It's been a busy day. Mondays are always busy. Cleaning day. Just as well I don't mind spending hours cleaning the house. Actually, it's a fine way to notice everything you've assembled around you during a lifetime. Ownership of all kinds of things to look at, crowded into every room of the house. And fact is there's a memory behind every one of those objects. So it's an interesting exercise. You're on autopilot doing the dusting, the mopping, the vacuuming, washing the floors. All the while your mind is free to wander. 

And then finally it's all done for another week. There's satisfaction in that. Getting through the process setting everything to rights, cleaning and tidying. An orderly  home is one that can be enjoyed to the fullest. Jackie and Jillie think so, they're absolutely thrilled when I'm finished because they can gain entry to the kitchen when the floors are dry. They leap around me in a joyful swirl as though something special is awaiting them. And then my husband remembers it's time for their snack, a tiny bowl of fresh vegetables.

We had one of those lovely pink sunsets last night as the sun was tucking itself below the horizon. I'd baked croissants to go with our dinner. This time when I was preparing the bread dough I dumped a quarter cup of sesame seeds in and kneaded it thoroughly into the dough. They were cheese croissants, lots of old cheddar grated and sprinkled over the croissants as I rolled the dough over and folded it and rolled it out again.

 It was meant to accompany cream of cauliflower soup. I thought they'd make a good combination. It's our little dogs' favourite vegetable, and one of ours, as well. Tonight I'll make a light, quick dinner; fresh vegetable salad and cheese omelletes with sliced fresh Ontario plums for dessert. Easy and filling; that should do the trick.

I would have been a little faster finishing up the house cleaning if I hadn't gone out to do a little gardening when I was  halfway through dusting. My husband was doing the vacuuming and I had asked Jackie and Jillie if they wanted to go out for short while, so I accompanied them, and took the opportunity to cut back some rose shrub canes. And while I was about it, straightening out one of the garden beds by removing some of the colourfully intrusive Harlequin vines.

We had been out hiking through the raivne pre-breakfast as usual, this last day of August. A truly beautiful day, comfortably cool and sparkling bright. There were scintillating drops of morning dew on the bright pink petals of the Himalayan orchids that we passed, catching the rays of the sun and catching our eyes as well. They'll soon enough be winding down when the night-time lows turn the corner into frost-zone.

Last night we had a Zoom call with our younger son. Today he was heading out to the east side of Vancouver Island on a week-long kayaking trip around the countless islands there. He usually makes those trips on the west side, more readily accessible for him after he ferries out from the mainland, but he's decided to explore elsewhere this coming week. We talked for an hour and it seemed like a few minutes. It seems almost miraculous that the medium takes us directly from home-to-home, Ottawa to Vancouver face-to-face.

Our explorations are pretty well confined now to our handy forested ravine, but last night we reminisced with him about some of our trips visiting with him and what a fascinating time that was for us. Our exposures to the natural world were gradually reduced as time wore on and the steady increase of our years. We're more than grateful we have this leisurely natural resource so close to our home. Things just seem to have come together for us, in this last house we bought thirty years ago, since part of its appeal to us was its proximity to the ravine.

We ambled the trails this morning, following Jackie and Jillie as they made their own explorations here and there, stopping repeatedly to interpret the 'fragrances' left behind by dogs and other animals as they marked the usual 'Fido was here' for anyone interested, and our two puppies are always interested. It's amazing what their refined and powerful noses can scent and the messages delivered to them.

Touring the ravine through the forest trails is nothing if not relaxing. We never hurry, taking our time, using the time it takes to traverse a circuit to discuss what we see, and talk about anything that comes to mind, and usually there's no deficit of subjects that erupt for discussion. And when we return home there's also no rush to enter the house as we dawdle briefly along the walkways to the garden beds and borders. As idyllic a life as conceivably possible.

 

A blustery wind escorted us up the street to our destination this morning. As soon as we rounded to a right-hand turn off the street into the waiting forest, its sheltering screen shut out the wind and then it was just cold. But the sun was moving out of the cloud cover that had blanketed the sky for days, and we knew the atmosphere would begin to warm, just not an awful lot.

There are no more blackberries and thimbleberries on offer as we make our way down into the ravine; the supply has been exhausted and Jackie and Jillie are quite, quite disappointed. Any time they see us making a move toward the berry shrubs to see if there are any hidden gems, their level of expectation skyrockets. And when, despite their anticipation, there is nothing, they're quite subdued and resigned.

