When we're out in the ravine coasting along the forest trails, my husband often brings up something he's read recently. One of the books he's reading at the present time (he always has several on the go; one to read downstairs relaxing, another a bed-time read before sleep) is a compendium of travellers' tales, from the long distant past to the present. Snippets, really, short passages taken from much longer descriptives of travel exposures and experiences.

This morning, he told me that back in the 16th Century in Thailand there was a tribal custom in an area where, presumably, a chronic food shortage prevailed, that when the elderly among them had grown completely incapable of performing their expected duties normally discharged in benefiting the entire group's social structure, by either working in the fields or preparing meals, or looking after the young, they are 'sold' in a public market for food themselves.

I expressed some skepticism, and when we got home tried to see if I could find an allusion to the practise on line, but found nothing to validate or to reject the story. What I did find, however, was academic studies focusing on times of food scarcity in Britain and Spain and elsewhere in Europe, when cannibalism was practised; people sold in an open market, others hanged for theft, cut down and dismembered; not widely practised particularly, but it did evidently take place according to academic studies.

Another study pointed to the early Crusades of the 11th Century when Christian soldiers butchered and ate Syrian prisoners they captured in a town they had besieged and conquered. The story of this event went back to Britain where most of the soldiers had come from, and was not well received. Some versions were that the commanders of the Crusade forces knew nothing of the atrocities, other that they encouraged it, to build a formidable reputation to make their enemies quake in fear. It all seems so improbable...

Such thoughts roaming through one's mind while out in a natural setting; what could be more incongruous? On the other hand, perhaps there's a connection; that civilizational norms at that time merely scratched the surface of what humanity is capable of. And it provokes the thought that if we are capable of mindless cruelty to other animals, why would we not mount atrocities on other humans? We still do, in many ways, from slave markets in Libya, Eritrea, Burundi, Central African Republic, Mauritania, and other grim places of the world. Not to mention the kind that flourishes underground in Europe and North America.

Thoughts like that don't linger, though. We feel so infinitely distanced from such events. And for us, our minds focus in a relaxed and peaceful manner on the landscape before us. This morning it was an absolutely drenched landscape. Around five in the morning, our sleep was suddenly interrupted with the unmistakable sounds of thunder claps moving toward us at an initially muffled distance, that distance gradually and surprisingly quickly closing in with ear-splitting claps. And, of course, accompanied with copious rain.

Again a vibrant, luminously verdant landscape lay before us, trees still dripping every time a breeze rattled foliage. At eight in the morning the temperature stood at 24C, with deep humidity. In the shade of the forest canopy it was pleasant, that breeze doing its utmost to bring a modicum of relief. My husband picked raspberries and Jackie and Jillie lined themselves up to patiently await their share of the juicy little berries. Alongside the raspberries nicely ripening, are the larger thimbleberry plants whose berries are doing their best to catch up. It won't be long before we're picking freshly ripened thimbleberries.

The impact of the heavy rain on the forest floor is evident in concentric streaks of gathered detritus, washed by the rain from its even coverage of the trail, to rounded lines of clearance interspersed by concentrated piles of detritus. The forest floor had already been challenged to absorb plentiful rain events in the past week, so rain left puddles on the trails, some reflecting the green of the forest trees. Jackie and Jillie can't bear to plod through the accumulated rainwater, though they're curious about its presence. Jillie nimbly passes around it, while her brother stops to sniff its substance before following her route.

And then, back home, to wander briefly about the garden, to note how well the garden pots have fared given the downpour. This year we were unable to plan on our choice of flowering plants to express the colourful beauty we've accustomed ourselves to over the years. There were alternate choices in the absence of our preferences, and some of them turned out very well indeed. In particular, the gigantica begonias planted in some of the garden pots and urns, astonishing us by their robust growth, and their floral production.