We can always rely on a sunny day following a rainy one hosting more people than usual on the forest trails. Yesterday's thunderstorms arrived once we had returned home from our early afternoon ravine jaunt. Although we didn't feel any too jaunty on a heatstruck day of high humidity when we were unable yesterday to get out in the early morning as usual.  Yesterday's spin in the ravine was a challenge; the heat and the suffocating closeness failed to inspire us to great exertion.

But this morning by contrast, though the sun was full out and the gathering heat of the day even at an early morning hour was evident, made all the difference, with a good-humoured wind at our back presenting as nature's dependable air conditioning system. 

Good humour was not in much display this morning, however. Those people we did come across, people never before seen by us in our decades of trail tramping seemed to be dour and ill-mannered. They represented the joggers who occasionally decide to enter the forest and make a dash through the main trail system. It seems that anyone who is in the dedicated mindset of a jogger feels there is no one else around by virtue of being unable to see the presence of others because of plugging their ears.

Those ear buds firmly in place, joggers seem to feel that if they cannot hear anyone then there is no one else around. No need to hesitate and wait for anyone else to secure a better position on the trail to allow them to pass; they just brush brusquely past. And as for an exchange of pleasantry, a smile, an acknowledgement that others exist, that too is not possible since it might result in breaking a stride.

It hardly matters for us, but mightily concerned a young couple whom we've lately become familiar with. They walk a well-mannered, friendly American Staffordshire terrier. Whenever we've seen them in the past, their dog always roamed free, yet never any distance from them. It was a rescue dog, one they dearly love. He's a young dog, not yet two years of age, and affectionate. Jackie and Jillie get on just fine with him. We asked why he was on leash today. And out came the painful story. One of the joggers, a man they've seen on a number of occasions had threatened them.

And they were fearful for their dog. They're large people, quite robust in physique, but they described the threatening jogger as being a 'big fellow'. Who said he was prepared to give their dog a good, stiff kick for starters. Most dogs react when people run. They tend to follow for a short distance. Not threateningly, but more curious about what's going on. I've seen Jackie and Jillie do that. They don't go far, and don't follow closely.

I suppose because their dog is a good size, muscular and a breed that can be aggressive, the runner was concerned for his safety. He stopped briefly, turned around to our two acquaintances and shouted at them that he was prepared to kick the dog if they didn't leash him. So they did just that. Despite that the forest enclave is full of dogs at all times, and there is a municipal recognition to the extent that the forest has been given leash-free designation.

We felt badly for the two companions of this dearly loved dog. I know how such an hostile encounter can make me feel, and they definitely felt awful. My husband tried to reassure them, telling them not to worry, that it's unlikely to happen, and they probably would never see the fellow again. But they had seen him already on a number of occasions. And their pleasure in taking their dog with them through the natural setting of the forested ravine appears to have been soured and curdled.

I told them that a year ago a woman carrying a cudgel and walking a large black dog had tried to swat Jackie with it when he had run up to her dog with his usual curious overture at seeing a new dog. That probably was no help. But it did inform me from my own experience how devastatingly fearful for her dog's safety their encounter made them feel. On that occasion I had remonstrated with the woman and informed her that we had in our long experience on the forest trails, never come across anyone so uncivil as she appeared to be. We never saw her again.

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.

It's a real challenge often to to think of what to prepare for dinnertime. There are the standard items and variations on a theme, as it were, and there are dinners that I don't make too often but which we like well enough. And one of them is quiche. My husband is an egg-lover and we both love cheese, and quiche has both these ingredients, along with many others. Usually on a busy day, among which I certainly count house-cleaning day I plan on making something less fussy, not time-consuming, but after we returned from our afternoon hike through the forest yesterday I decided to just go ahead and make a quiche.

It's quick work for me to make a crust and for quiche I usually prepare one a little thicker than the usual. This time I thought since we had some sliced ham, I'd put some of that into the quiche, along with sliced green onion and asparagus, for a change. I used about a cup of grated old cheddar, and sprinkled the ham and vegetables over, then whipped up four large eggs, adding a half-cup of 10% milk, and lots of freshly grated black pepper. A last-minute thought had me add a dollop of Worcester sauce and then into the oven it went, ready about 40 minutes later for dinner.

A trip out to the backyard with Jackie and Jillie, in between cleaning out more kitchen cupboards in my spring cleaning routine this morning was rewarding. An annually-appearing little patch of anemones was in full bloom, bright and perky, blooming well before the tulips just now beginning to send up their heads. And in the rock garden periwinkles beginning their bright blue blooms. The anemones that come up in the ravine will be at least a month later. 

Today I thought I'd do a small corned beef roast, easy to prepare though it has a long simmering time. I'll serve it with cous-cous and spinach. We still need some rib-sticking meals with night-time temperatures going well below freezing. And the wind, the incessant, aggressive wind, making the high of 10C today seem infinitely colder than it was. All the more so when the sun went scurrying behind clouds. Despite which once we were in the woods and striding along the trails with Jackie and Jillie, our traipsing brisky along becomes a warming exercise.

Now that the week-end has passed we encounter far fewer people on the trails, and bicyclists as well. It's relieving that most people are respectful of one another, maintaining a responsibly careful distance. And most bicyclists whether they're teens or older people are generally well aware of the civility of courtesy on the trails, exercising good judgement about waiting for others to pass and allowing them safe passage.

Yesterday and again today, although fewer people were about and that's a bit of a relief, we experienced some unfortunate encounters with bicyclists. These were mature men who most surely should know better, passing at very close range, silently, with no warning they're approaching behind us. With two small dogs on leashes and on narrow portions of the trail network, these incidents could turn out unhappily.

The main trails have ample room, but even there, people should be sensible enough to know that if they're going at considerable speed they owe it to others to ensure their presence is anticipated so other people can take steps to avoid contact with them; all the more so with dogs on leashes. One pair of male cyclists stopped at the crest of one of the  hills, one of the bicycles sprawled directly on the trail, leaving no passage room on either side, while the bicyclist was adjusting something on his back wheel.

These encounters are unfortunate, and leave a pretty poor impression of the state of mind of some people feeling they're entitled to do anything, including whatever impairs other peoples' enjoyment of shared landscapes. Our experience over the decades with bicyclists in the ravine has been quite positive for the most part, with civility extended on both sides, including developing friendships.

The situation of the lockdown with the emergency response to the novel coronavirus is a grim one, but it can only be made more miserable by selfishly behaving in a manner that is certain to inconvenience others, and even threaten their well-being by inconsiderate dolts whose presence in any society others must put up with.