 

But it's early morning, and we have a full Sunday ahead of  us. This morning no more dripping off the tree canopy as we proceed along the trails. The weight of rain that had burdened branches yesterday has seen relief in the presence of what drying wind does penetrate the forest. No longer are there any accumulated rain puddles on the trail; the forest floor however saturated, has managed to find absorption room for all the excess.

As we ascended another hill to reach the plateau ridge above the first of the bridges fording the creek, we are watched by a tiny red squirrel clinging to the edge of a pine trunk. And unlike most red squirrels' inclination to scold and scramble out of sight, this little fellow's curiosity has the better of him and he remains in place, steadily and quietly watching us.

Neither Jackie nor Jillie sense the presence of the little fellow and so there's no barking and effort at dislodging the squirrel. We wait a few moments at the top of the hill, then proceed onward, descending to another bridge, and from there, proceed to ascend yet another hill. This, a prolonged ascent in view of this hill being a seriously long one, somewhat narrow and closed in, where the understory of sumacs predominate among immature poplars, hawthorns, serviceberries and maples, old pines towering overhead. 

Further along we come to a number of wild apple trees, none of which are ripening apples this strange summer. Squirrels have been feasting on and storing away seeds from spruce cones, called into action by the shorter daylight hours and cooler night time temperatures. In some areas of the trail the ground is littered with fallen spruce cones. We've seen only a few acorns this year as yet, but it seems obvious that there will be no dearth of seeds, nuts and cones for the small furred wildlife of the forest this winter.

The sun's course through the sky has been altered; it sits lower and sunlight streaks through the forest canopy at a different angle. It's both dark-shaded and ultra-bright in the ravine this morning. At some junctions through the forest landscape the sun becomes almost blinding. But the leafy canopy provides an almost impenetrable shield distancing the forest from the sun, as we move briskly along.

The creek is still running high and wide, albeit somewhat reduced from yesterday when we were out in between rain events. Its waters course down through the rapids and push detritus ahead as it winds its way through the forest toward the more sheltered area not part of most people's perambulations in the ravine, where beaver tend to make themselves at  home. 

We have more than ample poplars for them to fell in their building frenzy, and it's a treat to glimpse them in action on occasion, but there are people who complain that they're taking down trees, demanding the animals be removed and relocated elsewhere.

Our circuit completed for the day, we return home to our habitual turn in the garden while Jackie and Jillie patiently await entry to the house and preparations for breakfast.

In those brief and barely-awake moments when you wake during the night to hear the murmuring of rain outside, knowing the garden is being watered and you won't have to do it, and you turn over and blissfully return to sleep, there's a comfortable coziness about it all. And then you waken in the morning, know it's time to get up to meet the day and it's still raining. Heavily. There go your plans for an early-morning traipse through the forest trails.

It's not merely habit at play here, the regret you feel. But the walk through forest trails, you console yourself, has only been delayed. There will be an opportunity at some time during the day to break free of your comfort zone snugly housed when you can go out. The day wears on and the rain events just keep up, their regular rhythm, the dusky atmosphere accompanying the rain, the closed-in feeling originally so comfortable, feels confining.

When afternoon arrives you feel restless. And a bit guilty as Jackie and Jillie evince puzzlement that they haven't yet been able to course through the forest trails as usual. Like you, they miss the feeling of freedom that being in the out-of-doors conveys to your senses. They may or may not miss, as you do, the outdoor atmosphere, the clean air, the smells and sounds and little distractions that invariably make your tramp through the woods more fascinating.

And just when you begin to believe that this day there will be no break in the rain, there suddenly is. With rain still dripping from all outdoor surfaces, off you go into a cool, damp day, the temperature stuck at 14C. But you're prepared, all of you wearing raincoats and happy to be out. Unsurprising that no one else is. And that there are no encounters today with others; your two little puppies are the only rain-event trailblazers to brave the elements today.

There are large rain puddles here and there on the forest floor and centered on the trails; easily bypassed and Jackie and Jillie too choose not to enter the puddles and disturb the perfect mirror image of the surrounding forest reflected in them. Most late summers copious rain is quickly subsumed into the dry soil but not this summer of constant rain where the forest floor has been drenched time and again, and the usual dry cracks that appear on a summer-dry landscape never materialized.

