It is almost beyond belief that the summer we looked so anxiously toward -- a flick of a moment ago when winter wore us down and we yearned to be relieved of the cold -- has come and gone. Oh, we'll continue to have lots of good days yet of warm temperatures, sun and gentle wind, but that old classic of the writing on the wall spells out summer's gradual disappearance for 2021.

 

 

The last day of August, already? How is that even possible? We're just getting comfortable with summer, despite our crabby complaints of heat and humidity. Whining is just second mature to us, after all. And as though to really bring home to our consciousness what we'll soon be missing, this final day of August has turned out incredibly pleasant.

 

If a temperature of 26C, a cool breeze and a hot sun doesn't spell out summer perfection what could? And that's nature's menu for the day. Jackie and Jillie were beyond grateful. As soon as they scarfed down their breakfast they were outside, on the deck, splayed out in the sun. They didn't care the sun was so bright they had to narrow their eyes to slits. The comforting warmth was all that mattered. And it took awhile before the heat on their black haircoats compelled them to return to the house interior.

 

These are the treasured days of balm to our souls, courtesy Mother Nature. Although the garden is tired of having worked for so many months to produce the landscapes we so admire in texture, form and colour, they too have responded to nature's elements that worked so assiduously in tandem in a choreograph of perfection when rain fell, the skies cleared, the sun emerged and cool delight was our gift.

 

When we went off in the early afternoon to the ravine with Jackie and Jillie there were the bright pink faces alight with sun of the balsam family's Himalayan orchids. A sea of cheerful faces in an ocean of dark green foliage. Those pink flowers are quite simply irresistible. It is not even remotely possible to pass their presence without at least a brief stop to absorb their insouciant pink greeting.

 

And then we dip down the hillside as the trail takes us into the forest interior. Where Jackie and Jillie enjoy brief little sorties off the trail to adventure themselves with the closer inspection of anything that moves or an odour beckons. Their frenetic back-and-forths ensures their energy output is readily double ours. But then, of course, we amble about on two legs to their four.

 

There was no reason to cut short our outing in the forest, though we had other matters that would absorb the balance of the day's activities. The sun was warm and brilliant, illuminating the forest with its bright shafts of light and spreading a strange light-mist throughout the landscape. Clarity of vision enhanced through a shimmering veil of light.

 

On our return home Jackie and Jillie clamoured as usual for their vegetable salad; chopped snap peas, cucumber, tomato and nectarine. And I put together a potato salad for dinner; Yukon gold potatoes, chopped green onions, salt, pepper, snap peas, over a bed of lettuce, topped by canned salmon and sliced cocktail tomatoes. 

 

Then we left our two little guard dogs at home. Alone. And they don't appreciate that. But they cannot accompany us into a supermarket. Unless we're in New Hampshire on holidays and shopping at one of the supermarkets there where everyone is delighted to see them in their pouches seated at the front of a shopping cart. That doesn't work here.

 

We had another destination first, though, to drive over to the place where we pick up shelled peanuts for our porch guests. While Irving hoisted a 50-lb. bag of peanuts onto a cart, I looked among the spring bulbs for fall planting that the store always features, and came away with more scilla, tulip and narcissus bulbs. We had to take a roundabout way back from Richie's since, on the way there, we couldn't believe the traffic tie-ups resulting from lane closures.

 

 

But eventually we ended up at the supermarket, where we got our food shopping excursion completed. We were later than usual arriving there, and found the parking lot really full, as was the store. A situation that makes us very uncomfortable at the present time. Such are the hazards of being out in public in this time of the coronavirus pandemic.

His new motto is 'never without cookies'. He cannot now bear to disappoint all the dogs that have become familiar with his presence in the ravine. They spot him, dash toward him, then docilely sit beside where he stands, on the side closest to where his bag dangles with its cache of cookies. Dogs that were once shy or standoffish all acknowledge his presence.

