Little wonder we equate summer with spontaneity, when we are able on the spur of the moment to do anything in the outdoors we enjoy without necessary advance preparations to face the weather. Today, yet another warm, breezy and sunny day. The backyard inviting us to mosey about, looking at the gardens, admiring whatever has most recently gone into bloom. For their part, Jackie and Jillie busying themselves sniffing about for the irresistible scents of the rabbits. 

 

 

The bearded irises are now in flower, so are the Mountain Bluet, the bleeding hearts, and the Ladies Mantle in the rock garden. And surprise, one of our oldest climbing roses has also started to bloom. Then there's the lovely shade of pastel orange of a peony which has finally decided to flower this spring, the first time ever in its four-year residence in the garden. Jackie and Jillie may be engrossed in sniffing out the presence of squirrels, chipmunks and rabbits, but I'm enthralled with the sight of nature's generosity of flowers.

 

Irving planned to barbecue chicken drumsticks for dinner tonight, so I thought that coleslaw would accompany them very nicely, and shredded cabbage, carrot, sliced onion and dried cranberries into a salad we could enjoy later on today, with a piquant dressing including apple cider. 

 

We set off relatively early in the afternoon for our quotidian tryst in the forest hoping that the breeze would keep the mosquitoes down to a manageable level. The robins are really enjoying this weather in the ravine. At this time of spring we always see robins scurrying about on the forest floor for whatever reason for an avian species they find bipedalism appealing at this time of year, but it's a kind of robin-ritual we've been long familiar with.

 

Jackie and Jillie don't even find it in them to chase the robins any longer; they're as accustomed to seeing them on the trails and beyond now, as we are. Their songs followed us, adding yet another melodic note of serene pleasure to our outing. We also saw the yellow flash of warblers in flight around the forest creek. And adjacent one of the trails, we watched as a Hairy woodpecker flitted from tree to tree until one tree trunk satisfied its search.

 

As we once again approached the creek on our way doubling back on the circuit we had chosen for the day, we came again across the one clump of wildflowers we now know as an invasive species, to be found in the forest as far as we could see. Growing just above the creek on its bank, the oddest 'aquatic' group of beautiful yellow irises we've ever seen. They have a reputation for aggressiveness in pushing out native vegetation, yet evidently though we've never seen them before last year, never even imagined their existence, there is but a single clump.

 

Himalayan orchids, another invasive Asian species on the other hand, really are aggressive in their habit, and we've seen them proliferating in parts of the forest for years, now being challenged, their presence much diminished since the appearance of fast-spreading thimbleberry shrubs (purple raspberry) that have in their turn colonized the area fast being vacated by the orchids.

 

Nature is , as usual, taking a convoluted route toward spring. Seldom does she agree to move directly and firmly from late winter to early spring. Rather than the highway of non-stop destination, she takes unpaved back roads that frustratingly seem to lead back to where we came from. Yesterday was wonderfully balmy with a light breeze, occasional sun and a temperature of 20C. Today, however, we stepped back several weeks in the transition, the temperature stuck as12C, with a brisk wind under completely clouded skies.

 

It was such a lovely day yesterday that we favoured a much longer hike in the ravine. We saw the first of the fiddleheads, as ferns begin unfurling on the forest floor. Chickadees and nuthatches were enjoying the day, just as we were. We sighted another hairy woodpecker hard at work, and mistook a hawk roosting on a branch of a pine for an owl, until several crows rousted it from its perch and it flew off into the forest interior.

 

More of the trilliums have begun blooming; bright pops of crimson on the otherwise still-sere transitional landscape. In the forest creek where the water, while not yet crystal, had begun clearing from its clay-occluded state of the week, more or less confirming our speculation that work is being done upstream that has impacted the water quality of the creek the ducks were in residence.

 

We came across someone walking two delightfully impish and tiny puppies; the male a Maltese and the little female a Yorkie. They were so small that our two small-breed dogs virtually towered over them. The little Maltese kept flopping over on his back, wanting to be played with, and tummy-rubbed.

 

Today, we took a shorter route. I had put a small roast in the oven for dinner before we left. It was quite late, since today is one of my regular house-cleaning days. Yesterday, after our ravine  hike I took the time and the opportunity while rain held off to plant the gladiola and dahlia bulbs I've been anxious to put into the ground. Today I took a brief time off from cleaning to zip outside and unload the used coffee grounds I've been collecting on our blue and our pink hydrangeas, hoping that this would encourage the production of blooms in a few months' time. It worked last year, somewhat.

