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| Dogwood changing colour in the forest understory |
We're so much creatures of the weather. Now well into Fall, we never know what each succeeding day will be like. Occasionally they're days of extreme contrasts. Yesterday morning found us with quite a cold day, going from 4C all the way up to a chilly 11C. But we had morning sun. It didn't last beyond several appreciated hours while it easily penetrated our large stained glass windows and speedily warmed up the house interior. Suddenly dark-grey-streaked clouds appeared on the far horizon and wind brought them speedily to a closer approach until we were inundated with heavy rain.
We weren't, in any event, planning to go anywhere at that time. So I thought I'd put together the ingredients for an apple strudel. I hadn't baked one in ages. I decided to chop up some maraschino cherries and candied ginger into the apples and that worked out fine. Friday night dinners are always a theme on the familiar, a cultural focus on chicken soup and chicken cooked in various ways to stir up appetite.
Irving did some light vacuuming, and Jackie got increasingly impatient to get out for a walk through the forest trails in the ravine. By mid-afternoon the rain appeared to be lightening, so we geared up in rain jackets bearing in mind the cold, wind and rain perhaps yet to come. So weren't we surprised exiting the house to see the sky completely blue, and the sun making a concerted effort to dry the landscape! It felt somewhat excessive as the day began to warm to be wearing rain gear, but off we went.
More foliage and pine needles had fallen under the influence of the wind gusts and heavy rain, making the trails brightly coloured from fallen poplar and maple and pine. It will be a good year for the forest denizens, ample pine, hemlock and spruce cones litter the forest floor. We're now seeing, black, grey and red squirrels dashing about, busily collecting winter-storage caches, along with the occasional chipmunk. Birds are passing through from the Boreal forest; returning chickadees and nuthatches. Cardinals and robins and the occasional flock of doves and the everpresent crows.
We came across quite a few of Jackie's friends, who somehow sense our presence though they're elsewhere on the forest trail network. They suddenly appear before us, exciting Jackie to the prospect of himself cadging more cookies. Our visitors calmly park themselves before Irving, who pats their heads and rummages about in his shoulder pack for their rewards. Three large cookies for each large dog, and small ones for smaller dogs.
There's infinitely more colour on the forest floor than one sees looking about at the surrounding trees. Unless viewing the forest canopy from a distance or a height, it's easy to miss the presence of Fall colours; in some areas the preponderance of conifers with their bright greens tend to camouflage the presence of birch, wild apple trees, hawthorns, but the staghorn sumac stand out unmistakably with their bright crimson Autumn foliage.
As we approached the end of our circuit through the forest, despite the bright blue seen through the forest canopy we became aware of light rain droplets. Disbelievingly, yet convinced we were in for a downpour, we made our way up the last of the ascents toward street level, and once gained, realized that the sky was rapidly being transformed. Looking to the West, dark clouds were swiftly take precedence over the wide blue viewed from the East, as the wind reversed its usual east-to-west trajectory.
We reached home just as the light version became a heavy downpour. Our garden, which has given us so much pleasure throughout spring, summer and early fall is in the stages of decomposition at my hands. Two days earlier I had filled four giant compost bags with Hosta foliage. I still have plenty of hostas in our shade garden at the side of the house to be cut back. I'll leave the annuals in their urns and garden pots until a hard frost assails them. All the rain we had yesterday helped them to survive last night's frost that left the house roofs white with hoar frost.