Jackie and Jillie now associate the presence of other dogs with their opportunity to score more cookies. As it is, the little rascals remember previous spots where we've stopped along the trails briefly to hand out cookies and look expectantly at Irving as though plaintively whining: 'well, you doled them out right here before, what's wrong with right now?'

But they know of a certainty that if other dogs are being indulged with cookies, they will be, too. This morning there were quite a few encounters. Likely people wanting to make up the gap of the last few days when it was iffy finding a brief opening between heavy downpours to get out with their pets, so quite a few were out and about this morning.

Destined to be a mostly sunny day after all that rain, and not particularly hot, but humid again and breezy. The wind kept dislodging excess water off the forest canopy onto the trails below since it hadn't been all that long before that the last of the rain had come down. The cracks in the forest floor that had begun to open and widen reflecting a paucity of moisture in the mostly clay soil are now closing back up again as the clay absorbs the rain and swells with it.

It was too sodden to make our way through the thicket of grasses and wildflowers on the narrowing path that accesses it; not for us particularly, but it would have drenched Jackie and Jillie so we bypassed the meadow this morning. Which meant that I gave extra attention to the area above the ravine colonized by Himalayan orchids; their perky bright pink orchid flowerheads emphasized by their drenched state, the flowers and foliage slicked with the shellacking effect of the rain.

Halfway through our hike on the trails we came across something we'd never before seen. From a bit of a distance we assumed it was a cocoon, but approaching closer it became evident that this cocoon had many legs and was in fact a pure white, fair-sized caterpillar, the first of its kind we'd ever seen. Called a white hickory tussock moth caterpillar, it has a reputation of causing an itchy rash through the liquid it exudes as a self-protective mechanism, through protruding dark hairs.

That's the thing about tramping about in nature; you never know what you're going to come across. We came across in fact, a woman we've seen on previous occasions with her two little poodles. While Irving picks wild apples to share out with Jackie and Jillie, this woman picks them to toss for her little dogs to chase after. Their food function is superseded by their playtime-ball function for those little fellows.

Charming, but for the fact that the woman turned back on the trail to retrace where she had begun tossing the apple/ball, explaining to us that her bracelet had flown off her wrist with one of her tosses. A gift from her late husband, it wasn't something she meant to carelessly lose in the forest. Its colour, she wryly informed Irving, was much the same as the detritus on the forest floor; woody-brown.

She passed us in the opposite direction retracing her steps, her two little dogs faithfully following, and we peered about as we continued our own traipse through the trail, until Irving suddenly bent down and retrieved the lost bracelet, simultaneously shouting out to the woman behind us that it had been found.

We received a  treasure trove of photographs today from our younger son. Photos he took on a four-day alpine backpacking trip to one of his favourite haunts in British Columbia. He has backpacking down to a fine art. I remember how he culled everything we packed for many of our canoe-camping trips to Algonquin Park in the past, and went on to do the same when we did the Bowron Lakes canoe circuit with him years ago, as well as one one alpine backpacking trip with him close to the Stein Valley when we were then his age now. It was beyond arduous, taking up fully all the energy we could muster.

And we'd had ample experience climbing the Presidential mountain range over the years in New Hampshire with him when he and his brother and sister were in their early and mid-teens. The landscape is forbidding in terms of its sheer volume; atop a mountain you look in every direction and see -- an endless march of mountaintops. Just like when you're in a plane flying over the Rockies and it appears as though there is no end to the mountains steepling the landscape.

Our own form of recreational hiking is far reduced, however. We would never attempt the relatively tame ascents we once assumed for a day's leisure pleasure. Although it's an enterprise that requires endurance and physical dexterity and strength, it does qualify as 'leisure', since it's what you choose to do in the time you can spare from the more mundane of life's requirements. And it may rate as among the most important things you ever do, events indulged in that forever occupy a place in your memory.

Today we were certain we wouldn't have an opportunity to get out into our closest natural landscape. Rain began last evening, went on into the night hours and we awoke to rain, had breakfast through the rain, and did manifold household chores into the afternoon as rain continued. We think most often of what it means to the health benefits and welfare of Jackie and Jillie to get out with them on the forest trails daily. We were almost resigned to no hike today.

