Our intention was, because today is our big house-cleaning day of the week -- and even though Irving does the vacuuming it takes me three to four hours to do everything else -- that we would take only a short circuit through the forest trails in the ravine this afternoon. Mind, we'd been out sporadically in the backyard now and again with Jackie and Jillie tootling around the garden, seeing what needed watering, or tying up, but most of the morning/afternoon was spent furniture and bric-a-brac dusting, dry-mopping hardwood floors, and hands-and-knees washing of tile and marble floors. 

A bit of misfortune when Irving was coming down the stairs after putting away the vacuum hose. Somehow, the pocket watch he held in his hand slipped and fell onto the marble floor of the foyer. They're delicate, these old pocket watches that he so values, and this one really bit the dust. Oh, it looked intact, but there was no more sweep of the second hand, telling the unfortunate story. These are the floors that he installed himself, years ago.

When we did get out to the ravine it was to a perfectly gorgeous day, not a cloud to disturb the serenity of a wide ocean of blue, the sun in its throne, warming the planet. The wind, can't forget the wind, it was robust enough, we thought, to help keep mosquitoes at bay which would surely have come out on this 22C=day. And it did, for the most part, until we stopped to talk to people we came across on the trails, hiking acquaintances we've known for a long time.

We're so accustomed to just automatically forging ahead from one trail to another that we completely forgot we'd agreed to a short circuit, and ended up instead on the usual long one. Hard to feel regret of any kind on such a perfect day. And then we came across a couple we've known for years but haven't seen in a long, long while. We thought perhaps they had moved away. He's a young, thin, dark-skinned Sri Lankan and she's a fully packed blond Anglophone, and they make a perfect couple, doting on their little beagle after the loss of their original two dogs.

We had wondered about them and they had wondered about us, not having seen us any more than we hadn't seen them in so long. A ready explanation; they come out usually around noon, and we do so in mid-afternoon. Though we were wrong about their having moved away, they soon will. They've bought a rural house, and her elderly father who is ailing is set to move in with them. He has always worked from home, as a techie and she, working for a bank, has been working from home since the coronavirus struck. Their corner house in a perfect location adjacent the ravine with its large pie-shaped lot is now for sale and they won't have to wait long to sell it in this hot housing market. Old acquaintances, they come and they go.

A few days ago, on Friday, there was an announcement from the office of the provincial premier to the effect that, given a larger supply of vaccine doses, the decision was made to move second doses up from their current four-month gap, and people 80 and over were advised in all the media, that from Monday, today, they could arrange to schedule an appointment for an earlier second dose. Irving set an alarm so he wouldn't sleep past eight, and on the dot called the number given out. No dice; connection wasn't possible.

 

He kept calling intermittently after that until, at nine, he just gave up. He had been placed on hold once, heard the message that 'someone will soon be with you', but the line went dead. Finally, around noon he was able to make contact to prepare to arrangement for an appointment for us. He was informed, however, that there were no doses available, that there was just enough for appointments already made, and most of those were for children from 12 to 17 years of age. Another screw-up, which has typified so much of the communication up to this point in doling out vaccines.

That did nothing to spoil the beauty of the day, thank heavens, though it did earn a shrug that said 'what else can  you expect during this time of stress and strain and official dysfunction'? We tamped down the irritation by appreciation of everything positive about what we do have. The most immediate thing to cheer us up is what comes to the eye, the aesthetic and satisfaction of looking around at the garden. Everything maturing as we move from mid- to late-spring, this last day of May,2021.

Yesterday the very nice fellow that Mohindar recommended to us was supposed to come over to change the tires on the truck and car. He wasn't able to make it because there was a sudden emergency and he had to take his elderly mother to hospital. Irving and he re-scheduled and he came over this morning, instead. And his mother is going to be fine, set to be released tomorrow morning. Whatever happened, she has stabilized.

Another perfectly divine day, with full sun and a sky etched with random streaks of white clouds that the wind, playing havoc down here, seems to be doing likewise up there, scattering them before theyhave a chance to interrupt the light and heat of that giant electric orb dangling above.

