So, it's Saturday, our proverbial day of rest. A lovely day not to be wasted. It's far cooler for a summer day than is usual, nudging 20C and firm about it. A hefty breeze, so with clouds hectoring the sun now and again it's perfect for a meander through the woodland trails with Jackie and Jillie, and come to think of it, catch up on the chores in our neglected garden afterward.

So off we went -- first things first, insist Jackie and Jillie -- and took our turn in the ravine. The breathtaking vision of a meadow of Himalayan balsam in generous bloom against the background of bright summer green deserves a pause before we even get going. The small flowers, bright pink and insouciantly poised are beautiful, on their stalks easily as tall as I am, and more. This year the compass plants and the Himalayan orchids are in a competition to see which will grow taller.

For that matter, goldenrod and ragweed have grown to monumental size this year, and clumps of them appeared early and everywhere. Good thing it is that we're not allergic to them. And nor are Jackie and Jillie. Our little miniature poodle Button used to have allergies in early spring but nothing would stop her from enjoying her daily jaunts through the forest trails, just like Jackie and Jillie.

They met up with some of their acquaintances while we were out strolling along the trails drying out nicely from all the rain we've had. At one juncture Jackie and Jillie came across an unfamiliar dog they hadn't met before. This was a huge, energetic and curious-about-them year-and-a-half-old Newfoundland breed. Restless and curious about everything, taking up most of the room on the trails because of its penchant for striding along very close to everyone, leaving the impression of an imminent collision.

The dog wanted to play with our two cranky little dogs who prefer to make their own choices and they definitely weren't about to select this colossus as a playmate. The Newfie followed them closely every time they tried to evade it leading to their trying to leap into our arms for comfort and support. When the dog's companions chose another trail, it refused to follow them, preferring instead to follow us, to Jackie and Jillie's alarm. Eventually, the man ran after the resisting pup and led it off. It wanted to play with Jackie and Jillie and that was that.

We decided to cap off our ravine hike this day with a visit at the opposite end of our circuit's meadow. No wild orchids there, but lots of Queen Anne's lace, fleabane, daisies, purple loosestrife, Black-eyed Susans and -- we keep our distance from these -- wild parsnips. 

 On to the garden, snipping here and there, to provide some order and tidiness in the garden. Pulling weeds, noting the surprise presence of two tomato plants, obviously from the compost spread in the spring. I yanked one in an inconvenient spot, and left the other because it will have room to grow.

The crow, we note, that has been hanging boldly around the porch of late who doesn't react with alarm as do the others when it sees us through the glass front door peering out at it, doesn't appear to be house-trained and evidently doesn't care, though we do. I sprayed its leavings with a vinegar concoction before beginning my usual sweep up of the mess left on the porch and the walkways.

There's always more to be done, but after that workout and watering the garden pots I felt that to have been enough for the day, the day of rest, and went into the house to start a cream of broccoli soup for dinner that we'll have alongside sandwiches for dinner tonight. Friday-night dinner is always so filling and so is Saturday breakfast; a lighter repast is sometimes in order. 

Our daughter and granddaughter live out in the country, and they have plenty of exposure to wild animals that share the land with them and their neighbours. They adopted an Anatolian herding dog from a rescue group about a year ago that wasn't yet a year old, and she's been a great companion to them. They now have two other rescue dogs as well, both still puppies, along with an elderly Chihuahua, the last of their first pack of dogs. Two nights ago Lily, the herding dog, decided to leap the deck railing after a skunk. The skunk defended itself and Lily had a face full of outrage.

Pandemonium ensued, our daughter smearing tomato paste into Lily's mouth, over her nose, and Lily leaping about everywhere in distress, gagging, retching, foaming at the mouth, refusing to drink water to diffuse the effect of the spray. Once Lily calmed down, she spent the night fitfully sleeping, while drooling and snuffling. And she smells, of course, pretty awful. So, incidentally, does the house now. If there's a moral to the story it's hard to imagine scolding a dog for choosing to run after the wrong crittur. But she's eating again, and seems fairly normal after her trial of error.