The creek is wide and high with runoff and muddy as well. It carries downstream all manner of detritus, from fallen leafy twigs to dead branches and the rude leavings of careless people, discarded bits and pieces of packaging, plastics, drink containers. But not much of the latter, unlike what we've seen elsewhere on occasion. Any amount of such trash is an assault on our environment. What we do see is a logjam of mostly natural castoffs, leaving the appearance of the messy home of an indifferent housekeeper.

 We see more mushrooms emerging here and there. And muse on the fact that this year the mushrooms are different than those we would see decades ago. We no longer see Indian pipe, nor endlessly ridged architectural fungi, nor the ghastly pale blue ones that always reminded me of corpses. And nor do we see the patches of bright orange toadstools, large and well formed that we once saw; even purple-hued mushrooms. Those we saw today were bowl-shaped, large, ivory-coloured and despite their size, porcelain-exquisite.

At one point we suddenly noticed heaps of wood shards around the base of an old poplar. In the dim light prevailing in the forest on such days, shades of white have a way of suddenly leaping to your attention; the dimness of the light seeming to play up the light colour, making it more obvious. It was clear that a very industrious Pileated woodpecker had been at work. It was the sheer over-abundance of the chipped wood off the trunk of the dead tree that was surprising. Reminiscent of a carpenter's busy workshop, its floor steeped in fibrous cast-offs.

There were a few drizzles; at times hard to say whether drips from the forest canopy or start-up rain.   We did, though, make it through a shortened circuit this afternoon without a major rainfall marring our hike. And when we returned home and looked about the garden, there were new, huge and bright blossoms opening on the Hibiscus shrub. The various types of begonias we planted this year all look beautifully lacquered from the rain. Indeed, no need to water the garden pots today.

A roundabout of the garden is always called for. It's always a treat to see how  overcast conditions and rain transform the colours, affect the stance of the flowering plants weighted down by water. We enjoy a double treat of almost equal value; our traipse through the forest revealing under variant conditions little landscapes we may not have noticed before. And the stroll along the garden pathways with their bright pops of colour and form delight us in exposure to others of nature's very special attributes we are permitted to temporarily share.

 

Ambling about on forest trails together gives us the opportunity to watch Jackie and Jillie as they interact with other dogs they may happen to come upon. It exposes us to  the minuscule 'landscapes' that every turn in the trail reveals, to discover something new and interesting we hadn't noticed before on our many forays into the ravine. And it affords us the opportunity to discuss an entire range of topics together. Usually my husband, reading a book that fascinates him, will relate to me passages in the book, or its thesis, or describe characterizations of diverse people and how their times and their actions influence history.

And there's more mundane things to discuss. What, for example, each of us plans to do with the hours of the day following our return home after our early morning run in the ravine. For me, Friday is baking day. And so I asked my husband which of the two he would prefer; a raisin pie or a pecan pie. Silence. Thoughtful silence, as he weighs his response. He's careful about such responses. And he knows how much I detest it when his response is "What about you?' and then I respond as though by rote, it was I soliciting his opinion.

Such a simple question. Put forward to assess his preference. And on the basis of his preferential response I would proceed. Hedging; well, on the one hand, raisins are nice and on the other hand so are pecans. Perhaps use the pecans since if they stay too long in the pantry they can go rancid? Well, how about me, what would I prefer, came the irritating hedge. So I baked a pie after breakfast to enjoy for dessert at dinnertime, and it was a compromise; containing both raisins and pecans.

I suppose in some measure discussion-and-compromise, from silly little unimportant issues to really vitally important ones work to smooth out the lifetime passage of intimate relations; being aware of one another's 'choices', caring about them in complete empathy from the sublime to the ridiculous means being sensitive to one another reflecting how we feel about one another. We're heading toward our 66th year of marriage.

The morning was cool when we set out before breakfast. No need for any of us, Jackie and Jillie included, to wear a raincoat this morning. No rain in the forecast, just cool and dry and mostly overcast. The water level in the creek running through the bottom of the ravine much reduced from yesterday. The forest interior a little on the dusky side as a reflection of a mostly cloudy sky. The sound of nuthatches in the trees.

And the occasional appearance of someone else going through the trail network, with a companion. Large dogs, we notice, tend to be more playful with other large dogs. Inviting one another to run about through the trees in the time-old game of catch-if-you-can. Smaller dogs tend to be standoffish, rarely do they invite other dogs, large or small in our experience, to indulge in shared activities in the relatively brief time available to them before their humans carry on.

