Our family doctor practices out of a clinic not far from our house. It's the new model in the province that now dominates. The clinic itself is housed within a big box store, The Great Canadian Superstore no less. All manner of medical services are available there, along with a broad roster of general practitioners. It's convenient to the community, but bears little resemblance to the traditional doctor's office. Behind the reception desk sit a number of receptionists and you are instructed which one to approach, depending who your doctor is. We really do miss our family doctor who retired about fifteen years ago. He was a breed apart. Now a rarity.

 

 

The clinic broadcasts news of when it's open, when it's closed for public holidays and other such events. Appointments can be scheduled online and during COVID, telephone appointments were mostly arranged; seeing an MD person-to-person was unusual for two years. Good thing we had no need to be seen through the coronavirus pandemic years. Because of the severe shortage of doctors we're among the fortunate ones who have the services of a family physician.

 

 

A few days back a notice arrived in our email inbox alerting us to the fact that henceforth there would be a charge for prescription renewals. Patients were advised to consider single or family applications specific to their needs for enrolment in the prescription renewal plan. An annual fee would be applied to activate enrolment in their renewal scheme. An application form to be filled out on line and a diversion to a secure payment site for the first year's installment. Unfortunately the application was so poorly designed it just didn't work. Instead of conveying you to the site the link was supposed to take you to, to complete the transaction by authorizing a payment, it was completely circuitous, returning to the original site.

 

 

So Irving went over to the clinic today. And discovered that the huge emporium housing the clinic along with other smaller services all linked to the placeholder Loblaw, had closed all its entrance/exits but one. Evidently the increasingly troublesome problem of shop-lifting has become so acute it was found necessary to leave just one ingress/egress available. He also discovered when he finally arrived at the clinic reception area, a large number of people awaiting attention. All of whom had experienced the same loopy website failure for the clinic's new prescription renewal plan. Embarrassing for the front-line workers who kept apologizing for the inadequacy of the set-up.

 

 

In Irving's absence, I cleaned the house. He was gone quite a long time, with a number of errands to tend to. I had dusted the furniture (which takes forever since whatever sits on it needs dusting), then dry-mop-dusted the floors and finally did the vacuuming. In between the vacuuming and washing the floors I prepared a potato salad for dinner. Once that was done, the floors got washed and by that time Irving had returned home. Finally the house cleaning finished, it was time for a ravine walk through the forest trails with Jackie and Jillie.

 

A day not as hot as yesterday, with a fine breeze and full sun, and we came across quite a few other people out on the trails. Also returned to the forest after a break of several days were mosquitoes. I was looking for snakes warming themselves in the sun, but haven't seen any yet this year. The Mallard drake, on the other hand, was out sunning himself and steaming along the creek. The female nowhere in sight, nursing their young without a doubt.

 

Later, back home, we relaxed in the garden enjoying the sight of the beautiful, bright flowers just in their beginning stages of maturation and promises of months of pleasure; theirs to give, ours to receive. Our elderly tree peony is outdoing itself this year. And the Bridal Wreath spirea is now also in full bloom. Joining the two flowering weeping pea trees. At which we watched bumblebees hard at work and then were delighted to see a pair of hummingbirds claiming temporary ownership of the tiny yellow flowers.

 

 

 

 

We enjoyed a pleasantly cool night; the temperature dropped to 17C, and a hint of a breeze entered our bedroom through the open window. Comfortable enough that there was no need for the floor fans. An amiable night's sleep all around, everyone agreed this morning, Jackie and Jillie eager to greet the new day. Sun blazing through the corner windows at the front of the house, illuminating that room as though a thousand lights were turned on; which in essence, is about right.

So, downstairs we went, glad to see by the outdoor thermometer that the temperature had nudged up by a mere one degree from its overnight low. Breakfast preparations ensued, setting the table, offering Jackie and Jillie a few nips of cheese before launching ourselves on our morning adventure, and off we set, grateful for the breeze that accompanied us up to the entrance to the ravine.

No one about, but then we don't expect people to be out and about on a Sunday when habit persuades most people to sleep in a bit and enjoy a relaxed breakfast, as a break from weekday rushes. That we haven't experienced much in the way of weekday rushes for the past five months is another thing altogether. The simple fact is, habits of a lifetime are not only comforting, but indelibly inscribed in our sub-conscious. 

The global pandemic may have exerted its malign influence to turn normalcy upside down and inside out but what we are most familiar with and how we feel remains fairly constant. The working week in our experience is when we rush about from home to workplace, put in our time, rush back home and in the remaining hours of the day, attempt to do everything that is required to live a constant life.