 For us, all is calm. The foccacia I made yesterday turned out well. I had mortar-and-pestled the rosemary rather than use the sprigs, into a finer form to sprinkle over the bread and it was wonderfully fragrant. And this morning I decided to bake a cherry-blueberry pie, since I had leftover cherries and lots of blueberries. It's the season, after all, for fresh fruit pies, with the abundance of all kinds of fruit now in the marketplace.

It's turned out to be an extraordinarily windy day, and a cool one, with a high of 17C, albeit sunny. In fact, a beautiful day. We just needed to wear light cotton jackets against the cool temperature and the cooler wind and off we went in the afternoon for our ramble through the woodland trails. We thought a little excitement for Jackie and Jillie wouldn't be a bad idea, so decided to extend our hike a bit, and go along to an area within the forest that we don't usually visit.

We did once, many years ago, make that part of the ravine an almost daily destination. It looked far different then than it does now. There's an almost parkland-like atmosphere where years ago it was rough and natural; now a kind of meadow area is maintained with grass regularly cut and trails leading around the meadow. Back when we used it familiarly the only trails were those occasional hikers had made over the years.

We used to backpack our now-25-year-old granddaughter every morning over those trail. When she became older we picked wild berries for her fresh off their stalks, just as we do now for Jackie and Jillie. All those canes that were so productive and surrounded by other shrubs and trees are no longer in evidence. And those that are elsewhere in the area appear unproductive. That part of the ravine and the forest is somewhat different from the part we consider 'ours' in the sense that it's so relatively close to home.

Because we were taking a route that was different, that they barely remember, that they've only been to several times in their lives, Jackie and Jillie were excited and enthusiastic, running ahead, chasing each other, looping in and out of the trail to explore underbrush in a landscape different than the one they're accustomed to. A bridge that takes us up to the flats presented a problem. The last time we'd gone that way, last fall, Jillie had refused to tread over the bridge and had to be carried. She stopped at the bridge again, again refusing to run over it and Irving carried her over.

Jackie is heedless of such things; what motivates Jillie is a puzzle to us. Up there we found goldenrod in bloom and along with good healthy plots of yarrow. Pin cherries hung bright red from the trees. Queen Anne's lace, henbane and daisies were everywhere in bloom and stands of fall asters were tall and mature, preparing to burst into flower. It's a much more open area than our part of the ravine, unless one takes trails leading to the bowels of the ravine, as it were. Which we once did, but no longer do; for one thing most of the trails we were familiar with haven't been in use for decades and the forest has closed in on them.

Vitis labrusca grapes hung from great old vines scrambling their way high over trees. When we were first familiar with that area, there was one mature vine; now that original vine is absent and others have taken its place, likely its offspring, elsewhere along the trail, some of them just beginning to put out grape clusters, others in the near-to-ripening stage.

And the piece de resistance, the venerable old pine; we had to visit it. It looks robust and healthy still. It has an immense girth, its main trunk short, with huge lateral limbs pushing out from every side. It easily represents the oldest tree in the forest, and likely when the virgin forest was being cut with foresters looking for tall, straight pines, this one was left because of its outstretched, low-on-the-trunk limbs. 

Today turned out to be one of those days when it looked as though we wouldn't have the opportunity to get out with Jackie and Jillie for a traipse through forest trails. Everything was dripping, heavy rain from morning to afternoon. The garden is completely sodden, vegetation looks fairly dejected, averse to being drowned. There was one little Morning Glory defying the rain and fully open despite the lack of sun and the presence of gushing rain.

Jackie and Jillie weren't anywhere near thrilled about having to exit the house to pee. The alternative is forbidden so they were faced with a real dilemma. When they went up to bed last night they were slightly damp yet again after being unmercifully forced to relieve themselves in the rain before bedtime. People can be so unreasonable, we heard Jackie hiss to Jillie. She was in complete agreement. We were in the metaphorical dog house.

Ditto this morning. There are times when Irving must pick Jillie up, heavy little bundle that she is, to deposit her under the deck to do her business, where the rain can't get at her. She fails to appreciate his thoughtfulness and often grudgingly exit into the garden and positions herself in the rain, suffering the rain to beat down on her in the hope that we'll feel remorse over forcing this indignity on her person.

