The bags of soil have been there for weeks. Twenty of them, taking up a fair amount of space. Every time Irving looks at our lawn he feels pangs of a deep seated-urge to begin again. In the past several years he's seeded and re-seeded the front lawn repeatedly. Which is to say, each time Bell Canada came around to dig it up for repairs to their communication lines. From as close as perfect to a good green lawn to an absolute mess. Each time they completed the work, a contractor would come along and casually toss a thin layer of weed-tainted soil and a sprinkling of grass seed and leave. 

 

 

The last time this happened, the excavation work was so deep all kinds of construction detritus was hauled up from seemingly the centre of the earth. Gravel predominately littered the surface of what was once a decent lawn. Again, a thin sprinkling of soil, and grass seed. This time even the grass seed refused to sprout and all that could be seen was gravel and weeds. More weeds than we've ever seen before. Pluck them up with roots intact, dispose of them only to make room for more to erupt.

 

A cool day dawned today under a heavily cloud-crusted sky. So this morning Irving decided he'd spread that soil and put down grass seed again, seed mixed with fertilizer, and give it another try. The weather was perfect for it, and when he was finished, and we cleaned up the mess on the bricks where the soil had been dumped into the wheelbarrow, we took Jackie and Jillie off to the ravine for an early afternoon romp.

 

They had behaved for a change while we were all out at the front of the house. I took the opportunity to do a little gardening while Irving was busy putting down soil, and they wandered about back and forth between us directing proceedings with their usual casual authority. When we finished and put on their collars and halters they were pretty enthused.

 

In the woods we saw again that sole pussytoe plant, its flowers opening a little fuller each time we pass it. It's normally a meadow plant, but there it is at the side of one of the forest trails. The many intermediate-story privet trees now bear their black, glossy berries, and the sunflowers are doing some serious blooming standing tall on the forest floor. It's like greeting old friends when we see them after a year's absence every summer, taking their turn in the bloom succession of wildflowers.

 

As we descended one of the hills we came abreast a surprise when four Dalmations were clambering up the same hill, with a woman holding a young malamute on leash. Quite impressive to see four of these large, mature dogs all together. None of them interested in us, moving in a loose pack in a terrain unfamiliar to them, but of moderate interest. 

 

Finally, when we returned home, we could sit in the garden briefly just to relax, glad that the work of trying to restore the lawn has been done, and the rest is up to nature. It would be pleasant to see the grass return to its normal state of coverage, to complement the gardens which never seem to disappoint us in their colourfully full presentation.

 

Another beautiful summer day dawned this morning. Moderate everything; heat, wind, humidity. So we bookended our afternoon ravine hike through the forest trails with visits to the garden. I'd done some tidying in the garden yesterday afternoon and then Irving pulled weeds in our awful lawn before cutting the grass. Nothing needs watering. So off we went, following Jackie and Jillie to the ravine.

 

Hanging over us a series of dark clouds wavering over whether to open the spigot on rain, or wait awhile. The clouds were blown out of contention by Aeolus (or was it Zephyrus) looking out for our welfare. We've got a stone mask of the Greek god hanging high on the brick wall above the garden, his hair curly and unkempt, ditto his beard, his mouth wide in the business of vigorously and with full authority blowing air around.

 

 

The two gargoyles we have facing either side of the house on the porch complete a companionable quartet of heavenly spirits if we count in the statue of Persephone standing in the garden. Their kind care and consideration has resulted in a comfortable garden, eager to please, and it does. And then of course, there's always Jackie and Jillie maintaining a careful watch on their garden.

 

 

The cooling air caressed our bare arms, the breeze wafted our wayward hair aloft, the shimmering green of the forest enveloped us, and nothing could be more soul-soothing to convince us that all is well with our little world, while madness rages without.

 

Irving had the opportunity to make some neighbourhood dogs happy when we were up on the spine of the ravine, drawn to our presence by the excited yipping of our two little companions. There weren't many ripe berries for picking today, most are in the still-ripening stages. 

 

 

Between us we often discuss things we've read that the other hasn't, and from that often comes long conversations as two people who've lived long lives together philosophize from the depths of their experiences. Jackie and Jillie pay no mind to us, but we mind what they're doing, and often call them back from the forest interior when they're up to no good.

 

 

Earlier in the morning I baked a double-layer chocolate cake. To be frosted on our return home, after it had completely cooled. It's actually for our daughter-in-law's birthday. Which was on the 27th, but they'll be here with us tomorrow, so I'm catching up. 

Back at home again, we rest awhile in the garden, look about at everything, admire new blossoms that present themselves, while Jackie and Jillie await our entrance back into the house where they anticipate their afternoon salad, as a reward for being very, very good little dogs.

