It's not unusual for May weather in the Ottawa Valley. We're stuck in a few really cool days. There was danger of frost last night, but I don't think we got down to 0C, likely just 3C. Still, when I looked around the garden and the garden pots briefly before we set off for our ravine hike, I saw several casualties. The ipomoea vines were looking rather put-upon. I had planted several lime-green (potato vines) in a few of the larger pots, and they look limp and almost crushed. With luck they'll spring back to life.

The alliums are now fully opened and they're large and beautiful. And walking past the lilies-of-the-valley in the side garden, the breeze carries with it the divine fragrance of those delicate little bells. All of the garden pots look just fine, though a few of the more tender plants in the garden look as though they decided to curl into fetal-plant position for warmth.  

It's still cold today, was only 5C when we came down for breakfast, but the sun is out and the wind is less ferocious than it was yesterday, so growing things in the garden will surely recover. Nothing else much appears to have suffered from the cold. Just as well we had watered quite deeply yesterday and that helps delicate vegetation to survive cold temperatures.

Cold enough last night that we wanted something hot and comforting for dinner. We had a fresh vegetable salad, neither hot nor particularly comforting, but it was quickly followed by a French onion soup, piping hot out of the oven, and lingered over in appreciation of its taste, texture and warming qualities. We had the fireplace back on and felt we needed it, last night.

And though I had stopped baking goodies for Friday night dinner when it was so hot and steamy the last few weeks, today's cold chided me so I baked a half-dozen large coconut cupcakes that we call Madeleines. The tops are dipped in raspberry jam then shredded coconut, instead of icing, and they're absolutely delectable.

When we did get around to taking Jackie and Jillie to the ravine for their daily round-about, we passed the three young pre-and-teens who live several doors up from us, playing with their basketball net. They're often occupied with it or with skateboards and they've become quite skilled with both. While we wore jackets and had gloves stuffed in our pockets 'just in case', the boys wore shorts and had taken off their shirts. 

For the first half of our circuit through the trails we saw no one else out and about, and assumed that it was just too cold for people to rouse themselves for a turn in the forest. That all changed in the second half of our circuit when we came upon a seemingly endless stream of people, some we're familiar with and others new to us. Like the woman walking two quiet and very large Dalmatians, and a young fellow walking alongside his grey Great Dane whose size was that of a pony, easily taking up most of the width of a narrow trail.

We noted that the wild lilies-of-the-valley are now in full bloom, just as the cultivated ones in our garden, though we've never been aware that the wild ones are fragrant, they're so petite it would be surprising to be aware that they're capable of producing scent. The lone clump of henbane we'd seen a few days back have opened a few more of its flowers; a deep pink in bud stage, turning to pink-blush in flower.

Just as we were close to winding up our trek for the day, along came Barrie and Sheila with their three Border Collies and we stood around having a good chat, relieved of the presence of mosquitoes, the sole good that comes with cold and wind. Barrie told us that a mutual hiking acquaintance we haven't seen in almost a year and his dog are in his black books.

The dog, a usually well-behaved if unmannerly white German Shepherd had bitten a man who had been out on the trails this morning, bicycling with his young daughter. Nova, the German Shepherd, had raced after the man's bike and bit him on the ankle. Barrie is furious that Rod has chosen not to take responsibility, claiming that it was the man's fault, not his dog's. But, he said, Nova is now gaining the reputation of a 'biter'; this isn't the only time he's bitten someone. 

Rod, he said, has become irresponsible and cantankerous. He's a huge, tall man, always had a bit of an imperious manner, prone to expressing contempt for other people who don't discipline their dogs the way he prided himself on doing. A man who seldom listens to others but always has much to say himself. Still, it's disappointing that he is neglecting his dog's socialization, and taking no responsibility for his own lapses.