Instead of pancakes for breakfast this morning we had French toast because Irv had bought a few loaves of sliced challah on Friday when he'd popped out to Farm Boy at a time when most people would be having dinner, and so the store was half-empty. Jackie and Jillie know what kind of treat they can expect for each day of the week, be it pancakes, French toast, cereal, chopped boiled egg or fried egg. If we're having it, they're having it. They also shared between them a breakfast sausage, their acclaimed top favourite treat.

Even the wildlife enjoyed some French toast, since there was leftover, and it was cut into small squares to be placed out on the porch alongside the other offerings that Irving insists they still need, long after winter has disappeared. Cardinals and song sparrows and rabbits enjoy them as well. Irving shakes out the seeds from the bag holding my preferred bread that is stuffed with all manner of seeds and the birds particularly enjoy those.

Once the fellow who works at the mechanic shop for the RCMP departed, Irving watered the gardens, and was going to come into the house but Cooper walked down the street from his house to ours to have a long chat. His wife says he seldom speaks much to any of the neighbours but for some reason he enjoys conversations with Irving, and both enjoy talking, so they make a good pair; a conversation that was endless.

By the time he finally came into the house I was finished all of my chores, and we made ready to take Jackie and Jillie out to the ravine for an afternoon turn on the forest trails. Wind accompanied us up the street and then into the ravine. With cool temperature and wind, we have no reason now to curse mosquitoes, they're just not around for now. 

A perfectly lovely day, that seemed to lure people into the ravine, people we've never seen before, often with small children. For the initial ten minutes of our traipse through the trails it seemed as though we were coming across someone every minute. A couple with one little girl, about four, the last such group that we came across for the remainder of our circuit of an hour-and-a-half. Seems people have the urge to get out into nature, but once they're there and experience the rises and descents of the hillsides and the uneven trails their enthusiasm wanes and they make their way back out.

That four-year-old little girl fit the description of a whining child. They had parked on the street then entered the ravine after us, and the little girl was fearful of Jackie and Jillie. We invited the parents to proceed on ahead of us, but they dallied, so we took the initiative and they continued to follow us. Each time either Jackie or Jillie verged close to the child she emitted an ear-piercing shriek that would have awakened the dead, prolonged and deafening. Which of course intrigued Jackie and Jillie encouraging them to feed their curiosity about the strange creature, which only made the child more hysterical.

We weren't the least bit sorry to pick up speed and leave them far behind. It's the time of year when robins are everywhere in the forest. We theorize that they're mostly juveniles familiar with the area returning year after year with their parents. And they have a habit of running about on the forest floor, crossing the trails erratically and most amusingly. 

Later, arrived back home, we usually poke about a bit in the gardens to update ourselves on whatever might have occurred in the long time that elapsed from yesterday afternoon to this afternoon. Little by little the garden is maturing, the hostas assuming their full generous size, filling up the blank gaps, and the roses are preparing to burst into orchestrated bloom.  

Cold enough last night when we went to bed to threaten light frost. We closed the bedroom window and put another quilt on over the summer-weight one on the bed and slept comfortably, awakening to a sunny day, warmer than yesterday's cold and windy day -- and the one before that.

When we went downstairs for breakfast, glancing out the front door into the garden, everything looked all right, so nothing appeared to have been nipped by frost. Not even the new plants that Irving had bought to surprise me, leaving them on the porch bench. He'd gone out briefly just before (a late) dinner, for some apple cider, wine, bread and cheese. Come to think of it, quite a combination.

Of course I was happy and excited that he had dropped by somewhere to pick up a few more plants. We can never have enough colour, shape and texture in the garden. And that was a lovely gesture. Except that they were the wrong kind of plants. I needed tall growing plants thirsty for sun. He brought back instead of sun-loving zinnias, sun-shy, low-growing dahlias. So yes, he also bought marigolds that thrive in the sun like nobody's business, but they were clumped together in a permanent pot arrangement, their roots firmly intertwined, impossible to separate, not meant as bedding plants for the garden.

So I looked that gift horse in the mouth. Sometimes it's better to say nothing when what you're inspired to say is dismaying. I planted the dahlias where I had room -- directly in the sun -- and hope they'll survive; could be they'll even thrive ... but doubt it. Everything else looks fine. We could use some rain. Not just 'some' rain, but lots of it. We'll be approaching drought if this keeps up.

