Nature has gone off on a teasing tangent. Most of last week was so cold we wore hats and gloves along with our pre-winter-warm jackets. And Jackie and Jillie wore theirs, as well. Days when the wind whipped through the forest made it seem even colder than the 3C that it was. Three days ago torrential rain and wind consumed the day. Yesterday? Heavily overcast, morning rain as well as wind, but the temperature nudged up to 17C, a big difference from 3C. So no hat, no gloves, no warm, woolly jackets. Today built on yesterday's balmy atmosphere. 

 

Still overcast, yes, but occasional burst of sun forcing its way through the cloud cover, and warming the interior of the house. And the temperature rose to 20C, surely a record for November 6th! It was a tempestuous day in other ways, since the results of the American election were in and firmly established that Donald Trump has returned to the White House. He's so unpredictable it makes us wonder what kind of unexpected and possibly impetuous decisions he'll make in his first week back in office. But we'll have to wait for his January inauguration to find out anything like that.

 

Irving is still in the throes of cleaning  up his workshop of years of  accumulated detritus. He's always been like that; creatively constructive, but loathe to clean up afterward, and waste-wood and coloured glass had a tendency to pile up. He also likes to save things; anything he construes as having potential for hitherto-unimagined use is set aside for another day. And there are times when he'll find those bits and pieces useful; waste not, want not.

 

 

Yesterday I made an eggplant-cheese-tomato casserole. I'd place that in a once-again, now-and-again category, it's so good; wholesome and fragrantly delicious. Any dish that Irving will eat with gusto is a winner for me. This time, I took the  trouble to peel the eggplant before braising it in the oven. It's actually not a requirement, but he prefers it that way. The casserole is easily put together in three layers of tomato sauce, eggplant slices and cheese. It's a savoury dish that we both enjoy. And a good way to use up tomatoes. The sauce is simple enough; chopped garlic cloves and onion simmered in olive oil, chopped tomatoes and bell pepper added, and also a half-tin of prepared spaghetti sauce. The eggplant slices are sprinkled with a herb mixture and baked briefly in the oven on both sides beforehand.

 

 

Today's ramble through the ravine with Jackie and Jillie was pure pleasure. A gentle breeze augmented the warm atmosphere. There's hardly any foliage left on the trees, now. And the piles of leaves that descended to the forest floor have mostly lost their brilliant hues, turning grey and limp and crusty in turn. There's some squirrel activity; despite the unseasonable warmth, they know instinctively that it's time to gather what they can for their winter pantries.

 

When we returned home, I decided, given the opportunity, to haul out the wheelbarrow and use the bags of sheep manure and peat that we had stored, to enrich the garden beds and borders. The weather was perfect for it; the soil had been turned and I was hoping that using it as compost would further dissuade the neighbourhood squirrels from digging up any of the tulip bulbs I planted last week. Mind, I had poured a little bloodmeal/bonemeal into each of the cavities before depositing the bulbs, and I believe squirrels are adverse to bloodmeal. I did discover that some of the bulbs had been revealed, the soil covering them dug out, but the bulbs themselves were still sitting there, intact.

 

Just about everything has been done in preparation for snow flying in. And there's satisfaction in that; everything shipshape. And just to emphasize how prepared we are, Irving's friend who works as a mechanic for the RCMP and privately has a business where he comes to people's homes to change their vehicles' all-purpose tires to ice tires was by this afternoon to do just that, with ours. 

 

Jackie and Jillie certainly have selective memories. It's Sunday and they know what's for breakfast. We're all creatures of habit and things fall into place in the sense that certain routines are expected to occur at certain times; it just makes life simpler. They were expecting their treat, one of their favourites. Jillie ate her breakfast this morning, but Jackie turned up his nose -- literally -- at his, although the kibble was made a little more enticing with bits of breakfast melon chopped into it, along with cooked chicken left over from Friday. 

 

He was holding out for pancakes and sausages. He leapt up on the settle in the breakfast room, craning his head around to the stove where I was flipping pancakes, awaiting his treat. His sister sat patiently at my feet, emitting that barely perceptible whine that she reserves for anxiously awaiting special edible treats. Finally after being presented with their treats, Jackie turned his attention to his breakfast and finished it off.

 

 

Today was supposed to be a more leisurely day of rest than yesterday proved to be. Sunny, windy and cold, it was a perfect day to work in the garden to complete winterizing it. Cutting back the last of the hostas, those beautiful plants that look after themselves all summer, but come fall get cut back so when spring eventually returns they're ready to begin growing anew. We've got so many hostas, many of them decades and decades old, and they're huge. It's quite a job winterizing them. Unlike the heucheras that often keep them company that need no attention.

 

The garden pots and urns needed to be emptied of the soil that annuals grew beautifully in all summer. Wheelbarrows full of good soil were taken to the backyard to be smoothed over the garden beds there. Come spring fresh composted soil will fill the pots and urns so that freshly-grown annuals will get a good start for their summer-long flowering.

 

 

Fall garden preparations mean that garden statuary, the urns and the garden pots need winter protection. The next step was to cover them all with a protective plastic sheeting secured by bunjies against snow, freezing and thawing, icy conditions and rampant wind. That was done today, and once it was completed, it was time to meet the weather. A cold day of 8C, sharp wind and heavily overcast; jackets in order for everyone, and off we went for a foray through the forest trails in the ravine.

 

 

The autumn colour has just about spent itself at this point. By early November -- just around the corner -- all the deciduous trees will have shed their foliage. There's very few leaves actually left on the maple, birch, poplar and willow trees, although the beech leaves are still clinging to the trees as are the oak and sumac. The beech leaves are a bright bronze, and the sumac foliage brilliant orange-reds.