Little wonder we dwellers in the Ottawa Valley are so obsessed with the weather. In many other geographic locations there is something that can logically be referred to as 'weather patterns'. If there are 'patterns' in the weather hereabouts they're difficult to identify. Assuredly there are some places on the globe where the inhabitants can state with confidence that their weather is extremely haphazard and unpredictable and this is one of those places.

We've had a succession of densely-moist, stuffy evenings when at night bedroom windows thrown wide open not the merest hint of a cool breeze enters to relieve the humid heat. Tonight won't be one of them, the temperature is set to fall to 4C, and that's fairly cool. All the more so with the presence of a cold, stiff wind. The high for today is 14C ... after successive daytime highs of 28C and 30C.

That said, though it's cool and we needed light jackets hiking through the ravine today, it seems the cooler weather is disagreeable to most peoples' notions of how pleasant it can be to roam through the forest trails on a day so cool and windy there were no mosquitoes or black flies about at all. There were cardinals singing though and song sparrows. And quite a few robins running about here and there on the forest floor as is their wont in the spring. 

We heard young crows complaining that they were waiting far too long to be fed. And we heard a pileated woodpecker hard at work splintering the bark of a nearby tree. The poplars are beginning to release their seeds and the white fluff will soon resemble snow as it accumulates on the forest floor.

We saw a sulphur butterfly and a very large dragonfly for the first time this spring. There are bees about looking for pollen and no doubt they're finding it in the still-sparse array of spring wildflowers. We did see a few lone buttercups, and there are scads of floral panicles covering the many understory dogwood shrubs and trees scattered throughout the ravine.

We've seen quite a few wild strawberry plants in blossom, and this afternoon came across two canes of blackberries in bloom. They're relatively rare in the ravine, whereas there's a robust embarrassment of thimbleberry shrubs everywhere, but they're not yet in bloom.

Jackie and Jillie didn't have occasion this afternoon to greet many of their canine pals. There was a brief interlude with a Brittany spaniel, and not much else, besides a large old black Lab they've been familiar with for a number of years.

We saw Max out hurtling himself through the trails with his usual purposeful stride, pole in either hand. He's a small, wiry man who no matter the weather dresses light; in winter a thin red windbreaker, in the summer a long-sleeved white shirt; how he keeps warm enough for comfort is beyond us. He seems to me to have aged considerably in the last year-and-a-half. He's the lone caregiver for his wife who isn't mobile. He had installed a number of lifting devices, one in their bedroom, another in their bathroom to manoeuvre her about.

When COVID became a threat he cancelled the daily visits of a personal care worker that used to give him some relief. Now he's more challenged than ever for time and opportunity to rush out briefly to do some food shopping while his wife manages in his absence. His own health has had its challenges; two hip operations, open-heart surgery. These are the hidden costs to many people with chronic health conditions whose daily lives have been impacted by the SARS-CoV-2 pandemic.

 

A Community Benefactor

For quite a while the devoted trail-hiking community had no idea who the mystery person was behind such acts as rescuing the trails from impediments like the occasional fallen tree trunk which we all stepped over until someone brought in equipment to saw the trunk into pieces and set them aside off the trail. And then, when trail maps began appearing at various sites throughout the ravine, posted on tree trunks in the most visible areas, there was no implied connection but again, a mystery.

Finally, someone began putting up little containers in which were deposited bags for the obvious purpose of picking up canine excrement. There had always been a problem of dog poop lying on the trails, evidence that some dogs simply didn't get it, nor did their people, even while most dogs practised pretty good etiquette going off trail into the woods to deposit their offerings.

Ripe Thimbleberries

We reasoned of course that it represented biological waste and would become part of the greater forest mass of accumulated biomass, enriching the forest. No one picks up after all the raccoons, squirrels and birds living in the forest, after all. And then we began seeing bags someone used to scoop up poop being thrown carelessly here and there off the trails into the forest, sometimes landing on tree branches, sometimes on the forest floor.