The relief that the weekend brings with its notched-down hurry-faction is treasured and appreciated. It is, in fact, an illusion that the weekend is a time of leisure and relaxation since whatever cannot be accomplished on a busy workday is left over for the weekend, from doing essential grocery shopping to getting a hand in with laundry and house-cleaning. And then, with whatever time may be left over, leisure is shoe-horned into the remaining hours.

Now that we've been retired for decades, it makes little difference that our time is entirely our own to do with as we wish. We no longer rush out to fulfill the obligations of a workday in nine-to-five employment that's true, but there is no lack of things we're faced with to fill the hours of every day. From finally spending time -- as much as we wish to -- engaged in non-work activities usually termed 'hobbies', to the necessities of maintaining a home, keeping contact with family, and socializing as much or as little as one wishes.

And, of course, top of our list of daily pursuits is ensuring that our two little dogs are well taken care of. Which includes our daily romp through the forest trails with them. And this morning the sun began warming the atmosphere as it has been assigned to do by nature, the sky in which it sailed hosting billowing white clouds near the horizon, limned with the light cast by that golden orb.

A lovely breeze cooled any vestige of warmth that might have attempted to persuade us that we're in the dog days of summer, and then we made the plunge into the ravine, descending the first long hill to access the forest trails, the creek beyond quiet, its waters running low. Whenever someone has been out with their companion dog/s you can always tell by the tell-tale wet pawprints impressed on the dry trail once a dog has reluctantly listened to his human and exited the creek.

Our two little poodles have no idea that they're essentially considered to be 'water dogs' and have no interest whatever in immersing themselves in water, unlike most large-breed dogs for whom a romp in the ravine is incomplete without the opportunity to leap into the water, prance around in it, then emerge to shake off the excess while anyone close to them takes an urgent leave of absence. 

Our previous little miniature poodle, Button, was a different story. It was difficult to keep her out of the water and we didn't mind her immersing herself joyfully in lakes when we would take her canoeing with us as she loved to do. The creek is a different ball game, however. She had once been severely cut when she had been cavorting in the creek with our daughter's then malamute-shepherd mix, thanks to the presence of trash that teens used to toss into the creek; discarded tins and smashed glass bottles.

Today there was no need to offer Jackie and Jillie water to slake their thirst, since it was so extraordinarily cool and pleasant throughout our ravine ramble. We decided to take full advantage of the pleasant atmosphere and the hour of morning, to extend our hike, taking a route somewhat less travelled by us the past several years. A brief consultation with Jackie and Jillie as we conferred had us all in agreement, so off we went, on a roller coaster of a trail; descending and ascending, but then, that's what forest trails in a ravine tend to be like.

Lots of action in the ravine this morning. We chalk it up to the fact that it's Saturday, even though nothing else resembles normalcy in the aftermath of the coronavirus lockdown. Even though businesses have been opening up, most people are still not back to work, other than those in the service industries where you just cannot 'work from home'. We've seen more than our share of aimless wandering about in the ravine by people not accustomed ordinarily to seek out natural landscapes. But it's been whittled down considerably.

Yesterday for example, no one else out and about but us. But today; different story altogether. However, the nice thing about running into all kinds of people and their dog companions today was that they were all -- with the exception of one woman and her beautiful red tick coonhound neither of whom we've ever seen before -- familiar to us.

 Jackie and Jillie had triple treats going through the ravine today in the nosh department. Not only were they presented with a choice array of sweet juicy thimbleberries, but there were some blackberries ripened as well. And though there's scarcely an apple to be seen on the wild apple trees that are normally burdened with scads of apples ripening in late summer, we espied an apple sitting beside the trail, cast off from the tree that bore it.

On impulse, my husband picked it up and examined it. It looked perfectly presentable, not a blemish on it. Not ripe, not yet, I told him authoritatively. He brushed it off, wiped it on his sleeve and took a bite. Perfectly edible, juicy, ripe and sweet. Another treat for Jackie and Jillie. Leaving me to wonder whether on our return home they'd be interested in their breakfast. 

And that's about when we came across the red tick coonhound and were impressed by her lovely conformation and even lovelier personality. When we were living in the U.S. southeast we would sometimes see this breed, hunting dogs primarily, and we've never seen one before here, at home. The sound its baying voice resounds with is just really impressive. What she did was 'speak' to Jackie and Jillie, and far more politely than they did to her.

This morning was beyond beautiful; cool and sunny, the morning sun doing its utmost to pierce the full-leafed masts of the forest canopy. A slight breeze added to the comfort. But we knew this would be dissipated by afternoon when the full heat of the day set in to give us 30C. 

We met up with another friend with whom it's not quite possible at any given time to move on after greeting, and so we stood in the shade of the forest talking about various episodes in our lives and that of others, of current news and neighbourhood gossip. And all the while, Rex, the elderly Rottweiler with the calm disposition did the sensible thing; hunckered down to wait it out.

