Although it's early yet seasonally speaking of fall, I like to get ahead of cleaning up the garden for its winter rest, because it is such a huge job. Which means I take an hour or so several times a week at this point to get into the garden and begin tidying up perennials and shrubs. Cutting them back necessarily means there will be gaps in the garden, blank spots, where I'm accustomed to seeing various plants nudging one another, but it can't be helped.

 

I am glad to see the Hibiscus tree beginning to rebloom. The presence of its large flat-frilly flowers can even be seen from the front door when I look out morning, noon and night through the glass window of the front door. And the giant dahlias that I'd planted in the spring are continuing to produce huge flowers of their own, their bright orange petals almost luminous at dusk. We've so many garden pots and urns planted with annuals that have to be composted, that too will take a while to get through.

The most time-consuming task is cutting back the lilies and the hostas since we have so many of them. Yesterday I began carefully cutting back the foliage of the tree peonies, far fussier than ordinary peonies since the next year's buds already form in the fall and mustn't be snipped off inadvertently else their large, lush blooms will be absent come spring.

 

As predicted, our warm dry spell has come to a close, and cooler weather has arrived, along with rain. Yesterday's rain came down in sporadic and gentle sprinkles so that when we took Jackie and Jillie out for our usual trek through the forest trails they wore light raincoats. Different story today when the sky's cloud-drenched spigots opened fully and drenching rain was the order of the day. A day that calls out for just relaxing. We did that, but by 2:00 in the afternoon the puppies were restless and so were we.

 

Rain had begun some time during the early night-time hours and continued steadily. There was barely any light to penetrate the bedroom when dawn arrived. And nor did the house interior get any lighter through the morning hours. When the sky is heavy with dark clouds spilling their watery load the outdoors is dark and consequently so is the indoors. It's when we most appreciate the beautiful, bright colourful stained glass windows Irving designed and produced so many years ago. 

 

Finally, we'd had enough of waiting for the rain to pause. On went heavier rainjackets for all of us against the cooler temperature and off we went, in a steady rain. Although the forest interior was steeped in the kind of dusk one normally expects as the day wears into evening and during periods of rain, it is ameliorated by the vegetation being liberally lacquered with water that catches even faint ambient light. The bright red haws of hawthorn trees and the red berries of American bittersweet stand out against the rain-varnished bright green of the forest.

 

We trod the uphill and downhill forest trails with necessary caution, avoiding networks of tree roots since they tend to be slippery when they're wet, as do the trails themselves when the Leda clay of the forest floor becomes inundated. The furious sound of the creek lapping over rocks had no competition from birdsong this afternoon. But we were momentarily taken unaware as we began backtracking alongside the creek, when our presence obviously disturbed a Great Blue Heron, and the bird rose quickly and majestically, its large wings widespread and casually flapping, out of the water as it rapidly gained height and sight of it was quickly lost as it faded into the tree canopy.

 

 Jackie and Jillie trotted ahead as usual, a little faster than usual, though, as if they were contemplating the warm dry albeit darkened household interior as a reward on our return home, and the fresh-cut salad they anticipate after every walk as their special daily treat.

 

Just as we set out today in mid-afternoon to walk up the street with Jackie and Jillie for our daily foray through the ravine trails, I realized that the standard hibiscus that Irving bought to surprise me with in early June for our 69th wedding anniversary was beginning to flower again. It had taken a well-deserved rest from its last flowering when bloom after gorgeous bloom flaunted their beauty day after day. So I've fertilized it and watered it intermittently and it began to set new buds that are now ready to burst into their ball-gown-like perfection.

 

Another late summer day, sliding into fall. The nights have been cool, although the days continue warm and breezy, and mostly sunny. Those cool nights had me thinking of the comfort food of cooler days to come. So on a whim yesterday I decided to do a seafood paella for dinner. I was a little generous with the saffron and hot smoked paprika, but the bell pepper, tomatoes, garlic onion and green peas and rice soaked it all up, and the cubed haddock and shrimp gloried in the savoury mix. We enjoyed it, and the strawberries in yogurt that followed provided a good, fresh-tasting counterpart for dessert.

 

This morning dawned to a clear blue sky and a warming sun. In fact, the  high for the day was reached before noon. Then the temperature began to drop and the wind picked up. Soon the sky was cloud-packed and the house interior looked dusky. I was busy in the kitchen as usual for a Friday morning. The order of the day is chicken soup to begin our evening meal and I always let it simmer for hours. I made a bread dough to refrigerate for use later in the week; good for a pizza perhaps, or rolls. And grated a large carrot that would accompany chopped dates and slivered candied ginger in a whole-wheat cupcake batter. Topped by a cream-cheese frosting.

 

 

From time to time Jackie and Jillie went out to the backyard, and from time to time light sprinkles of rain fell. When we were ready to depart the house we all wore light rainjackets, setting out for the ravine. The tree canopy is still verdant, the forest in no hurry to transport itself into fall mode. Oddly, on the street there are several mature maples that are now caparisoned in bright red foliage. As we descended the first  hill into the ravine, the zany call of a Pileated sounded close by us. And we heard a nuthatch; likely among chickadees. Other than that all was serene. Quiet enveloped us.

And then the serenity of the forest faded into a far-off dull roar that we mistook for approaching thunder. Instead it was military planes, likely fighter jets ripping and roaring through the darkly clouded sky. They were obviously flying over the clouds; nothing could be seen, but the sound of their thunderous presence was almost overwhelming. We were fully immersed in the crackle-thunder of their bypass that matured deafeningly then faded as they flew off. For the next hour while we plodded the forest trails this ritual of flyover and ear-thumping thunder continued. Whereas Jackie and Jillie often respond to thunder, this overwhelming clatter seemed not to impress them at all.

 

 

When we finally emerged from our ravine hike, we saw another  unusual spectacle. Neighbours out of their houses, standing on the road, trying to glimpse the planes. We too stood there, despite the dense cloud cover, eager to see what we might make out so far above. At one point we were able to see a few contrails high, very high in the sky at a semi-parting of clouds. And then, we could make out the tiny image of a plane climbing the sky, dragging its contrail, when suddenly it plunged straight down, nose pointed at the ground far, far below, and we held out breath while the pilot demonstrated  his command of the plane, until it disappeared.