Pilotweed

Organic matter deteriorates, plastic does not. One could only marvel at the gross stupidity of anyone who would stoop to scoop then toss the product encased in plastic into the very area that was being cleared of such detritus. So it was with a huge sense of gratitude that we began to see containers popping up for discarded and full bags. Someone had gone to that amount of trouble. But who was that someone? No one seemed to know. That someone also gathered all that excrement weekly bagging and placing it on the closest street for pick-up come garbage collection day, without fail.

Someone who was so conscientious and altruistic graduated to placing small garbage pails fitted out with garbage bags to replace the smaller ones previously used. And those pails filled up surprisingly quickly. And they were assiduously collected every week for trash removal. We knew it wasn't the municipality and the parks department, though this is no park but a natural forest. Eventually it was discovered who the person was.

This morning it rained heavily at around 5:00 a.m. but by the time we rose at 8:00 it was over. Our earlier morning rising yesterday at 6:00 kind of knocked us out. When we went downstairs and looked out at the garden out front and the backyard it was to a thoroughly drenched, green world. But the rain had stopped and nothing therefore stopped us from launching ourselves on an early morning trail hike. Not even the forecast that informed us of a chance of thunderstorms, given that the same forecast said the afternoon high would be a clammy 30C once again.

Lots to see out there, the thimbleberry bushes thriving, berries ripening at a fast rate. The pilotweed now dominating the wildflower offerings, though Himalayan orchids are also making a comeback albeit in more modest numbers.

As we approached one of the entry points to the ravine on a street quite distant from our own, Jackie and Jillie were alerted and expectant long before we became aware, and there striding toward our oncoming direction was the very man who had been identified as the Robin Hood of the forest. He is always alone. He has no pet companion of his own. He spends his own money on bags and other accoutrements he places out for public use. And he's a very modest and friendly person.

He enjoys briefly stopping and exchanging pleasantries. A robust looking man presumably in his mid-fifties, he's out every day on the trails, briskly making his way along. He knows nothing about the botany of what he sees daily, cannot identify any birds by type but he appreciates the fresh, clean air, the general green ambiance and the brief acknowledgement of others that he is a man who dedicates himself to the weal of the community in which he lives. Admirable beyond words. Though it would pain him to be made a fuss of.

The creek at the bottom of the ravine was moving swiftly, swollen with rainwater and murky. On its banks, wildflowers thrive. They're difficult to approach with the presence underfoot of large rock pieces put in place a few years back as an aid in keeping the Leda clay soil in place. Jewelweed has grown in great abundance between the rocks and the soil abutting and above the creek. From the distance we must maintain rather than risk injury we can just barely make out the blooming orange jewelweed, exposed to the sun by the near absence of trees.

Back home again. And a bit of relief. When we were three-quarters of the way through our hour-and-a-half circuit, there was a prolonged, deep, thrumming of thunder. A delicious sound to us at any time, but not particularly welcome when we're deep in the woods. All the while we had been out excess rainwater had been dripping from the forest canopy. The foliage everywhere was beautifully glazed with rain and looked stunningly vibrant. Nice to get home, though, after all, without a drenching, even if it happens on a hugely humid, and extremely warm day.

Oops, wrong again. We fooled ourselves into believing that the new interest of the wider community in the forested ravine that winds itself through this geographic location was on the ebb. We'd come across few non-regular forest trail hikers in the past week, and assumed that since parks and other social outdoor sites have seen relaxed-use rules and shopping centers have re-opened, people would be too focused on re-assuming 'normalcy' to want to continue accessing the forest trails. How wrong today's experience turned that supposition out to be.

We'd spent some time as usual puttering about in the garden in the morning. Jackie and Jillie happy to be out as long as we were. It's a cool day, quite unlike summer, more like early spring. There was a perfectly clear sky yesterday so since we've been enjoying quite cool nights of late it wasn't all that surprising that the temperature would drop close to the frost mark, at 4C. The incessant wind of course made it seem even chillier.