We went out with Jackie and Jillie for an early afternoon tramp through the ravine. Unlike yesterday they needed no little jersey but we wore very light jackets and felt comfortable enough, the temperature expected to rise by mid-afternoon to 18C from the morning's 6C. Not even a white wisp of cloud in the sky, and the wind, though brisk, much lighter than the past week's offerings.

Most of the wildflowers are now gone, in the ravine. Oh, they're still there in the sense that the foliage remains but the flowers have faded, wilted, gone until another delightful appearance come next spring. The atmosphere for our hike today, not too cold, not too warm, just perfect; a Goldilocks day. Too cold for mosquitoes, so absolutely perfect for us. Jackie and Jillie, those impetuous little social bullies, informed a few large dogs that they were on their private trails by sufferance. Good things most large dogs just ignore them.

 Surprisingly though, for a such a lovely day there weren't very many people out on the trails, unlike yesterday when it was so cold we wore sweaters and lined jackets against the wind and the cold. It's Saturday, however, and old habit dies hard. Even though we remain in lockdown and only stores considered to be vital for society's functioning, like supermarkets, grocers and pharmacies are open, and many people are still working from home, the working-week syndrome prevails.

For us, so long retired, there's little practical difference between weekdays and weekend days other than that if we're going to do any kind of shopping, it's never on a weekend day for obvious reasons. There was some rare good news from the province yesterday on vaccine doses; people over 80 like us will now have their second vaccine doses stepped up, reflecting a more secure supply of vaccines in hand.

When we emerged from the ravine, walking down the street toward our house, we stopped to talk to one of our neighbours we haven't seen in quite a while even though we never did see him with any frequency. We have warm relations with many of our neighbours and though there was no real reason not to include this person, he was seldom out and about at the best of times. 

In contrast to stopping to talk at length with Mohindar and Imeran who were both out on their front lawn, Imeran being directed by his father to do the garden watering and like the good son he is, complying with his father's wishes. He's back from working in Toronto for the first year of the pandemic, glad to be working from home now and able to do it from Ottawa, living again with his parents, even though his sister and her three children now live in Toronto.

We stopped to talk with another neighbour and this time the conversation ranged all over the place, on a more philosophical plane as we talked about the newly-emerged incidents of rabid racism raising its ugly head in Canada. We're both representative of a minority group, and both Chinese and Jews have been of late targets for psychopathic haters. Plenty to commiserate about between us.

 

It's not unusual for May weather in the Ottawa Valley. We're stuck in a few really cool days. There was danger of frost last night, but I don't think we got down to 0C, likely just 3C. Still, when I looked around the garden and the garden pots briefly before we set off for our ravine hike, I saw several casualties. The ipomoea vines were looking rather put-upon. I had planted several lime-green (potato vines) in a few of the larger pots, and they look limp and almost crushed. With luck they'll spring back to life.

The alliums are now fully opened and they're large and beautiful. And walking past the lilies-of-the-valley in the side garden, the breeze carries with it the divine fragrance of those delicate little bells. All of the garden pots look just fine, though a few of the more tender plants in the garden look as though they decided to curl into fetal-plant position for warmth.  

It's still cold today, was only 5C when we came down for breakfast, but the sun is out and the wind is less ferocious than it was yesterday, so growing things in the garden will surely recover. Nothing else much appears to have suffered from the cold. Just as well we had watered quite deeply yesterday and that helps delicate vegetation to survive cold temperatures.

Cold enough last night that we wanted something hot and comforting for dinner. We had a fresh vegetable salad, neither hot nor particularly comforting, but it was quickly followed by a French onion soup, piping hot out of the oven, and lingered over in appreciation of its taste, texture and warming qualities. We had the fireplace back on and felt we needed it, last night.

And though I had stopped baking goodies for Friday night dinner when it was so hot and steamy the last few weeks, today's cold chided me so I baked a half-dozen large coconut cupcakes that we call Madeleines. The tops are dipped in raspberry jam then shredded coconut, instead of icing, and they're absolutely delectable.

When we did get around to taking Jackie and Jillie to the ravine for their daily round-about, we passed the three young pre-and-teens who live several doors up from us, playing with their basketball net. They're often occupied with it or with skateboards and they've become quite skilled with both. While we wore jackets and had gloves stuffed in our pockets 'just in case', the boys wore shorts and had taken off their shirts. 

