It's hard to tell whether Jackie and Jillie remember other times when they've been with us on trips to the New Hampshire woods of the White Mountain National Forest. They have accompanied us for years, a week in the spring, and another in fall. Dogs have fairly good memories and it's quite feasible that they do find themselves familiar with a landscape visited infrequently.

 

 

In any event, once we were ensconced in the cottage we rent at those times in the Waterville Valley, they make themselves right at home. They find all the places where they can be comfortable and more or less claim them as their own. Entitled little pups, they are. Of course we'd have it no other way. Sharing with them is part of our own pleasure in removing ourselves briefly from the familiar.

 

 

We decided we would return to Smartsbrook for another hike there. Before we did, though Jackie and Jillie made a friendly trip over to say hello to the three miniature goats that our host houses behind their own large traditional country home. And nor did they intend to ignore the presence of the tiny white bunny which was quite unfazed at their presence.

 

 

The hencoop chickens now, that's another story altogether. They're mixed breed hens, raised from chicks. In fact, the last time we were there three years ago, before the Pandemic, the chicks were being warmed by a heat lantern in their very early days. They've turned out to be excellent layers, the eggs they leave for our host to pick up are coloured in beautiful soft shades of ivory and brown. We were given a gift of a half-dozen and enjoyed them; fresher than any eggs acquired in a supermarket. 

 

And then we returned to Smartsbrook and this time it wasn't raining, so no one needed rainjackets. The roar of the mountain stream tumbling over rocks and boulders has its own pleasurable cadence and loud though it may be as the trail edges closer to the streambed, it is also soothing and tranquilizing. The constant spray of the stream moisturizes the air; reason enough why vegetation on the forest floor grows to great size, and why there is copious lichen of various colours and forms clinging to the trunks of trees and hanging from their branches.

 

We hear song sparrows in the forest, and see yellow Admirals fluttering about the trees. Underfoot the trail is wet and on either side grow straw lilies, lilies-of-the-valley, and false Solomon's Seal in abundance. Only one lonely Ladies Slipper comes to our notice. Jackie and Jillie forge enthusiastically ahead, and we follow. The footing is fine for the most part, but complicated here and there as it narrows to accommodate ladders comprised of crossing roots and rocks liberally strewn about.

 

This also happens to be the day we've decided to drive south in the state, to mosey about what is called Antique Alley, a series of antique, memorabilia and frankly junk shops along the route. Where now and again we end up popping into shops, with Jackie and Jillie sitting in pouches slung over our shoulders. A not inconsiderable weight which guarantees we don't linger too long in any one place. It's part of the fun of being there. But there is disappointment when we come across one shop after another shuttered, the result of a downturn in the trade.