 

It's very satisfying in a sense when you feel time is your own and you are free to apportion it as you will. Our early-morning split-second-decision to go directly out for our daily ramble through the forest with Jackie and Jillie, a case in point. There wasn't much cool air flashing through our bedroom window last night. So the floor fan came in handy to move air about. So much for air conditioning in a two-story house. 

We knew we'd be flirting once again with the possibility of rain, more like pop-up showers, but there are some mornings when it's just sensible to start the day this way. Jackie and Jillie sense the vibrations of expectation and run about excitedly. They sit obligingly for their collars and halters. We linger for the briefest of times in the garden, then turn to the street.

 

 

It's a still morning. The sun is absent, but it will return. The clouds keep shifting; although there is little wind down below, it's obviously busy up there. As we leave, a large densely dark cloud hovers overhead. Taking a chance these mornings has become routine. The forest canopy dense enough to shield us from light rain events.

 

 

We realize there must have been rain in the early morning hours from the appearance of the forest floor. the forest glows a bright, intense green all around us, even though there are cracks on the forest floor,  hungry for more rain on these hot and mostly sunny days. There is no one else about on the trails. We hear a woodpecker nearby, and further off a cardinal singing.

As we pass the creek, Irving stops briefly on the bridge to look down and sees a few water striders, and not much else. Later, when we're rounding out our circuit and take the narrow pathway overgrown with sawgrass that edges the bank of the creek we peer down and see a large orange goldfish. We know there are many more that we cannot see, smaller orange fish, but hundreds of tiny black hatchlings.

 

Irving points out to me growing at the side of the path, ragweed, already in flower. Too soon, they're usually later in the season. Everything seems to have accelerated this summer. Asters are also blooming and they shouldn't be, yet. We haul ourselves uphill to the upper level of the forest, cross another bridge and keep climbing to reach the top of the ravine's plateau.

 

It's our usual circuit, and not so long ago at this time of morning, there would be quite a few other larger-community residents accessing the ravine through a series of street-level entry points. For the last week or so that has changed, and we've come across fewer hikers every day. There are no mosquitoes unless you make yourself available to them by penetrating the forest interior, brushing up against lower-story shrubs or wildflowers.

 

 

The wildflowers have attained an astonishing height this year. Queen Anne's lace and pilotweed tower over us in their maturity. Today for a change we saw a lot of bees out gathering pollen, but they perch so fleetingly it's hard to capture them in a photo. We decide to go down to the pollinating meadow to finish off our circuit this morning. Usually Jackie and Jillie precede us on the trails. When we make our way through the narrow passage to the meadow it is so thickly grown in that they sensibly allow us to forge ahead and they follow.

 

 

We pass thick colonies of fleabane, Queen Anne's lace, and wild parsnip. And then we see a large mullein, beginning to flower. There aren't many of them in the forest. As we leave that narrow path thick with sawgrass we finally access the meadow, and there Irving begins to pick wild raspberries and ripe thimbleberries for Jackie and Jillie. 

 

But we aren't through forging through thick forest bracken, deciding to make our way to the opposite bank of the creek to see if we can spot any more of the fish. It's even more densely overgrown than the pathway. But there we see goldenrod beginning to flower, and purple loosestrife flowering, and the beautiful patches of black-eyed Susans, spectacular in their size, double petals and bright colour.

If there's a better, more exhilarating way to start a summer day, it hasn't yet occurred to us.

Yesterday was another double-misery day for Jackie and Jillie. Not only did we abandon the poor little tykes early in the morning to get our grocery shopping done -- and no amount of reasoning suffices to convince them that even little dogs that can be deposited in a bag at the front of a shopping cart to help in making food choices are not permitted in grocery stores -- the assault on their sensibilities continued when in the afternoon we took them off to the groomers.

After all, they have the experience of our weeks away in New Hampshire where they do accompany us into the supermarket and there it seems that everyone is fine with their presence. They provide amused entertainment for other shoppers as they quietly give us orders while perusing the food aisles and making their selections. Reminding us we needed to get low-sodium chicken soup to moisten their kibble, a can of chicken bits to enhance the kibble, and lots and lots of vegetables, fresh and colourful for their salads.

Doesn't work like that here. No.dogs.allowed. Their pitiful howls of distress as we leave the house would melt the hardest of hearts. Our hearts are harder than that. On the other hand, when we take them to the groomers they aren't thrilled at our leaving, but they are soothed by the warm embrace of the young women who will be bathing them and administering their perfect haircuts. They're quiet when we leave the establishment, not a peep out of them. On our return several hours later we see them looking out at us from a window as we mount the stairs to enter the spa. And that's when the excited yipping begins.