And then, the rain stopped. Although the sky failed to offer any suggestion that there would be no more rain; in fact the opposite, we thought we'd better make a break for it. A cool day, at only 20C, but it certainly didn't feel cool. The humidity level must have been in the 38-40 range at the very least, thick enough to cut, as the saying goes. We tucked our puppies raincoats into our own rainjacket pockets and set off with them.

As we accessed the trail descending into the woods the interior looked about as dark as it could be, outside night hours and heavy drops kept falling from the canopy so that it sounded as though the rain had started up again. All the vegetation shone with the luster of a peculiar light illuminating a lacquered green surface. 

Jackie and Jillie soon discovered they weren't the only ones out on the trails despite the weather. One of our hiking friends told us she had already been out two times previous to this time; she and her husband are truly dedicated trompers of the woodland trails. Their three border collies they say, require the opportunity to stream through the forest as often as possible. Needless to say they move at a much swifter pace than we do.

Despite the sodden state of the forest wasps and bees and beetles are in business everywhere. The transcendent sight of tiny crystal balls hanging from the Himalayan orchids is worth the traipse out to the ravine on its own; just breathtakingly beautiful. We bypass the meadow this time because it's just quite simply too wet to tackle the narrow pathway leading to it crowded with grasses and large, heavy flower stalks of ragweed, pilotweed and evening primrose. Jackie and Jillie would get completely drenched. We'll leave it for another day -- like tomorrow.

 

Irving has a subscription to the Maine Antique Digest. He used to pick them up freely distributed when we'd poke into New Hampshire antique shops over the years taking breaks from our mountain hiking expeditions. It's a quality magazine, with excellent well-researched articles and photographs of antiques at auction and plenty of advertisements that pique our interest. And would have even more so back in the days when we were free to travel for hiking holidays in the White Mountains. We'd done so for many years and loved every one of those trips.

 

 

It's hard to say, coming into our 85th year, whether we'll resume that long drive and the fuss associated with packing, unpacking, re-packing and caring for two little dogs to ensure their safety and comfort during semi-annual one-week trips where we'd rent a housekeeping cottage in the Waterville Valley and re-visit all our old hiking haunts.

 

 

We had first started out that tradition many years ago when our children were in their pre-, early-teens and beyond, introducing them and ourselves to the exhilaration and pleasures involved in mountain climbing. Those side-trips to antique shops were Irving's special indulgence. He looked for affordable, authentic 19th Century paintings and over the years amassed quite a few to hang on our walls.

 

 

The global pandemic changed a lot of peoples' habits. Impacting everyday life in a multitude of ways as well as the ability to move about freely in-country and on foreign trips. Receiving that monthly magazine was another way to 'keep in touch' with what was happening on the art and antiques market. We firmly believe, from our experiences in awaiting those posted magazines, that the U.S. postal service seriously delivers. Canada Post, not so much.

 

 

There are times when an issue is late, times when one never makes it to arrival. The August issue was one of them. So after waiting three weeks and nothing in our mailbox, Irving called their office, spoke to the helpful receptionist who assured him she would send out another. It wasn't the first time this happened. The September issue, she told him, had already been dispatched. A week later, there was a package in the mailbox with a note from Canada Post, apologizing that the 'enclosed' had been damaged by them so they had placed it in a large manila envelope for safety sake and sent it on.

 

 

When Irving opened the package there was a note from the sympathetic receptionist who said she was aware we'd been experiencing difficulties with postal delivery at our end, so she sent along both a replacement August issue and the following September issue. And there they were. The original, missing August issue has never arrived, and nor has the September one, so we were fortunate she was so thoughtful. Our postal service is sub-par, unfortunately. The postie who services our group mailbox is notorious for placing people's mail in the wrong slot...and they mysteriously disappear.