For the first half of our circuit through the trails we saw no one else out and about, and assumed that it was just too cold for people to rouse themselves for a turn in the forest. That all changed in the second half of our circuit when we came upon a seemingly endless stream of people, some we're familiar with and others new to us. Like the woman walking two quiet and very large Dalmatians, and a young fellow walking alongside his grey Great Dane whose size was that of a pony, easily taking up most of the width of a narrow trail.

We noted that the wild lilies-of-the-valley are now in full bloom, just as the cultivated ones in our garden, though we've never been aware that the wild ones are fragrant, they're so petite it would be surprising to be aware that they're capable of producing scent. The lone clump of henbane we'd seen a few days back have opened a few more of its flowers; a deep pink in bud stage, turning to pink-blush in flower.

Just as we were close to winding up our trek for the day, along came Barrie and Sheila with their three Border Collies and we stood around having a good chat, relieved of the presence of mosquitoes, the sole good that comes with cold and wind. Barrie told us that a mutual hiking acquaintance we haven't seen in almost a year and his dog are in his black books.

The dog, a usually well-behaved if unmannerly white German Shepherd had bitten a man who had been out on the trails this morning, bicycling with his young daughter. Nova, the German Shepherd, had raced after the man's bike and bit him on the ankle. Barrie is furious that Rod has chosen not to take responsibility, claiming that it was the man's fault, not his dog's. But, he said, Nova is now gaining the reputation of a 'biter'; this isn't the only time he's bitten someone. 

Rod, he said, has become irresponsible and cantankerous. He's a huge, tall man, always had a bit of an imperious manner, prone to expressing contempt for other people who don't discipline their dogs the way he prided himself on doing. A man who seldom listens to others but always has much to say himself. Still, it's disappointing that he is neglecting his dog's socialization, and taking no responsibility for his own lapses.

Little wonder we dwellers in the Ottawa Valley are so obsessed with the weather. In many other geographic locations there is something that can logically be referred to as 'weather patterns'. If there are 'patterns' in the weather hereabouts they're difficult to identify. Assuredly there are some places on the globe where the inhabitants can state with confidence that their weather is extremely haphazard and unpredictable and this is one of those places.

We've had a succession of densely-moist, stuffy evenings when at night bedroom windows thrown wide open not the merest hint of a cool breeze enters to relieve the humid heat. Tonight won't be one of them, the temperature is set to fall to 4C, and that's fairly cool. All the more so with the presence of a cold, stiff wind. The high for today is 14C ... after successive daytime highs of 28C and 30C.

That said, though it's cool and we needed light jackets hiking through the ravine today, it seems the cooler weather is disagreeable to most peoples' notions of how pleasant it can be to roam through the forest trails on a day so cool and windy there were no mosquitoes or black flies about at all. There were cardinals singing though and song sparrows. And quite a few robins running about here and there on the forest floor as is their wont in the spring. 

We heard young crows complaining that they were waiting far too long to be fed. And we heard a pileated woodpecker hard at work splintering the bark of a nearby tree. The poplars are beginning to release their seeds and the white fluff will soon resemble snow as it accumulates on the forest floor.

We saw a sulphur butterfly and a very large dragonfly for the first time this spring. There are bees about looking for pollen and no doubt they're finding it in the still-sparse array of spring wildflowers. We did see a few lone buttercups, and there are scads of floral panicles covering the many understory dogwood shrubs and trees scattered throughout the ravine.

We've seen quite a few wild strawberry plants in blossom, and this afternoon came across two canes of blackberries in bloom. They're relatively rare in the ravine, whereas there's a robust embarrassment of thimbleberry shrubs everywhere, but they're not yet in bloom.

Jackie and Jillie didn't have occasion this afternoon to greet many of their canine pals. There was a brief interlude with a Brittany spaniel, and not much else, besides a large old black Lab they've been familiar with for a number of years.

We saw Max out hurtling himself through the trails with his usual purposeful stride, pole in either hand. He's a small, wiry man who no matter the weather dresses light; in winter a thin red windbreaker, in the summer a long-sleeved white shirt; how he keeps warm enough for comfort is beyond us. He seems to me to have aged considerably in the last year-and-a-half. He's the lone caregiver for his wife who isn't mobile. He had installed a number of lifting devices, one in their bedroom, another in their bathroom to manoeuvre her about.

