Some culinary habits are predictable. Those are the ones when you always serve a particular dish on a particular day. For us, it's fish of some kind on Thursday. For some reason I've just been doing that for umpteen years. Sometimes it's a half side of baked salmon, others it's breaded halibut, also baked in the oven. My husband isn't fond of salmon but he dutifully eats it. On occasion I'll agree to have him do the salmon on the barbecue. It's messy cleaning up afterward. Yesterday we had halibut, dredged in seasoned breadcrumbs and served with oven-baked chips. Prefaced by a nice big fresh vegetable salad. My husband tolerates the salad, and enjoys the chips.

Last week he suggested that it might be interesting to prepare a sauce to go with the chips, and I was fairly incredulous. But I'm never loathe to try anything he suggests he might like. And so, I made poutine for him. He sprinkled cheddar cheese over his hot potato chips, then drizzled over the beef 'gravy' I had prepared. He thought I had made it a little thin last week, so I repeated it yesterday and made it thicker this time. Too thick by a tad, he said, but he enjoyed it. Oh well, that's how it goes.

This morning our bedside telephone rang before seven. It's on my husband's side, and he's always quick to pick up. I barely woke. It was a robo call, those stupid recorded calls that are so infuriating, asking how you are, thanking you for being such a good customer for products or a company you're completely unaware of, but offering to give you a really good deal on something before you slam the receiver down, turn over and go back to sleep.

Only we didn't, though Jackie and Jillie were quiet, not agitating for a change for us to get up instanter and start the day. So up we got anyway, took them out to the backyard, and it was clear this would be one of those rare non-rain days. The sun was up, the air was cool, a good breeze treated us, and we decided we'd get out with the puppies as has become our norm; before breakfast. They've become accustomed to our going out pre-breakfast, but they're quick to remind me that they expect their usual treat of cheese tidbits before we set out.

A crow perched high on a dead tree spoke to us as we approached the ravine entrance. We do like crows, though they're despised by so many people. It's a mystery to me why that should be so, they are so intelligent, and though their call is loud and raw, it's also nostalgic. When I used to put out peanuts regularly for the squirrels as we meandered along the forest trails years ago, sometimes crows would follow us. They became familiar with all the places where I'd leave peanuts, and sometimes beat the squirrels to them. They'd pick up the peanut in their beaks, then smash it against a hard surface to release the peanuts within. They would recognize us as we walked up the street toward the ravine, and follow us.

Squirrels don't really need to be 'fed' by people, though we do tend to do that in the winter months. We've seen piles of carefully pulled-apart spruce cones littering the trail under spruce trees, and little piles on the top rail of the bridges as well, informing us that squirrels are very fond of the seeds they extract from the cones at this time of year. We know they, along with birds have been eating the dogwood berries. And this year, strangely enough, there's been a real paucity of red baneberry berries. They're toxic to humans and I'd had no idea that birds and mammals eat them.

Getting out this early in the day means that we find ourselves hiking through the trails in a dusky atmosphere, more than is usual in the afternoon. It's as though the sun hasn't yet had the opportunity to fully penetrate the forest canopy to light up the inner forest. The contrast between the shaded areas of the forest -- which is the majority -- and the areas where sunlight penetrates is eye-dazzling.

The soft fruit on the shrubs is ripening at an ever-increasing rate. Which means that Jackie and Jillie are offered plenty of treats as we make our way through the forest. Mostly raspberries but thimbleberries too are now joining the handfuls of treats they enjoy, sweet and juicy and ever so rewarding for good little dogs who behave themselves. They're trying to live up to a reputation they don't deserve.

Back home again, and the usual brief ramble through the garden. There too, at the front of the house, the contrast between tree-shielded shade and full sun exposure differentiates the plants that we long since selected for the sunny beds and borders and the shaded ones. Something within celebrates joyfully at the sight of bright, colourful flowerheads. It's as though your eyes record camera-like what you see to enable you to dreamily conjure up those bright and beautiful mini-landscapes during the long monochromatic winters.

In the backyard, there is infinitely more sun than in the front. The back has always had a distinct micro climate of its own, and it is unfailingly hotter there than at the front of the house. It's interesting that Discobolus can now be fully realized once again, now that my husband cut back the cedars flanking the statue. I mourn the sacrifice on the one hand, and appreciate the need to free the heroic statue from its prison of green. And we both hope that the cedars will recover the shock of cut-back after enjoying so many years of unrestrained growth.