There was no lack of well-met however briefly, companions for Jackie and Jillie this morning as we all strode comfortably through the forest trails. Beyond comfortable, actually, with no mosquitoes in sight or feel, a wide blue sky above, and we sheltered from the  heat of the sun thanks to the generous forest canopy. A blue jay's welcome followed us briefly, then the wild cry of a Pileated woodpecker informing us that business as usual proceeds apace in the ravine.

Bees and hover flies flit around and about the still-flowering thimbleberry bushes growing everywhere and ripening quickly, their pink blossoms fresh and beautiful. But it is yellow that tends to stand out among all colours, its warm brightness reflecting the sun, and in the ravine at this time, pilotweed has firmly established itself in widespread colonies.

Their ubiquitous presence is challenged in discreet areas by the emerging proliferation of Himalayan orchids, their flowers exceeding in beauty those of the berries' with their deep, bright pink colour and orchid-shaped flowers held proudly aloft on tall stalks. And at the side of the trail on a short ascent we were greeted by the sight of pussy toes beginning to flower. There's just a limited few areas of the ravine where these flowers grow and each time we see them we're surprised, never recalling, year-to-year, their presence.

For the most part, the trails were quiet and peaceful, none others about as we looped around our familiar circuit, from left to right in a wide arc swinging over no fewer than four bridges switchbacking over the forest stream. Occasionally, however, we came abreast of others and their dogs, all a well-behaved clique of regulars who make it their business to daily make contact with natural surroundings to complement their days.

Next week is the delivery date of one of the couples we've lately befriended with their dog whom they follow in good faith, knowing the trails more intimately than they do. They enjoy stopping and chatting. Jillie in particular likes that they notice her and stoop to rub her head so obligingly while Jackie as usual closes in to sniff, then makes himself scarce.

Because they're both fairly large people, generously sized, we hadn't realized our friend was pregnant; we just put her size down to overweight, but carrying she is, with her due date next week, and she is cheerfully anticipatory. She's 39, and they've been trying for years for a pregnancy hoping to raise at least one child between them. That's the kind of story that has a warm glow of expectation around it, infecting anyone who hears about it with a edge of happiness.

We eventually parted after other dogs and people passed us on the trail, while we had parked ourselves at the fork of two adjoining trails, one they would take, the other awaiting our arrival. A trail that takes us eventually to a more open area of the woods which leads to a more gradual ascent toward the long hill that brings us at its top to street level.

 

That glade is where we see more exotic wildflowers like purple loosestrife, Queen Anne's lace, Yarrow, fleabane and black-eyed Susans proliferating. Their whites, pinks and yellows punctuating the otherwise green monotone of the landscape. We've taken lately to using that extended route for the pleasure of coming across patches of these wildflowers, far less numerous in the interior depth of the forest where less sunlight penetrates to encourage the growth and flowering of the wildflowers.

 

Then on home, when our circuit has completed. This afternoon, thoug it warmed considerably since our sun-sheltered tramp in the forest, was perfect to spend an hour snipping back here and there in the garden. The self-seeding Morning glory vines have outdone themselves once again this summer. They appear in unbelievable numbers as seedlings, and I pull most of them out. Then stabilize those that remain, along the side fence, tying them at first, then allowing them to begin covering the fence.

And cover it they do, while countless new seedlings keep appearing at the top of the rock garden amongst the hens 'n chicks and other low-growing rock garden plants, so every week I have to pluck out more of them because they tend, given time, to completely overwhelm everything growing there. They even insinuate themselves in the large urn of geraniums at the top of the garden.

Penelope, overseeing the growth pattern of the garden vegetation must be pleased at the robust presence of all these garden inhabitants. That self-seeded, surprise-presence tomato plant in the backyard which I refrained from pulling, has now gained two and a half feet in height, and still growing. It  has finally put out its yellow flowers, and it will be fascinating to see what kind of tomatoes it will bear, much less whether it has sufficient time left in the season to mature them.