Practical Jackie just gets it over with and whips back upstairs to the deck and into the house to leap onto the Deacon's bench lined with towels, awaiting his towelling-down. Jillie's histrionics are typical of her gender, inborn, not taught. She is not playing a role, but living it.

Finally, though, we did get out. I'd been busy with the laundry, a little bit of ironing, prepared a dough for a focaccia bread to accompany the fish chowder we're having tonight. It's not only rainy, but cool out at 17C. Others may be suffering drought and extreme heat conditions, but we're not among them, so grateful for that. We may grumble and moan, but we're also acutely aware of how fortunate we are.

Our opportunity came when the rain stopped, though from the look of the dark cloud-streaked sky it seemed likely a renewal of the rain was imminent. On with our raincoats, off to the ravine. Stopping as usual to see whether there are any ripe blackberries, raspberries, thimbleberries for easy plucking. There were none; Jackie and Jillie were crushed with disappointment. On one side grow the berries on the other the wildflowers; each a treat to behold.

Looking ahead as the trail winds downhill and into the forest, the interior looks extremely dark. Once you're in it, however, it doesn't seem quite as dark, but welcoming as the forest embraces us. Jackie and Jillie as always run on ahead stopping now and again to read the news of the day left by other dogs as they mark here and there, and they take the time to leave their own messages. Any dogs that come after will know that Jackie and Jillie were there.

 A little like the whole world knows in other ways when Jackie and Jillie 'were there'. We've often been told by people going through the ravine or living close to it that they know when our two little companions are passing through the trails because the turmoil they cause with their barking reveals their presence. They bark excitedly when they see someone they know, they bark authoritatively when someone is ahead they're unfamiliar with, they bark aggressively when they come across other dogs unknown to them, but hesitant about their presence.

We felt fairly fortunate to be able to get out, even though we thought the heavens would open up at any time while we were out. That didn't happen. A light or middling-to-heavy rain could be countenanced since we were all in rain gear, but heavy downpours are another thing altogether. Meanwhile, we enjoyed the overwhelming, gleaming green of the landscape, the cool comfort and the freedom availed us by circumstances to relish a quality of life denied so many.

Yes, we know our neighbouring wildlife need no assistance to secure a reliable food supply for themselves at this time of year. They should, of course, be left to their own foraging devices. Lest they become dependent when they should be independent. Sometimes you box yourself into situations and find yourself so deeply ensconced they become commitments in your mind.

Every night without fail a raccoon family, mama and five kits -- growing larger by the day, it seems -- come along to feast awhile. Obviously, the peanuts and crushed cookies put out on the porch doesn't represent their daily nutritive intake; they're a kind of top-off, a dessert as it were. Same for the single raccoons that present themselves. 

The squirrels on the other hand and the chipmunks -- it's hard to say. They all take their turns, black, grey, red, sometimes chase one another, sometimes share the porch stuffing their little faces with the most delicate of dainty nibbles. A pair of song sparrows have made the porch a daily call as well, and we value their wonderful trilling songs, just as we do those of the cardinal and the robins.

The most acutely aware of all are the crows. They're disturbed by the slightest movement and fly off quickly, whereas smaller birds are far less cautious. The high intelligence of crows perhaps a hint to their uber-awareness. But there's one crow we take to be a juvenile that has become accustomed to the lurking presence behind the glass front door of one or another of us, watching them and like the juvenile raccoon we're most familiar with, remains calm and relaxed about our near proximity.

Today's a brilliant weather day; cool, sunny, breezy, and we made the most of it. Irving cut the grass and transplanted a pot of marigolds that were faring surprisingly poorly, into the garden from a pot. After which we hauled Jackie and Jillie out to the ravine with us ... of course if you ask them it's the other way around; it's they who persuade us to take ourselves off to the ravine, in their wake.