We decided we'd have barbecued hamburgers today, for a change. We had a light meal yesterday of fresh corn on the cob, little tasty sprats, cucumber, tomato, and cottage cheese with sour cream, finished by a bowl of clementines. For today I decided to make a green bean/tomato salad to accompany the hamburgers. And baked potatoes. The salad included green onions along with halved grape tomatoes and par-cooked green beans, with a vinaigrette of grated garlic clove, salt, pepper, vinegar, sweet basil and olive oil.

And then we went off for our afternoon ramble through the ravine. Now is the time, it seems, for a renewal of wildflowers as we enter a new part of summer's season. More of the stately sunflowers are blooming. As are the jewelweed with their bright perky little orange orchid-like heads, smaller than similar but hot pink Himalayan orchid blooms. We were surprised to see pussyfoots beginning to flower; a single plant we see year after year and looking really robust this year.

Nothing quite prepared us yet to see a single white aster, a fall aster of all things -- when it's not even the end of July -- in bloom. Asters and goldenrods have been steadily maturing, but it seems so early this year to see them beyond aspirational to actually blooming. Reminders that summer is fleeting. It seems like only yesterday, we were excited at the entrance of spring...

It's been a beautiful day, early morning cool and sunny and by afternoon a warming trend. The humidity is gone, the air feels fresh and scrubbed. A light wind and an accumulation of dark clouds taking the sun's place. Some of those clouds had the appearance of thunderclouds but no thunder, and no rain. In the ravine, it was extraordinarily quiet. Our time in there serene and blissful, freeing our minds to just relax and enjoy the atmosphere.

Later, a little bit of gardening was in order. Sometimes I look at the garden and sigh in exasperation. Although the annuals and the perennials are thriving, so are the weeds. They need constant attention. I feel a bit haunted by the prospect of it all getting away from me. So from time to time the garden calls out for some tidying-up. The spent flower wands of the hostas, flowers that have wasted away, unruly shrubs. 

When we returned from our hike there was a notice hanging on the front door. It said 'Hi, I'm your neighbour and would like to nominate you for Ottawa's best home garden. Evidently there's an annual contest, and this is its second year. We received that invitation last year too and this time again. Volunteers go about their neighbourhoods and if they like someone's garden landscaping they leave such an invitation. The homeowner registers and submits three recent garden photos out of which a winner is chosen. I may register, why not?

I really, really dislike having routine disrupted. It's all right when it happens because you're preparing to welcome guests to stay over a few days with you in a family reunion. But when we have out-of-the-ordinary appointments to keep and they happen to be on days when  you've scheduled other things, it's unpleasant. A factor of old age, more than anything. (A) people are creatures of habit to begin with and there's comfort in habit, (B) the older you get the more reliant you are on routine, and finally (C) if because of both (a) and (b) the interventions in routine are required because of health, all the more resistant we are.

Not that remedial dental work is a matter of serious health disruptions, though it could be, if left to deteriorate. My appointment was for 2:00 in the afternoon, a good enough time of day, a bad day to have it, since it's usually a really busy housecleaning day. Most other days of the week are taken up with other, almost-equally-resistant routines that I hate to relinquish to make up for Monday's lapse. That's life.

Imagine agonizing over such trivial things. Jackie and Jillie knew something different was happening; we were leaving the house. Irving was preparing to drive me the twenty minutes it takes to access our dentist's office. They know if we put their collars on that they're coming with us. To wait in the car in the parking lot behind the stand-alone building with Irving until the dental work is done; expected to be brief, and it was. But they emit these high-pitched desperate whines anyway, until we scoop them up. It's no longer hot and humid, but cool, windy and bright, but a water bottle was in order for them.

Courtesy and sweetness exudes from the dentist's office. We've had the professional services of this young female dentist for several decades now; the office is full of young women technicians, office workers and they're all quite cheerfully wonderful. The individual dental-work cubbies are still divided by heavy plastic curtains, an innovation against COVID; however, not too good for air circulation required with the coronavirus.

It took no time at all to replace the absent filling. And then I found myself, work completed, glued by acute backpain, to the dental chair once it was lifted to a seated position. When the reverse had initially occurred before the dentist began her operation, I had a momentary pain shoot up my back and knew it resulted from a too-acute slant; my head too low for the position of my feet. A half-hour in that back-compromising position had locked my back in tight. I hadn't been aware, or felt it while it was happening, concentrating on what the dentist and dental assistant were doing.

How awkward. How painful. How worrying. How long would I be locked by this incredible pain into this neither-here-nor-there position. They were concerned over my obvious discomfort. I was concerned myself, willing myself to stop the pain, to swivel off the chair, to gather my things, pay the bill, thank them effusively, and leave. It took awhile. Awhile would be about five minutes; it just seemed longer. Less pain, my back stiff, I wondered if I'd be able to sit in the car for the drive home. No problem. Bit by bit the pain ebbed. Lucky me.

