What to do with a beautiful fall day, mild temperature of 18C and overcast? Yardwork beckons. And if there's a lot of it, it will take day after day after day to complete before late fall, and really cold weather with overnight frosts sets in. The more mature the garden, the greater the number of acquired plants, the more work involved. When some of our more tender plants were young and newly planted fall preparation included covering roses with rose cones for winter protection and using garden winter 'blankets' to wrap around vulnerable plants. We did that with the magnolia in the front of the house for years until it became too large and was fully acclimated.

Now it means emptying all the garden pots of their post-bloom residents. It means cutting back the multitudes of hostas, rose canes, peonies, shaping shrubs and trees. The tree peonies must be cut back carefully, leaving the flower buds that have formed to flower next spring. I put in several hours of work in the rock garden, ripping up hefty still-flowering morning glories, their seeds falling everywhere ensuring they'll be returning next summer. 

Ripe tomatoes were taken off the monster tomato plant that had volunteered itself for the garden from the compost. Jackie and Jillie played with a few of the ripe tomatoes tossing them about like a ball, before finally eating them. And the plant itself which sprawled all over half of a  garden bed in its unruly zest for life was uprooted. We had to trim back a Japanese maple for Irving to get a ladder in place because he was painting the back windowsills before winter's arrival.

Before that, however, we were out for an earlier romp through the ravine than usual today. A perfect day for an energetic but paced hike. We anticipated given our experience of yesterday that we'd come across quite a few people on the trails, and were pleased when that turned out not to be the case after all, which made for a peaceful and serene few hours. We did meet up with a woman and her dog whom we haven't seen in a few months. We've known her for many years as a fellow-ravine-hiker.

Several months back her husband had suddenly died. Only in his early 50s, he had a heart condition and something dreadful happened after he was given his first dose of the AstraZeneca vaccine. His wife had been inoculated with the Moderna vaccine, but they had gone separately to a vaccine clinic. Soon after he returned home he felt unwell and by the following day they rushed him to hospital. Our friend was told by the attending doctors that his heart had exploded. That's the word she used, telling us about it. She told us today she was arranging a memorial for him. With new Ontario rules it's allowable for 50 people who are fully vaccinated to attend such an indoor event. Masking if desired, distancing required.

On a cheerier note, there were two tiny poodles who suddenly accosted us leaping about on Irving's legs. The first time we ever saw them they were shy and retiring. Now they know him as the Cookie Man and are no longer shy. It became a contest between those tiny tykes and our two over which of them could leap the highest.

Our friend's dog, before departing after we'd walked awhile together, already knew Irving for a cookie dispenser and he just sat patiently waiting to be noticed and for his turn at the cookie trough to arrive. It's a happy day for community canines when they pass through the forest trails, many of them breaking away and absenting themselves for a period of time as they head directly to the creek for a refreshing dip before rejoining their humans, who to their great perplexity prefer not to take advantage as they do of the opportunity to cool off. Some of the dogs appreciate 'cooling off' even when the forest is deep in snow and the creek not yet frozen over.

At one point in our trek, I began peering into the interior at the forest floor, right about where I could recall seeing the remains of a giant mushroom several weeks ago that had long passed its prime and had collapsed into a huge mass of pulp. I felt certain that where a huge mushroom like that had developed surely there must be more of its kind. And today I thought I saw among the mass of crowded vegetation on the forest floor something that looked as though it could be what I was looking for.

So I began ducking through the forest understory, evading saplings, crouching through outstretched branches and as I neared the site, I realized that two giant mushrooms lay ahead. When I reached them it was in really crowded conditions, and they were no longer fresh but on the cusp of collapsing just like the other I had seen. It just wasn't possible given the conditions to get a good sharp photograph of their outlines; nowhere could I get an unobscured vision. I did try to give the impression of size by placing my hand nearby one of the mushrooms. 

The forest looks utterly beguiling, as though you're stepping into the work of a master painter -- which in actual fact, is what you're doing. The changing foliage colour is sometimes visually overwhelming, the shades just so perfectly tinted. There are times when you think you're looking at an abstract painting, a pointillist painting, a gallery of magnificent artwork curated by the most exalted artist of all, nature.