The sky was so dazzlingly blue, the sun warm and caressing, playing a game with the wind. White, puffy clouds floated serenely above, some appearing close enough to us to reach up and touch, as a child might imagine possible. Just as well we're not in the habit of slack-jaw gaping at the landscape spectacles that confront us, both above and below.

Each time we approach the entrance to the forest we're taken aback anew at the spectacle of the wildflowers crowding one another in a melange of shapes and colours; primarily Himalayan orchids, Pilotweed, Thimbleberry flowers, Queen Anne's lace and Black-eyed Susans, all outdoing the other in a display of form, texture and beautiful colour. Bees and wasps, hover flies, butterflies and other little flying creatures adore them all.

At the ravine entrance Jackie and Jillie suddenly smelled, heard or saw something we hadn't yet, and went coursing madly onto the trail dipping into the ravine, ears wildly flapping. Soon we saw the occasion for the excitement, a woman and her son accompanied by a bull mastiff and a two-month-old puppy which the teen quickly swooped into his arms for protection against the mad antics of two little black poodles. And it was cookies all around.

But for initially seeing that group, it was a surprise to us that there were not more people out on such a divinely beautiful day. The trails, though not as drenched as they were yesterday as we wound through them in the rain, were still wet but not muddy. All the vegetation that had been lacquered brightly by yesterday's rain was now dry, and feeling the strength of the summer sun.

Jackie and Jillie had many distractions to take their attention as they poked their way here and there, with squirrels chasing one another and challenging our two puppies to a race they'll never win, though they never tire of trying. Jillie stubbornly runs alongside, without ever leaving the trail. Jackie is more inclined to enter the interior of the forest and leap acrobatically through the bracken of ferns and shrubs and packed ground cover in graceful leaps and bounds.

We sauntering along after them, appreciative of the environment, the glowing landscape, the atmosphere, the fragrance and the birdsong all of which seemed so wonderfully stage-managed by nature. But these forays all come to a halt eventually, and we made plans walking down the street back home, to run a few errands.

Returning a few films to the library because they were due for return, and if that isn't proof that things are slowly returning to normal, what is? Libraries were shut down for over a year; they're just gradually opening up and month following month releasing more services. That done, we drove the distance to Ritchie's Feed and Seed because the 50-lb. bag of shelled peanuts that Irving bought a month or so ago is now depleted.

The blazing wildfires in northern Ontario, in Manitoba, Saskatchewan and British Columbia, as well as those burning relentlessly out of firefighting control in the United States are certainly having an effect on our upper atmosphere as the smoke from the fires filter ever  upwards. Two nights ago the moon appeared large and bright orangey-red. Last night it was the setting sun that posed as a giant red orb in the sky. We took photographs from one of our upstairs windows, with three different cameras, but invariably the stunning blazing red our eyes saw was transcribed by each of the cameras as hot-white, sometimes with a red penumbra, in other photos with a striking lightning-like dagger of red, and others simply a blazing white star.

And then, hours later, the rain started up again accompanying thunder and lightning. The forecast for today was for cooler temperatures, but rain, lots of it, and the forecast was right on. When we awoke we decided we'd take Jackie and Jillie out for a hike through the ravine, despite the rain. Because it was only 17C, we  wore rainjackets and so did they. The sky was streaked with grey and black clouds and we felt that the rain would increase during the day from the light patter that came down as we left the house.

We stopped briefly beside the raspberry canes before entering the forest interior to pluck a few raspberries for Jackie and Jillie. A reward, as it were, for being so accommodating. They don't mind wearing rainjackets and they're indispensable in such weather, keeping their bodies snug, warm and dry; little dogs tend to become cold fairly quickly if they become soaked.

On the way we stopped to admire the glittery-pink shine of the Himalayan orchids, more of them blooming with each passing day. Pearls of rain gathered on the petals and slowly dropped, gathering more as soon as the petals dropped their gleaming jewelled burden. In short order we were deep in the forest, and saw that the mushrooms that had irrupted yesterday morning at the base of what is left of an old tree stump had fully matured through the course of the day, responding to the rain saturating the soil and the air.