But no question, we're on our way to summer, as gradual as that process is. Brilliant sunshine flooded through our bedroom windows this morning. It's the key to Jackie and Jillie waking a little earlier and urging us to do the same. Early for us isn't necessarily early for early-risers. My husband was once one of those peculiar people who'd rise with the sun, at an earlier time of his life. I've had a decidedly poor influence on his diurnal rhythm over the years. He now tends to linger in bed, just as I always have, long after sunrise.

A tour of the garden must follow our leisurely breakfast. There is always much to discover, and the garden would be upset if we missed anything during a morning perambulation. Yesterday I had noticed the bright green foliage of a potato vine in the large classical urn on the porch had been riddled with little holes. I assumed that was the work of slugs. When I showed the plant to my husband this morning, he turned one of the leaves over, and there was the culprit. A tiny, round beetle with a shining gold carapace. We'd never seen one of its kind before.

And there was another, and another. Well, they're beautiful, and they can proceed with their life-mission to feast on whatever it is that nature gave them appetite for. That it happens to be potato vines is unfortunate. However, the begonias directly beside the vine have been untouched. When I did a little research I discovered that they're gold tortoise beetles, common in North America, though uncommon to our experience.

My husband watered the garden beds and borders and the pots and urns and I returned to the house to clean up the kitchen and perform other little household chores preparatory to clearing away our agenda for a ravine walk. While he was out our neighbours appeared, and with them their visiting daughter, whom we've known since she was seven, giving my husband an opportunity to express our appreciation for her professional work as a pediatric nurse, during this time of COVID-19.

When we delved into the ravine soon afterward, it took no time at all before coming across families and couples and groups of young children on bicycles going through the ravine trails. Making it difficult at times to commit to recommended distances on narrow, uphill ascents. And when we came across an old friend, we had to continually re-position ourselves where trails forked and people arrived from opposite directions.

Our friend recounted to us his most recent experiences with COVID-related inconveniences. He had months ago reluctantly decided that he and his wife who is non-ambulatory now, needing constant care and assistance, to do away with the four-times weekly aid of a personal care worker, to give our friend a bit of relaxed time to do shopping, to get out for some recreational hiking time, to attend appointments. Whenever he now exits the house he must make certain that his wife is in a good position to manage on her own until his return, an hour or so hence.

That the provincial government ordered pharmacies to dole out only a month of prescribed medication to everyone, including those with the most medication use as a group, the elderly, has been more than a nuisance. Anyone using multiple types of medications whose overlapping renewals complicate things by requiring more frequent fillings, is really inconvenienced. The elderly are cautioned not to risk too-frequent exposure, yet the need to have prescriptions renewed when they all run out at different times, and no more than a month's worth can be acquired, equates with more frequent and often frustrating visits to the pharmacy to pick them up.

Our friend manages a tight schedule, himself suffering numerous health problems, and he's the sole caregiver for  his wife with her own health condition. They live independently, in the house they had built many years ago in the community, outfitted with pulleys to enable him to move his wife from bath to shower, from bed to wheelchair. Their option would be long-term care institutionalization and neither feel prepared for that expedient diminishing their quality of life. And in this current climate of COVID-related health threats where a majority of deaths in the country have come at the expense of the elderly, the infirm, the health-compromised in such long-term care homes, none too appealing.

This was a most perfect day weatherwise for a tour of a forested area running through a suburban area of a city of a million residents. Cool, breezy, sunny, completely bracing, the air cleansed by the forest, the ground firm beneath our boots, two little dogs happy to be out rushing about, re-acquainting themselves with familiar smells and landscapes.

And then, returning home to a welcoming garden to amble about and appreciate the smiling faces of blooms. The first Icelandic poppy of the season, the gradual transformation from bud to flower of the climbing roses, the varied colour-streaked petunias, all clamouring for our admiration, which we render freely and with much gratification.