What a night! We thought we were experiencing one of the wettest summers we can recall, but last night's rainfall was truly spectacular. And somewhat excessive. And we're glad that Jackie and Jillie are two little dogs that aren't intimidated by thunder. After an initial bark from each of them at the first peal of thunder they tend to settle down. And that was asking a lot of them yesterday evening when one thunderstorm after another came rolling through.

The rolling thunder was continuous, insistent and nearby. Accompanying it was a torrential downpour. Not a quick thunderstorm and it was over as often happens and then the sun appears. Mind, that did happen once when the first storm struck. But soon afterward the sun went sulking back into its corner surrendering the sky to the ragged dark clouds taking precedence, and then came the endless series of thunderstorms.

During the night, more loud claps and more rain. We're becoming quite accustomed to it as it happens, but this was one very energetic night of sound and light. This morning when we were out in the ravine trekking the trails with Jackie and Jillie, one of the ravine regulars told us that his little dog dove for the nearest cupboard and refused to exit it throughout the tumult of the storms.

All the rain left visible indications of its recent presence. There were mushrooms popping up large enough to serve as dinner plates, but lacking in any other distinguishing features, like shape or colour. There were scud marks on the trails going uphill where the force of the rain gathered detritus and dropped it again in neat lines. There were standing puddles of rainwater as testament that the forest floor refused to accommodate any more moisture. 

And there was the distinct message that fall is marching steadily forward, intruding on summer, where foliage is decidedly surrendering to the inevitable. Not just the random leaf we see here and there fallen on the forest floor sporting bright fall colours, but patches of foliage still firmly attached to their branches. And throughout the trails, overhanging branches shed accumulated rainwater in great fat drops on our heads. The sun had emerged and its growing heat no doubt influenced the forest canopy to release its burden of rain, as well.

When we arrived back home and meandered about looking at the garden, we were delighted to note that finally one of our hibiscus shrubs had bloomed. The buds that had fattened for so long, and opened just enough to allow us to see the soft pink petals within simply refused to come to bloom. Despite an abundance of water and several trances of fertilizer. The large flower, finally opened was so heavy with rain the stem it was on bent almost to the ground.

The garden indeed looked positively drenched. The hosta garden never does; it simply seems to absorb whatever nature throws at it; the plants are hardy, demand little attention, and repay us handsomely for any tending we do of them, in their graceful appearance, the beauty of their foliage, the flowering stems simply the icing on a cake that had no need of them for command of presence.

Jackie and Jillie, always eager to lend a hand, did their own inspection tour of the garden to ensure that all was well, and no plants were in distress. The start of another day of late summer pleasure on its way to becoming quite overheated, the alternative to what winters are like in the Ottawa Valley