When COVID became a threat he cancelled the daily visits of a personal care worker that used to give him some relief. Now he's more challenged than ever for time and opportunity to rush out briefly to do some food shopping while his wife manages in his absence. His own health has had its challenges; two hip operations, open-heart surgery. These are the hidden costs to many people with chronic health conditions whose daily lives have been impacted by the SARS-CoV-2 pandemic.

 

 

When we start the day by taking our two little puppies out to the backyard first thing, it also gives us a chance to look around the garden nominally to glimpse what's new, because there's always something new. Throughout the course of the morning as we make additional trips there's more time to linger and enjoy the changing landscape, as tiny as our backyard is.

 

The purple columbine in the rock garden and the one in the back garden have bloomed, are still blooming, but there are three more pink clumps in the rock garden and they've just begun blooming. It's a mystery where they came from. Decades ago I likely planted one of them, but they've somehow moved about here and there in various parts of the garden since that long-ago time, and it's a delight to see them showing their bright little faces in mid-spring.

 

They have a lot of competition in the rock garden, dense with sedum and ferns, bugleweed and periwinkle and Ladies mantel, and hostas, but they know how to look after themselves and they do so gracefully, and we're the fortunate recipients of pleasure at their appearance year after year.  Speaking of sedum, last summer when I planted the large stone urn at the top of the rock garden with geraniums I lifted a few strands of rooted sedum from the rock garden into the urn for a bit of additional architectural interest.

 

The sedum evidently found this new location much to its liking. I hadn't emptied the urn of its soil last fall, and it overwintered as is. When spring came I was amazed to see the urn completely taken over by sedum. It's in full yellow bloom now, with a single geranium tucked in beside it. Riotous, which is how  I feel as well about the Morning Glories that I once planted from seed along the fence beside the rock garden. They too enjoy their home at the top of the rock garden; at this time of spring I find hundreds of emerging morning glories, prepared as the months go by to entirely own the area, climbing the fence and even sending their vines up and around the urn, into the urn, stifling everything, including the Hens'n Chicks below.

 

 

We took ourselves off for a hike through the ravine around mid-afternoon. Another partially sunny, wholly muggy day, with the blessed relief of a cooling breeze on a 27C day. Which meant taking along a water bottle for Jackie and Jillie. They haven't yet undertaken the personal responsibility to cart it along themselves, so Irving is both the carrier and the dispenser.

 

It's been an unusual spring in the forest. This is the first time ever we've seen the understory dogwood shrubs and trees so full of floral panicles. The sight of them stippling the dogwoods is amazing. Usually there appears at this time of year a haphazard assortment of flowers on the various dogwoods, but this year they're thickly displayed all over the plants and it's amazing.

 

 

The wild strawberries are now seriously flowering, so it should be a good year for soft fruit out of the forest. False Solomon's Seal is in flower, and so is foamflower, although we see a lot less of the latter and far more of the former this spring, which too is unusual. The verdant aspect of the newly-leafed-out forest is punctuated here and there by bright splashes of colour. We've now seen the first of the buttercups to bloom and more spring phlox is blooming as well. 

When we finally returned home, after a long and enjoyable traipse through the forest trails, the usual inspection of the flower beds and borders of the front occupied us briefly. The very foremost front garden bed is a disappointment, just as it had been last year. The family business where we formerly chose large, robust marigolds and zinnias closed permanently before spring planting, after having been in business for generations. We haven't been able to find the same quality of flowers elsewhere.

 

But the rest of the garden, the perennials and the plants we buy for our garden pots and urns look promising for continuous colourful bloom this summer. And after the long cold winter of black-and-white and the following spring of grey-and-black, late spring is an absolute joy, flaunting its ability to change the landscape unerringly with lavish applications of sun and rain. And finally, the garden is beginning to resemble the garden we know and treasure.

We took a 'day off' today. Because Monday was a public holiday we knew shopping would be crowded, so we put off the grocery shopping for tomorrow morning. Slept in late, and enjoyed it. Yet another beautiful day beckoned. We took our time with everything; a contrast to yesterday when my 84-year-old husband decided he would change the tires in his car. He discovered a slow leak in one of the tires, so decided he'd finally change over the tires from winter ice tires to all-weather. Of course he wouldn't tell me of his intentions. Finally he decided it was too much of a physical effort and called a gentleman who works for the RCMP in their garage, and comes to people's houses on request to do this kind of work. Mohindar gave us his name and telephone number.

