Although it seems to us that we've had ample rain this summer, we're informed through the weather news that we haven't yet hit normal, even though the trails in the ravine are well saturated from the pop-up showers and thunderstorms that seem to be hitting us with some regularity. Which is all well and good for us. But it's purely local. The greater area has not been quite as fortunate.

Farmers in the Ottawa Valley are facing a desperate shortage of rain. Their crops are on the verge of failing, everything from pasturage, hay to corn and mixed market crops. It is so dry that streams normally running through farmers' fields are drying up, and cattle cannot find any relief from the heat, so they're being kept in their barns, with fans going and attempts to spread moisture through the air with water sprays.

Farmers have already faced a hit due to COVID which impacted on their capacity to distribute milk and other local products given that restaurants and hotels were closed during lockdown, and much spoilage occurred as a result. There's been an invasion of gypsy moth caterpillars, gnawing their way through forest foliage, threatening their survival, with no natural predators to keep the caterpillars in check. So, no end of woes.

The ongoing heat wave has compelled us to alter our daily routine only slightly. Nothing could have been more disruptive to everyone's habitual course of daily living, however, than the COVID-19 lockdown that kept us isolated for four months. Cases in our direct area are quite low, people exercising discretionary caution and that most certainly has helped. Things seem unfamiliar now, that were once just a casual part of one's daily life.

Thinking long and hard about whether it's really necessary to go anywhere other than for absolutely required missions such as grocery shopping, and not much else. Our sanity is kept well comforted by an integral part of our daily routine not having had to be interrupted, as we've continued throughout the duration of the lockdown to take our two little dogs out every day for long rambles through our nearby forest.


As we did this very heat-exhausting morning, in yet another bid to avoid being out-of-doors in the afternoon, our usual time for a fling through forest trails, when heat is at its utmost severity, as it has been today, hitting 35C by noon. With the effect of humidity, it 'felt', according to Environment Canada, like 43 degrees of heat.

Out in the ravine as we made our way through the forest, the sight of the ongoing bloom of the Thimbleberry shrubs with their bright pink bloom, directly alongside spent blooms already turning into berries, creates a colourful canvas imposed on the brilliant green of the surrounding forest. The fragrance of the Elderberry flower panicles follow us a good distance, carried on the humid breeze from their colonized space beside the creek, running full and oddly turbulent.

We've noticed lately that a lot of immature and seedling firs have died, which is highly unusual. Their bright orange needles provide yet another colour contrast against the dark green of the spruce, pine, maple, oak and poplars. We haven't heard of any kind of infestation of beetle larvae that would target firs, but they're a notoriously shallow-rooted tree with a tendency of their trunks to crack in high winds, though that doesn't explain why saplings are dying.

The understory dogwood shrubs are bearing steadily ripening berries. Unlike the wild raspberries and thimbleberries, serviceberry and elderberry, we won't be picking any of those; like the red baneberry berries which are really toxic, the dogwood berries also have a slight toxicity if eaten to excess. There are fewer little patches of yarrow in bloom this year than many. We've found that some wildflowers have proliferate lavishly this year, like trout lilies and Jack-in-the-pulpit in particular, while others, like daisies and buttercups have been in short display.

On an atmospheric hot day such as this, the blast-furnace force of the sun is devastating. Not only to us but to the vegetation, which tends to noticeably wilt wherever the sun manages to send its overheated shafts down through the forest canopy onto ground level.

But then we finally arrive back home, and wander briefly through the garden, part of which is by then in shade and part in sun, where the reflective light of the sun is blinding, and the shaded areas appear dark and cool, restful and inviting ... before we move on into the house and breakfast.