 

 

It's hard to believe we felt as though we were melting from the heat and humidity only two days ago in a prolonged heat wave. Yesterday we were greeted with relief when a cold front arrived. And today it's cooler still, at 19C and no humidity, but a cold wind. And the threat of rain under heavily grey-streaked skies. When we arose in the morning it was raining. When it stopped in early afternoon out we went for our usual plunge into the ravine and our forays through the forested trails.

 

Although we wore rainjackets on the chance it would rain again since the forecast was for ongoing rain and the possibility of thunderstorms, we needed them for comfort from the cold, not to shield us from rain, as it happened. And nor did we have to whip out Jackie and Jillie's little raincoats in a downpour.

 

Hard to believe that the heat wave has worn itself out, here. Yesterday's sludgy air quality at 32C with high humidity was a corker, following hard on day after day of much of the same. Each of which was given a 40% chance of rain or thunderstorms, during which time none appeared, to freshen the atmosphere and bring in a cooling trend. But it happened overnight. When we went up to bed it was still 24C, last night. By the time we woke up this morning it was 19C, with the high for the day at 24C. 

Our near neighbours, Mohindar and Rajinder finally had their replacement air conditioner delivered yesterday. They've been without any house-cooling for several weeks. So that's an extra relief for them, with their three grandchildren visiting for the week. We've been coming across them on our early morning strolls through the forest trails walking along with their grandmother.

 

Friday mornings are always busy, and though we had enjoyed going out for early morning tramps through the woods, we decided, given the more reasonable temperatures now prevailing that we could leave our hike through the forest for afternoon today and Jackie and Jillie agreed. Irving had painted the second coat on the mouldings around the passive window in the kitchen, and had earlier when painting the first coat over the sealer applied long ago, removed the stained glass window. This morning he put the stained glass window back in place.

We far prefer looking at notional ethereal glass flowers than we do staring out a window directly opposite a house wall next door. These are views that Irving never found agreeable and his solution was to design and make stained glass to put over the windows in the house. This is why we have colourful views of flowers brightly blooming even in winter. 

I decided to bake a fruit pie, and diced a large peach and a nectarine into a pint of blueberries, mixing them with sugar, cornstarch a little water to simmer into a pie filling which when thickened and glossy added almond flavouring and butter to, then made the pie dough and rolled out the crusts to bake in my little countertop convection oven. I also decided to made a sweet-bread dough with milk, butter, egg and yeast, sprinkling in sesame seeds as I was kneading it. I'll decide later in the week what and how to bake it as; it keeps nicely covered and refrigerated; just a baking short-cut.

When we did eventually hie ourselves out to the ravine, the sky was blue with occasional wispy-white clouds. It was breezy and warm with a cool tinge, quite unlike the day before. Cool enough to wear light, long-sleeve tops. Cooler still once we were in the forest. Where we saw not many people out on the trails, but did come across several of our familiar old hiking friends and their dogs. A few had taken breaks at the family cottage, others had gone camping at Algonquin Park, our old camping grounds.

The serenity of the woods is incredibly benevolent, soothing to minds that have absorbed too much international news of a truly indigestible nightmarish catastrophe befalling people. We don't want to miss anything as we make our way through the forest; little things that attract our attention and bring a sense of wonder to our minds to displace the misery we've read of. 

Our memories fail to serve us with recall of any other year when the forest pines, spruce, hemlock and fir have bestowed so many cones on the forest. Even our oaks of which there are ample numbers, are dropping acorns which the squirrels mostly make quick work of. But it's mostly the presence of pine cones stippling the forest floor in numbers we cannot recall ever before seeing. And the realization that there will be no shortage of foraging material for the forest animals this coming winter.

Although there are always new blooms, they're less plentiful now that the compass plants are hoisting seedheads instead of flower heads. Still, the Himalayan orchids that grow so lavishly among the compass plants, their colours-- bright yellow and luminous pink -- providing a companionable canvas, have turned to white versus pink for the Himalayan orchids continue to put out fresh, perky blooms to grace the forest meadows.