With Jackie and Jillie there's a perfunctory resumption of a friendship-at-a-distance, but no shared activity of any note. When they're in the presence of other dogs they know, and those dogs happen to be large and happy-go-lucky, chasing one another about, our two little dogs receive a puzzling mixed message to which they bark frantically as though concerned that the other dogs are fighting, not playing. They are, nonetheless interested in the presence of other dogs, happy enough in their low-key way to see them. But they reserve ebullient physical interaction between themselves.

Because of all the rain events this month, large white mushrooms are beginning to appear on the forest floor. They're not particularly attractive, other than that they emerge from the soil large and flat, carrying a lot of soil with them; black-on-white. And squirrels seem to find them an interesting tidbit. We see some of the mushrooms upended, gill side up, with tiny nibbles taken from the edges.

Fall asters have joined other wildflowers blooming alongside the trails. These are the early-blooming white fall asters, unremarkable, not particularly attractive. Other, later-blooming asters in tones of mauve to bright purple usually follow, more shapely and regular petal arrangements. There are larger blooms and infinitesimally small ones,with  exquisitely delicate. And there are the beautiful ones, large, pink-purple blooms, perfectly sculpted, the very last to bloom. 

 

One of those mornings when you just feel comfortable in bed and no real pressing reason exists to leap out at the day, particularly when you've cracked your eyelids open to a dismal grey atmosphere and you can hear the rain lapping at the window, the same rain you heard in the early morning hours, so you just turn over again and let your senses lull you into thinking it's too early to get up anyway. It works, as long as your puppy companions echo  your sentiments, but if they don't there's no point in telling yourself they'll be happy if you linger in bed any longer.

They're ready to start the day even if you're not quite there yet. Of course they have the right to change their minds when they're suddenly faced with the prospect of heading out to the backyard to do their duty and it's pouring cats and dogs and they have no wish to be part of that particular kind of fun. But out they go because you tell them too bad. And they relish the towel rub-down when they re-enter the dry warmth of the house, and breakfast preparations begin.

No scooting out before breakfast this morning. Since all bad things come to an end sooner or later and this morning it was sooner, on came raincoats and out everyone went, charging up the street and into the ravine before nature changed her mind again. Yes, the forest was dripping. But we had our raincoats on and felt confident enough not to head for a short circuit, Jackie and Jillie in full agreement.

Just a little more care than usual, given slippery conditions with an inundated forest floor not averse to little sliding tricks on descents and ascents. More red maple leafs down again. But the vast bulk of the forest leafmass is green as green can be. And it's really cold atmospherically, so it's just as well we were all wearing the heavier of our raincoats against the chill and the wet conditions.

Jackie became very interested in something moving on the forest floor, something he had no memory of coming across before, and his interest drew ours to the sight of a toad. Had it not moved it would never have been seen, they're masters of camouflage. It's been years since we've seen toads in the ravine and they were never present in any abundance to begin with. This has been a very wet summer and one of our acquaintances told us just days earlier that he'd already seen three toads; now it was our turn. Another creature whose habitat we briefly share.

Then we met up with another friend, with his three border collies and Jackie and Jillie had some company for a length of the trail we shared, we in conversation, and they in mutual curiosity about all the fascinating odours magnified by the soaked forest floor. Before long the five dogs were joined by another, curious about all the canine camaraderie, who'd jogged through the forest off another trail to see for himself what was going on.

Where most people would choose to avoid a heavily overcast, dim and rainy hike through a saturated forest, people with dog companions choose not to miss an opportunity to get out with them, all the more so when it appears that rain is destined to keep visiting throughout the course of the day and waiting for the skies to clear and then get out may in the final analysis become an unrewarded waiting game.

When we finally arrived back home to a cursory round of the garden, we found all its residents in good humour. The cooler temperature hasn't bothered any of them, while the rain did a fine job of varnishing the pinks and yellows and reds of the various flowering plants presenting us with a landscape quite at variance with that of the ravine, and equally in part, appreciated. 

The garden doesn't offer the opportunity to lope about trails, refreshing our communion with nature, and exercising our bodies while giving our minds the opportunity to go on pacific autopilot, but it does fill in our need for aesthetic refreshments in the beauty of its architecture, texture, fragrance and dazzling colours.