 

 

Sure enough, once out in the forest we could see that the creek was once again full of clay. On previous occasions we'd looked for the Mallards and it became clear they had absented themselves. Today, however, they were serenely floating about, the female ducking her head continually underwater for algae, despite the quality of the water.

 

Jackie and Jillie were oblivious to all the distractions that took our attention. Their focus is, unfailingly, on the messages that other dogs in the community who venture through the forest leave as community news. 

Today has been a day of pleasant surprises. First one occurred when we saw it was 9C this morning, not the 0C we had yesterday morning. Which inspired a sunny breakfast with a big smiley-face and the anticipation that we'd enjoy a beautiful spring day. Until we looked at the paper which gave the forecast informing us that the wide blue sky that had shone uninterruptedly last night, hosting a brilliant spring moon would cloud over by afternoon, dismissing the morning sun as high winds picked up and rain began.

Since we had an afternoon appointment at the veterinarian clinic, we decided we'd go out earlier than usual with Jackie and Jillie to enjoy a long circuit through the ravine's forest before the weather turned. Even though we were out early, clouds had moved in, the sun was cloistered and the wind turned the mild temperature slightly tempestuous. Still, mild enough that Jackie and Jillie needed no sweaters for comfort.

 

We weren't out long before we had a surprise visitor; Millie suddenly appeared before us, eagerly greeting the Cookie Man and offering to relieve him of some of those cookies weighting down his pack. He was happy to oblige, we hadn't seen her in such a long time. Even Jackie and Jillie were happy to see Millie, since if she was getting big cookies, they could cadge little ones for themselves.

 

Even with the wind and the disappearance of the sun, the temperature had nudged up to 18C, so the day demanded we make the most of our opportunity to enjoy a fine midspring day. We are so familiar with the terrain that we know where to look for wildflowers that tend to colonize specific areas on the forest floor. I wanted to see whether the trout lilies had begun to make an appearance, even the trilliums. What we did see is that the lilies-of-the-valley that had already erupted in the areas we most generally frequent had yet to make an appearance anywhere along the larger circuit.

 

But the trout lilies, although not yet in flowering mode (and they wouldn't flower unless the sun was out to begin with) were there in abundance, and to our great gratification so too were the purple trilliums beginning to make their appearance in other familiar areas. 

 

 

The forest floor on the forest plateau above the ravine where we soon found ourselves, remains saturated from all the rain that has occupied our days of late. Assuring us that before long our walks will be accompanied by hordes of mosquitoes, not  yet in evidence.

 

Our morning adventure had more in store for us, in spring flora and fauna appearances. Up in the forest canopy we could hear crows assembling and calling. And looking up in their direction, where some were settling on the trees, nearby there was a barred owl in residence. We hear the  owls on occasion, but haven't actually seen them for quite awhile. But there was a fellow, looking down at us. We returned the compliment, then moved on.

 

Approaching the forest creek, preparing to mount one of the bridges, we looked for the presence of the Mallards, and found them too in residence. Mrs. Mallard, as usual, busy eating algae, with her mate paddling next to her. They too were making the most of a beautiful day. And nor were they the only ones for not far from their aquatic picnic lunch, we saw a flash of black-and-white and realized that a Hairy woodpecker had entered the scene, busying itself on a tree trunk, perusing it up and down for the best vantage point it could domineer for its lunch.

Last evening, just as dusk was turning into night, Irving called me outside, where he was standing on the deck, listening to a chorus high above of Canada geese in their typical Vee formation, flying across a far-off crescent moon. In a silent night sky their orchestration of calls carry with surprising clarity. Their precision formation and triumphant announcement of reverse migration invariably brings back memories of other years and other places when their calls arrested our attention.

This was a busy, long line of geese, and alongside the neat parade were other geese flying independently but with the orderly group, making their own singular journey, together yet apart. It's the kind of spectacle hungry eyes and ears want to dally, so a fuller enjoyment of their presence can be held in static time. But the geese and physics have different agendas than ours; suddenly they were there ... just as suddenly all was quiet and they were no longer to be seen.

Later on in t he evening when dark night had long descended, there was little Pepe le Peu with his wonderful tail and clear Y-shaped white streak on the black background of his beautiful haircoat. He was taking his time, clearing up the last remnants of the peanuts Irving had put out while it was still light. We watched the graceful little creature, then left him to his devices.