We check in morning and night on the daily news. It's of immense importance to know what is happening in the world. From strictly local to international stories that alert and inform. And cause no little amount of despair that the global community is taxed evidently beyond its capacity to manage to live together with even a begrudged bit of tolerance. News today out of Afghanistan is compellingly terrifying, that people who want to live their lives in as normal a manner as possible, face ongoing violence that supposedly theist-sodden thugs impose upon them.

 

One of the major tenets of civilization is to take note of others' distress, become involved, make an effort to help them. Efforts that can often go horribly wrong, and sometimes manage despite wholesale adversity to go right. The Afghan tragedy is a bit of both, but in this instance the the helpfulness was sandwiched between 'horribly wrong'. The wild destructiveness of religious zealots whose fundamentalist idealism of a religion they claim based on sacred texts is entitled to slaughter non-believers in the imperative to bring the world to worship the ultimate creator can convince one of the evil that lives in the heart of human savagery.

 

And yet, we have the great good fortune to be removed from this chaotic turmoil, pain and terror. That divide between the threats faced by people whose misfortune it is to live in geographic areas afflicted by such terror and our own staid, civilized lifestyle, gives an aura of unreality to all of the reports coming fast and furious out of Afghanistan. Reading them, you grit your teeth in disbelief.

 

And then your attention turns to your own life and its normalcy. Where serenity reigns supreme. We all have problems that we face on a daily basis; concerns from merely irritating events up to critical life decisions that must be made. But few on this side of the world face the unrelenting, ongoing crises that the Islamic world has brought upon itself, and by extension the larger world.

 

Today, routine for us represents the mind-calming antidote to the dreaded, dreadful news of futures stolen and lives lost. We paused at the sight of the vast colony of bright pink flower heads held aloft to the sun as we approached the forested ravine we visit daily with our little dogs Jackie and Jillie, with a palpable sense of relief. An escape from newspapers and stories of disaster, and for us on our much more modest scale of concerns, escape from an afternoon of humid heat reaching into the 32C mark.

 

The neighbour on the street behind ours has continued to harvest those large, beautiful red, ripe apples from his backyard apple trees, to cart them by wheelbarrow into the ravine where he tips the barrow and they descend onto the hillsides below. The pile has grown substantially. It  sits there, a rebuke to a nation with a surfeit of food as opposed to other nations where ample food supplies are but a dream.

The berries that Irving has been plucking along the trails for Jackie and Jillie are just about exhausted. But the wild apple trees that have grown in a thicket of their own, continue to offer various types of fresh, ripe apples. So we have our pick, as it were, of apples. Some taste like Mackintoshes, some like transparents, and they're mostly quite good. Some quite outstandingly good; sweet, crisp and juicy. And Jackie and Jillie are more than willing to share them with us. And we munched as we toddle along.

 

When we traverse the vanishingly narrow pathway after our hour's tramp through the forest trails, to get to the meadow before leaving the forest, grasshoppers scatter left and right as we push our way through the narrow passage crowded with grasses whose height reaches our own and more. The diminishing presence of wildflowers hasn't dampened the enthusiasm of the pollinators; bees are everywhere extracting nectar and pollen from those flowers whose days are numbered, moving into fall.

 

 

I've been so fed up with how messy everything looks in the garden, but refrained from going out to work there in the heat of the afternoon while we're still marooned in this heat wave. Yesterday afternoon out I went, to cut back spent perennials and tidy things up in the garden. Irving, despite my protests, mowed the grass front and back in that heat.

 

And today out I was again in the sweltering direct sun, sweeping up detritus on the walkways, scraping up obnoxious little weeds and doing additional cut-backs, before turning to watering the gardens and the garden pots. The constant overheated wind, the glare of the sun and hot temperatures have fatigued the garden, and I know just how it feels. Irving was continuing his woodwork painting in the kitchen, and I was finished outside long before he was done, inside. Busy days.