That old ant colony that year after year has refused to allow me to take full advantage of one of our garden beds, adamantly refusing to allow plants to flourish over their labyrinthine network of tunnels is determined to win its battle with this gardener. So far it has actually physically removed several flowering plants, and the spectacular little branched zinnia that I planted to replace them in the hopes that its sturdy construction would prevail, had to be moved back to its original, undisturbed spot this morning. The ants were in the process of destroying it, and it broke my heart to see it looking so dejected. 

We have some old, stored ant killer but we've decided to ditch it, and leave the ants in peace, those industrious species-cooperative creatures whose habitat after all, is the great out-of-doors. My double application of a home-remedy bakingsoda/sugar sprinkled over the  terrain had absolutely no effect. I have to be resigned to keeping that portion of the garden bed free of plants, but if they begin to insist on claiming more territory they'll have to go.

It was clean-up day in the garden, cutting back shrubbery that had bloomed and generally tidying up. Irving cut the grass, and prepared a portion of it for re-seeding, though we have dim hopes with that, given our previous experiences in that particular area. Man proposes, nature disposes.

Jackie and Jillie huffed it was 'about time!' when we finally followed them out to the ravine for an afternoon hike through the forest. Their opportunity to run about unconstrained by leash, free to wander just about anywhere they want to. Though we're glad enough that unlike most dogs, our two don't head for the creek where the lower banks are pure muck trodden constantly by mostly larger dogs for whom the opportunity to muck about is irresistible.

We were surprised to see the first of the thimbleberry shrubs beginning to flower already. Everything has matured so quickly, it's always unexpected, we always think it's earlier than usual to see these things happening. Already there are tiny apples forming on the wild apple trees. Oxeye daisies are in bloom, and so are their tiny look-alikes, fleabane, catching the sun where the beams manage to evade the now-thickly leafed forest canopy.

A few days ago we saw for the very first time an unusual sight, a robust plant growing directly beside a fairly large burdock with huge leaves that partially obscured the plant. Its long, spear-shaped, slender foliage resembled that of lilies, but when I approached to look closely at the bright yellow flower, it was an iris. And then I discovered (on line) that this is an invasive species, called yellow-flag iris, originally from parts of Europe and Asia introduced to North America as an ornamental over a century ago.

And since then, that lovely plant has naturalized itself growing wild in forests, preferring damp ground, and crowding out native species. So far, we've found so many invasive species flourishing in the forest here, from Himalayan orchids to wild parsnip, purple loosestrife, and now yellow-flag irises. One thing to say in their favour, they're quite beautiful while at the same time aggressive. 

Last year we discovered a patch of tomatillo plants, amazed at the beauty of the tiny yellow-fringed, brown eyed flowers, and even more amazed when green-tissue-covered tiny tomatoes emerged from them eventually.