When next we looked through the door he was gone and in his place was Junior Rascoon, the smallest of the handful of raccoons that tend to come around from five in the late afternoon onward. This is the last of the peanuts. And the cookies that Irving puts out for the wildlife during the winter and early spring. They're on their own now to forage, because there should be plentiful natural food for them, far healthier than what we put out.

We've had yet another splendid weather day, with the high temperature for the afternoon reaching 18C, a light breeze and beaming sun floating on the blue cover of the world. All the trails have now nicely dried up so we're no longer striding through layers of muck. These days, when we return home after a two-hour trek through the forest trails, Jackie's and Jillie's little paws no longer need generous applications of soapy wet sponge.

Things are more relaxed and spontaneous now. None of us has to struggle to get into layers of clothing to keep warm. The sun has obligingly taken over from the wind and freezing sleet. We're always happy to be out and about in the woods, but now there's constant daily discoveries to add to the pleasure. The wild raspberry canes and thimbleberry shrubs are taking on green weight as they began to renew their foliage, preparing to flower and eventually produce fruit in late summer.

More trout lilies are beginning to open and bloom, but they're never particularly generous with their flowers. It's difficult to photograph them with their nodding downturned heads. There are spread-out colonies on the forest floor, but most people just tend to pass by without ever glancing at the forest floor interior, just beyond the forest trails. It takes a probing eye to make out the delicate little yellow flowers among the green-mottled foliage.

And nor do people tend to notice the trilliums, although it's the Provincial flower. But they're there, waiting to be discovered. And it's just as well they don't mind being overlooked. Mentioning their bright insouciant presence in bloom takes people by surprise, oblivious to their presence before their very eyes. They give us so much pleasure, each one encountered seeming like a personal special gift. 

Irving has been looking for a replacement kitchen-faucet set for a while. The last set he installed about seven years ago was the worst we've ever had. Nothing was right about it. The previous set had lasted about a dozen years, a premium tap set guaranteed for 'life'. It had a built-in water purifier, was pretty pricey and we had a hell of a time securing replacement filters. The one that replaced it when it finally gave up the ghost is the one we currently have on the sink.

It's so poorly operational that finding just the right spot between hot and cold is well nigh impossible. You get either cold or hot; adjustments in between are beyond difficult to switch to. The top handle also keeps coming loose and we're afraid that one day it'll just fly off. Irving tightens the damn thing and it's fine, but it only lasts for a week and then it's sliding all over the place again. Moving the faucet head from one sink to the other in a double-sink duo, is a labour unto itself.

So he did some shopping this morning and came home with a new set. Half price sale (I shudder at those half-price sales; does it mean the product is so dismal they're trying to rid themselves of stock?) reduced the cost to $150. A product by a well-known manufacturer. I asked him to see about getting a plumber to install it; I don't relish the thought of him struggling under the sink to install the damn thing, but no, he'll do the work himself as he always does.

Good thing it's a beautiful day of steadily warming temperatures, light breezes and an ocean of blue. That golden orb rules the sky today casting its brilliance and warmth throughout our landscape. As usual I was out with Jackie and Jillie in the backyard to do an inventory check on what's coming up in the gardens. Kind of silly to do this every day, but every day has its own rewards.

Earlier in the day, another fencing company representative had been by, with our neighbour guiding him around, to estimate the work involved and the eventual cost of replacement of our 30-year-old fencing. It'll be a difficult proposition, even though our backyard is small, unlike that of our neighbour's, easily double the size of ours. Which means there's less room to manoeuvre about.

By the time we got around to convincing Jackie and Jillie that yes, no kidding, we're going off to the ravine, the temperature had reached 16C, and the sun wasn't playing second fiddle to clouds, nor would it for the remainder of the day. So, off we went. Light cotton jackets for us, but the puppies no longer have any need of doggie sweaters, it's just so dog-amenable, is this spring weather...

All creatures large and small are beside themselves with the pleasure of spring. There were chipping sparrows flitting about over and around the creek today. We haven't seen them since last summer. And the unmistakable sound of bluejays ringing through the forest, an old familiar musical refrain that we don't come across often in Eastern Ontario, but were very familiar to us years back in Southern Ontario. Their sharp peals advising that they're around were loud and distinct.