Early in the morning we'd had our ravine hike. A bit shorter than usual, on a beautifully cool, windy and sunny day. What could be more perfect! We saw a hairy woodpecker, quite close, but it was in a hurry, spiralling up a poplar trunk and evaded our curiosity. We've found that when we see woodpeckers and they're aware of our presence, they invariably stick to the side of a tree trunk opposite to where we stand.

Later, in the afternoon, we decided it was cool enough to spend a refreshing hour reading out on the back deck. Lots of room for Jackie and Jillie to join us on the deck furniture, and they did, though they're not as comfortable as they are on the sofa and loveseat in the family room. If dogs bark from some backyard in the neighbourhood, they've got to respond. 

Irving pointed out to me that the smaller of our two magnolia trees, planted ages ago in the backyard was undergoing a second, more modest blush of blooms. Something the much larger tree at the front of the house has never done. The flowers are huge, bright pink and beautiful. Today feels like a bit of a holiday; just dumped everything that is usually scheduled to be done, and relaxed for the balance of the day once I had snipped chives, parsley and sweet basil from the kitchen garden to include in the potato salad I prepared for dinner.

It looked like imminent rain, it smelled like rain, it felt like rain in the overheated atmosphere with its sky-high humidity rating. But the forecast was unequivocal; afternoon rain, So we took ourselves off to the ravine with Jackie and Jillie first thing in the morning. A cooling-off shower would be perfect on our return back home, and breakfast could wait. Jackie and Jillie ate some cheese to hold them over, and when we got to the trailhead for the ravine, they clamoured for cookies. There are two spots where they know they can demand cookies; as we enter the ravine and when we reach the trail opposite the creek on our first descent.

Irving always obliges, even though during the course of our hour-and-a-half tramp through the woodland trails, we're likely to come across other acquaintance-dogs who always seat themselves politely (well, almost always) in front of him awaiting their share of the day's goodies. And of course each time another dog comes along, Jackie and Jillie get more of their 'share' as well.

The forest was absolutely soaked from yesterday afternoon's thunderstorm. Thunder had sounded and rain came pelting down just as soon as I had finished my gardening for the afternoon yesterday. Today, the parched forest looked well irrigated. Although the ground wasn't spongy underfoot, you could feel even though boots, that it was thoroughly wet. And that should fix the cracks we've seen opening on the forest floor. The foliage had dried overnight and was bright and gleaming, even in the absence of sun.

The sky was completely clouded over, some of the clouds giving fair warning of what was yet to come in the course of the day. Which left us vaguely wondering, would we be caught out today? We seem, for the most part, to escape the discomfort of being inundated by fierce rain events in those times we're in the ravine and rain is forecasted. Invariably, we have the much-appreciated good luck to escape the rain; it conscientiously holds off until we've reached home.

Everything looks as though it's picked up, growth accelerated from yesterday's rain. Although there weren't many, we could see that some of the cherry trees were showing off their red cherries. And the privet trees/shrubs'' berries had turned gleaming black. The hazelnut shrubs have matured nicely, their ripening nuts reaching a good size, but a long way yet to their final stage. At which time the neighbourhood squirrels will make quick work of them.

The magnificent form of a vizsla raced past us at one point, swivelled around and came directly back to us. A truly graceful, lithe, muscular conformation, the friendliest of dogs, familiar with Irving's role in life; to hand out cookies to all the deserving dogs that smell, hear and identify his presence on the trails. 

More of the jewelweed flowers are beginning to show themselves, and I make an effort, as usual, to catch their shape and colour, and as usual, come away with little for the effort. They are defiantly unphotogenic, unlike the more brazen and somewhat larger Himalayan orchids. 

And then, before we know it, we've completed the circuit and head back up the last long hill toward home, where we sit for a while in the garden, enjoying the serene atmosphere and Jackie and Jillie poke about here and there. We did beat the rain, after all. In fact, while we were out the sun made a tentative appearance relaxing our concern of being caught out in the rain.

It was shortly after we had dawdled endlessly over breakfast and begun to clear away the table, when rain began to come down. Expected, by then, because the house had turned dark, then darker and darker yet. And so, it rained all afternoon. I had watered the garden pots yesterday to make certain they wouldn't be drying out in the endless hot wind gusts.

At this point in summer when the plants have grown in decisively and thickly in the garden pots, very little rain, even when it's raining heavily, makes it into the pot itself. Only the top of the plants become wet, moisture doesn't penetrate below. But for the garden itself these almost daily heavy rain events is an absolute plus, alternating with the ferocious heat of the sun.