Soon enough the rain picked up its sound and volume. One might think the forest canopy had reached its point of no return as far as the amount of rainwater it could harbour, but evidently not; it continued to shelter us from the heavy rainfall, but we were wearing rainjackets too, and were comfortable with the relatively sparse rain that reached us. 

The thought of hiking through a rain-soaked forest even while the rain is steadily falling may not be too appealing and for the most part we prefer to trek through the forest on dry days, but there have been so many rain events this summer, it was inevitable that we'd be touring the forest in rain on occasion. And this occasion was one of considered choice.

The truth is, a different kind of pleasure awaits us on such days, given that we prepared for the rain. Seeing the landscape through the lens of a rainfall is quite different; there are no beams of sunlight coursing through the trees casting light and shadow, colours are much deeper with a strange bright element seen only when the forest interior is deep in dusk as it is when the sky is heavily overcast and rain falls. It is pleasurable and beautiful to stride along at leisure taking in the landscape, one that changes with the weather and the season, and never fails to comfort and surprise and pleasure.

He's getting restless, I know the symptoms, I've seen them most of my life and when he gets like that it means that like it or not we'll be going somewhere. I don't particularly want to, even though I've never regretted having gone to so many places near and far with him. The simple fact is that with him I would be comfortable going anywhere. It's been several years since we've made a trip. I'd be just as happy staying home, doing all the things together that we love to share. We've got everything we need right here. And at age 84, nudging 85, do we really need to be travelling?

When our children were young there wasn't a weekend that we weren't exploring some conservation area around Toronto, getting ourselves out to green spaces and good clean air and exercise with the children. As they grew older we went further and not just for day-trips any longer. We explored the east coast of Canada, and so many places closer to home, as well as becoming more aggressive about the landscapes we'd introduce the children to; the ocean in Maine, mountains in New York state, Vermont, New Hampshire.

Eventually, when the children were adults and his professional life took him abroad I accompanied him on several occasions to live awhile outside Canada, a great privilege and incredibly informing and entertaining. Right now, where we live we no longer have to haul ourselves off to nearby forests and mountains to explore the great out-of-doors, we have a landscape of hilly forested terrain right nearby readily accessed daily, an exploration-in-miniature that satisfies both of us at this stage in our lives.

His sense of adventure while diminished over the years, still actively propels him to consider outings. We'd regularly taken twice-yearly week-long visits to the White Mountains of New Hampshire, the regularity of our trips cut off by COVID. Over the years familiarity with the terrain, the forests, lakes and mountains satisfied the adventurer in both of us. We have memories, and they're dear, but I have no wish to renew them in person to acquire more.

This morning out we went pre-breakfast with Jackie and Jillie for our daily romp through the ravine. The creek was swollen once again from last night's voluminous rainfall, and a rolly-polly little furball was in the muddy water, happily digging in the clay bottom while his human waited beside the bridge for him to tire of his antics. Our two little 'water dogs' would do anything to avoid emulating that little adventurer. Which is just as well, considering the run-off that ends up in the creek and that broken bottles and cans sometimes end up in it.

Irving was busy giving out cookies to dogs passing by who just happen to stop and look appealingly at him. There was one black standard-size poodle that looked like a giant cousin of Jackie and Jillie. Later on, during our tramp through the sodden trails -- vegetation on either side glistening as though lacquered, the sun not having yet attained enough warmth nor its fingers penetrating the forest canopy to aid in evaporation -- Irving reached up to pull down to his level a branch heavy with small ripening wild apples. 

The combination of early morning, morning sun, and evaporating rainwater created a luminosity that hung over the creek viewed from the promontories above. To our surprise we came across a wildflower anomaly; at this mid-summer stage a small clump of fall asters already in tentative bloom. What an amazing summer it has been for accelerated vegetation growth and early-season maturity!

And then eventually we arrived back home and sure enough the garden too reflected yet another blandishment by nature for all growing things to thrive and to surprise us with their robust, colourful presence in a tableau that has become our garden, heavy with ornamental trees for architectural focus and conceited with the glow of seasonal flowers whose shades are illuminated by the sun glancing off still-wet foliage and petals.