As we walked on a lower trail alongside the creek, we strolled into gentle clouds of May flies, swirling around us. Signs of spring are everywhere, from every corner and manifesting through the presence of birds and the occasional sighting of Mourning Cloaks. Before long they'll be joined by Dragonflies and by (shudder) blackflies and mosquitoes. The standing water rain pools on the forest floor refuse to dry up and they're the perfect incubation medium for mosquito larvae.

Today, like almost every other day we've been tramping through the ravine, we came across the emergence of tender ferns, horsetails and False Solomon's Seal, preparing to flesh out the bracken on the forest floor. We also came across the first emerging patch of wild ginger. Also foamflower. Vegetation growing apace!

It's the flowering of Trout lilies and of Trilliums that really please us, for their distinct little colourful flowers. The bright yellow heads of the lilies searching out the sun, and bashfully looking down at the ground, and the startling crimson of the purple trilliums catching the eye we walk by. Mesmerizing in their quiet beauty.

It doesn't take long after nightfall before they begin to arrive, singly, in pairs, in little family groups. We've no idea how many in total, but hazard a dozen, from kits to juveniles to adults. They're invariably well-behaved and confident. They make themselves comfortable for as long as they intend to stay. And they arrive in succession. It almost seems as though they wait politely until one group leaves before ascending the porch and beginning their own repast. 

 

 

I was a little surprised yesterday afternoon when I saw the usually belligerent little black squirrel with the red-enhanced tail who always picks fights with other black squirrels, calmly accept the presence of a little chipmunk, daintily selecting peanuts in close proximity to one another. The chipmunks are usually wary of the presence of squirrels, but not this time. The squirrels too, like the raccoons, often arrive in pairs, and there are times when four of them accommodate one another's presence.

It's less frequently that we see grey squirrels and they tend to be loners. And though we see small red squirrels fairly often, they too don't seem to wish to tolerate the close presence of any others, either red, grey or black. They're all a little different. 

 

We used to think of the crows as being flighty, and they are; the least bit of movement they detect will see them lifting off and we attribute that to the well-enough-known fact that most people don't like these very intelligent birds about. The song sparrows come around very often, but we haven't heard them sing all summer, and now they're once again beginning to trill their peerless songs as though welcoming fall. Yesterday a pair of bluejays came along; bluejays love peanuts. As flighty as the crows are, bluejays are even more susceptible to reacting when they feel insecure, unlike the song sparrows and the cardinals.

 

Tomorrow is the first day of October, and it's getting progressively colder. This morning at 7:00 Irving put on the gas fireplace to warm up the family room adjacent the kitchen and breakfast rooms. We left it on for its comforting warmth throughout breakfast, until the warmth of the sun began to penetrate the stained glass windows and the house began to feel more comfortable.

Irving spent hours downstairs in his workshop, assembling a new door to hold a stained glass insert. He's toying with plans for the insert design and is thinking of two roundels, one depicting a stream with fish and a bear fishing them. Another would be an alpine landscape with a mountain goat. Sounds a little fussy and complicated, he may change his mind. I was involved in more mundane things, doing the laundry.

 

By mid-afternoon Jackie and Jillie were getting fairly antsy despite my taking them out repeatedly to the backyard where they burst out the sliding doors, dash down the stairs of the deck, and through to the back fence behind the garden sheds, racing after squirrels and chipmunks. It's my opportunity to conduct some assessment on what next to do in my ongoing garden fall clean-up sessions. We used to do them in one fell swoop, but that was back then; it's just too difficult, time-consuming and exhausting.

 

No need for anything to be worn over their haircoats today, not with that full-out sun, though we wore light jackets in view of the wind and the always-cooler atmosphere prevailing in the forest. We're seeing more fungi now that we're seeing fewer wildflowers. In their own way, mushrooms are just about as interesting in their variety of colour and shapes as are flowers.

 

When we were down by the creek before finishing up our extended trail loop this afternoon we were pleased to see a number of little goldfish swimming about. They hadn't all been picked off after all by the passing great blue heron, or the little boys intent on gathering them up for aquariums. I think by now there is quite a number of small-fry in any event, harder to see, and black, not orange, the colour that gives their presence away. 

 

While we were down at the creek there was a sudden loud sound, as though someone nearby was starting up a crochety old gas-powered chainsaw. The loud, prolonged ripping sound, Irving pointed out to me, though it had a mechanical creak to it, was in fact the sound of a large tree cracking off and falling...