Soon afterward we met up with a young couple we've come to know lately and their boxer-pitbull cross, a quiet and well mannered companion with whom Jackie and Jillie get on quite well. And then, the woman with the coonhound crossed paths with us again and the two large dogs began to chase one another and tussle together and Jackie and Jillie tried to make up their minds whether the two were playing or threatening one another. 

As we finally continued on, we were finding more blush-pink poplar leaves discarded from the trees, a puzzling phenomenon that we've become accustomed to seeing in mid-summer, long before poplar foliage turns a more uniform yellow colour in the fall. We've no idea why this happens, but then in the same token we have no idea why we've also begun seeing bright red maple leafs fallen on the trail, long before they should be turning colour and detaching for winter.

As far as we know there's been no weather-induced stress, no shortage of rainfall nor of sun. And then we turned our way back to a trail taking us to the last of the bridges we cross and over to the last of the hills we would climb to make our way back home. Where, after breakfast, I prepared a potato salad to refrigerate it for dinner, and baked a batch of oatmeal-date cookies.

Then went out to water the garden pots, and my husband took over the watering to do the garden while I began to tidy up the gardens, doing some snipping here and there to achieve a half-hearted but entirely sincere appearance of order in our normally quite disordered garden beds and borders. Any kind of physical activity on a sunny, warm day approaching hot should be strictly limited.

So that's when my husband decided he would prepare a pail of soapy water and clean off the exterior of our two garden sheds which over the years have begun to host a gathering collection of mould on the surface. It washes away readily, and once rinsed with clear water the siding looks shining clean and new again. But in this heat and at his age, not that super an idea. An opinion I proffered and he as usual took note of, as he set about cleaning the siding.

Our most frequent visitors filling up with the crackers, bread cubes and other snacks my husband still puts out religiously on our front porch, long after we used up the last of the big bag of peanuts, are the neighbourhood squirrels. The 'neighbourhood', of course, includes the nearby forest and ravine. We years ago realized that some squirrels we recognized from close proximity when we used to put out peanuts in various places throughout the forest adjacent the trails, would also saunter out of the forest and over to our porch.

Some of them we knew well many years ago, readily recognizable because they had identifying features; several had lost their tails, likely when they were still in the nest, when on occasion baby squirrels' tails become knotted together.

This morning we were greeted by the sight of a lovely, obviously very healthy grey squirrel that often comes around, though not as frequently as a number of black squirrels and red squirrels do. Later, black squirrels came around, and one in particular, rotund and small in a neat little bundle of black fur, that Jackie seems to single out for barking abuse. We see crows on occasion, cardinals and chickadees often, and sometimes song sparrows come along.

Night-time visits are reserved for rabbits, skunks and raccoons.

This morning I asked my husband if he'd like me to bake date-walnut muffins, and though he considered the offer briefly, he responded with a grin that he'd prefer butter tarts. We both have a fondness for butter tarts. So I decided that's what I would bake, and made up the pastry dough, rolled it out, cut circles, fitted them into a large-size cupcake pan that I first placed paper forms in, and then I broke walnuts into each waiting pastry shell, topped the walnuts with raisins, and mixed up the filling. So, not quite butter tarts, but raisin-walnut tarts.

When my kitchen work was finished for the time being and my husband had finished working downstairs in his workshop on completing a detailed stained glass window, we decided it was time to accompany Jackie and Jillie to the ravine. They knew it was time, too. They were excited, rushing about expectantly, and promising that we'd all enjoy a good brisk walk through the forest trails, even though it was extremely overcast and very windy today.

There's still plenty of ice and snow left to melt on the trails, but for the most part the hillsides are now free of both. So everything looks pretty drab, awaiting the fresh green of new vegetation growth on the forest floor and tender foliage bedecking deciduous trees, though that'll be a while yet in coming. Despite that it's a Friday we came across a fair number of other people out on the trails, and everyone was in good humour, happy to be there. People offered others a wide separation as they passed, and had a pleasant remark to exchange.

For the most part, though, the trails were occupied briefly as we passed, only by us. At one point my husband spotted a rubber cleat hanging from a tree branch where someone finding it on the forest floor as the melting snow revealed its presence, had hung it. I knew it wasn't one of mine, still missing, because it had a double strap at the back and mine had a single one, and besides it was too large. My husband took possession of it, because we knew whose it was.

By an odd coincidence, a woman whom we know slightly had, last week, picked one up that I had just then lost and doubled back to search for. She surrendered it to me, and as she did, mentioned she had been looking for one her husband had lost the day before. So, we took a series of trails that would bring us past their house in a neighbourhood some distance from our own. My husband briefly exited the ravine to go around to their front door, rang the bell and presented the lost cleat, to her delight.