, sporadically and light, despite a high wind moving the threatening dark clouds over the landscape. From time to time there was a bare glimpse of blue sky and then the warmth of the sun shone through for as long as it would take for succeeding clouds to be blown into the blue space.

The forest floor was well rain-penetrated, dark and rich in colour and the smell of damp earth was evident as we moved through the forest interior. There were also patches of newly-emerged mushrooms at the foot of various tree trunks, large and well-shaped. There are so many different sizes, shapes, colours and textures of fungi that we come across on the forest floor and clinging to decaying tree trunks, it's quite fascinating.

We noted as well the march of colonies of fall asters this year far surpassing numbers we're accustomed to seeing in the fall. Asters too come in many sizes, shapes and varieties, from minuscule to large and well-presented in form and shading. The most common variety are those with plentiful blooms in a light shade of mauve and they're in the majority by far.

We're not yet seeing much in colour change in foliage, but it is impossible not to notice the constant rain of tiny desiccated particles of vegetable matter falling all about us from the forest canopy above  as we proceed along the trails; a rain of detritus more noted in some areas than others. It will only increase in volume as we move further into fall. The trails in some places are already well covered with fallen leaves and needles as trees begin to shed.

There is emerging colour, however, mostly immature maples and dogwood turning bright shades of orange and red. The champion early colour-changer is the sumacs of which there are ample throughout the forest understory. And although Virginia creeper is less in evidence than it was last year it too is beginning to bring bright red colour to the forest floor.

It was a cool day, much more so than the preceding days which had been in the mid-20s, whereas yesterday with its cold, brisk wind, struggled to reach 17C, and then rapidly declined with the clouds turning ever darker as they scurried over the skyscape.

Jackie and Jillie find keen interest in sniffing along everywhere we pass finding messages, obviously from other dogs that have been through the trails although we saw none throughout the time we were out. Jackie assiduously leaves his own calling card at signal spots and so frequently I can only wonder how he musters up all that marking fluid.

On return home, we took a brief opportunity before heading off to do our weekly grocery shopping, to navigate the trails in our garden, where everything appears in fine fettle, given the time of year.