And yesterday was house-cleaning day for me, so it took me hours of furniture dusting, dry-mopping the floors, vacuuming the rugs and washing the floors. And then of course, patient Jackie and Jillie, knowing all the 'finished-up' signals, get excited and race around in their way of communicating to us: 'Hey! it's time for our hike through the forest'! And we did that, but felt a bit fatigued after all of that. Good thing our evenings are nice and quiet.

Today, though, was our day of rest. And we began the 'rest' part by sitting out in the backyard with Jackie and Jillie, enjoying the sun and the wind. Earlier in the morning when we were having our late breakfast there was a rainburst after the sky was suddenly overwhelmed with dark clouds. The rain came pelting down and it was a  huge relief, since it meant we wouldn't have to water the gardens after all. Natural irrigation is just so much more effective.

While we were out, I raked up the soil in several parts of the back garden and sowed some Cosmos seeds. After I had first shovelled some really rich compost out of what was left in one of our two backyard compost bins to make certain the seeds would get a good start on life. And I did the same with the pots that I had reserved for nasturtiums. These aren't really pots; they're long rectangular 'boxes', two of poured cement ('stone') and two of red clay. There were a few more sprinkles but they didn't amount to anything.

We looked about at the gardens, the two little hibiscus shrubs just planted, the huge flowers still ornamenting the magnolia tree in the back, much smaller than the one at the front of the house, and later to flower. The begonias that had been planted in the backyard garden pots look ravishingly beautiful, multi-petalled and brightly coloured. Our garden cup runneth over.

The time did come, however, for a ravine hike, and off we went, the wind blowing us up the street toward the ravine entrance. Plenty to see in the forest, too. If you know where to look. Or if you're curious and interested enough to look to begin with. We finally noticed that Virginia creeper (also called Engleman ivy) has begun growing in the forest again, its distinctive palmate foliage and twining habit distinguishing its presence. A lot more ornamental than the dog-strangling vine that has entered the forest the past few years.

There are some people we may come across from time to time whom Jackie and Jillie memorialize as worth cultivating. They may see them as seldom as once in a six-month period but they will never forget that the individual carries treats and generously doles them out. Irving does the same, from time to time, a gesture much appreciated by treat-happy dogs. Irving pointed out to me the presence of a pair of Phoebes (flycatcher avian family), nesting again under one of the bridges.

The forest lilies-of-the-valley are now seriously in bloom. Easy to understand how anyone would pass right by them without noticing their presence, though. They are so minuscule, the tiny floral wands so dainty, unless the eye catches on them and thinks about what is being seen, there is a tendency to be oblivious to their presence. 

On one turn of one of the trails there was foliage that looked familiar and made me think of  henbane, but I felt it was yet much too early for the plant to be flowering. All in good time, everything in the order of precedence from early spring to mid-spring, then late spring. There are now no trout lilies to be seen in flower, nor trilliums. The jack-in-the-pulpits are still hanging in, but they won't be, for much longer. While those in our garden will remain in evidence for far longer; hard to miss those, they grow to giant size.

As we neared the creek again, coming to the end of our regular hiking circuit, while Irving was talking with some people, I meandered along the creek bank, and noticed a clump of vegetation that seemed to have some pale-looking blooms held aloft, sighted from a distance. So I moved in, carefully approaching the slanted bank that had been shored up with rocks when rehabilitation of the hillsides and creek had taken place years ago after a spring slump, and immediately recognized them as henbane. A member of the nightshade family. Beautiful little daisy-like flowers, smaller, the petals closer together. They start out bright pink, then turn a much lighter shade of pink. And every part of the lovely plant is toxic. 

Back home again, we wandered a bit through the front garden, and sat briefly to enjoy its presence. The tree peony with its large lush blooms offset by the purple-blooming alliums beside it make a perfect little tableau. And behind the pink-blooming peony is the emerging blooms of my most favourite clematis, with its large double-blue petals, utterly charming. A charmed day, actually.