 

 

Jackie and Jillie have a penchant for running far ahead of us, although they frequently look back to ensure we're still in sight, for the most part. We usually remove their leashes as soon as we enter the trailhead up the street from our house. Most days we pretty well have the trails to ourselves, but for the past few weeks, others within the larger community have been coming out for at least one tour of the fall woods. Those who avert their heads as they come abreast of other hikers and who cannot extend an acknowledgement of the presence of others don't add much to the experience of a shared appreciation of nature.

 

 

 

To the present, this has been so far, an  unusual, although not entirely rare fall for the balmy weather we've been enjoying. Ample sun, wind and rain and temperatures oddly mild for this time of year. The temperature does drop overnight, flirting with frost, but hard frosts though on the way, haven't yet arrived.

 

 

Usually it's winter that is loathe to leave and this time it's summer, with fall struggling to assert itself. Still, each day we go out into the ravine we can see subtle changes. And lately, the acrid fragrance of drying leaves, that smell that brings back youth memories making us nostalgic over this season, has begun.

 

The last few days have been a little cooler than the low 20Cs we've become accustomed to this early fall, with a bit of a chill wind rustling through the leaves, bringing down a steady rain of pine needles, along with yellow poplar leaves and bright red maple leaves to clutter the forest floor. Soon it will take on the aspect of bright confetti.

 

The leaves are beginning to pile up though and already it's hard to see the partridgeberry that clings to the forest floor. The late wildflowers like asters are still around, though a bit wan, but gone are the fleabane, the Himalayan orchids, the goldenrod and the coneflowers along the banks of the creek and the trails mounting the hillsides.

 

From early to mid-October is the time I usually disassemble the garden, and it takes many days to prepare everything for the arrival of November, then December, when snow begins to cover the landscape. I've taken down the vines, cut back some of the perennials, the hydrangeas, black-eyed Susans and peonies, and now it's time to do the same with our many hostas sprinkled throughout the backyard garden and the extensive ones in the front garden; even the rock garden and shade garden at opposite sides of the house have to be trimmed.

 

I began on Wednesday of this week, and  continued today, taking several hours each of those days to begin the process. Today I also cut back our backyard Magnolia tree which has taken to hanging over one of our stone benches. The older climbing roses are no longer producing blooms and they've been cut back, but the shrubs that produce tiny clusters of roses are thriving, sending out beautiful little blooms.

 

I meant to continue a little longer tidying up and bringing fall order to the gardens, but suddenly it began to rain. And soon after I went into the house after putting away all the garden tools I was using and leaving the large compost bags that will be put out for pick-up tomorrow in the garden shed, thunder began. So we're getting a thunderstorm! Relieving me of the need to water the still-flourishing garden pots.

 

Although it's early yet seasonally speaking of fall, I like to get ahead of cleaning up the garden for its winter rest, because it is such a huge job. Which means I take an hour or so several times a week at this point to get into the garden and begin tidying up perennials and shrubs. Cutting them back necessarily means there will be gaps in the garden, blank spots, where I'm accustomed to seeing various plants nudging one another, but it can't be helped.

 

I am glad to see the Hibiscus tree beginning to rebloom. The presence of its large flat-frilly flowers can even be seen from the front door when I look out morning, noon and night through the glass window of the front door. And the giant dahlias that I'd planted in the spring are continuing to produce huge flowers of their own, their bright orange petals almost luminous at dusk. We've so many garden pots and urns planted with annuals that have to be composted, that too will take a while to get through.

The most time-consuming task is cutting back the lilies and the hostas since we have so many of them. Yesterday I began carefully cutting back the foliage of the tree peonies, far fussier than ordinary peonies since the next year's buds already form in the fall and mustn't be snipped off inadvertently else their large, lush blooms will be absent come spring.

 

As predicted, our warm dry spell has come to a close, and cooler weather has arrived, along with rain. Yesterday's rain came down in sporadic and gentle sprinkles so that when we took Jackie and Jillie out for our usual trek through the forest trails they wore light raincoats. Different story today when the sky's cloud-drenched spigots opened fully and drenching rain was the order of the day. A day that calls out for just relaxing. We did that, but by 2:00 in the afternoon the puppies were restless and so were we.

 

Rain had begun some time during the early night-time hours and continued steadily. There was barely any light to penetrate the bedroom when dawn arrived. And nor did the house interior get any lighter through the morning hours. When the sky is heavy with dark clouds spilling their watery load the outdoors is dark and consequently so is the indoors. It's when we most appreciate the beautiful, bright colourful stained glass windows Irving designed and produced so many years ago. 

 

Finally, we'd had enough of waiting for the rain to pause. On went heavier rainjackets for all of us against the cooler temperature and off we went, in a steady rain. Although the forest interior was steeped in the kind of dusk one normally expects as the day wears into evening and during periods of rain, it is ameliorated by the vegetation being liberally lacquered with water that catches even faint ambient light. The bright red haws of hawthorn trees and the red berries of American bittersweet stand out against the rain-varnished bright green of the forest.

 

We trod the uphill and downhill forest trails with necessary caution, avoiding networks of tree roots since they tend to be slippery when they're wet, as do the trails themselves when the Leda clay of the forest floor becomes inundated. The furious sound of the creek lapping over rocks had no competition from birdsong this afternoon. But we were momentarily taken unaware as we began backtracking alongside the creek, when our presence obviously disturbed a Great Blue Heron, and the bird rose quickly and majestically, its large wings widespread and casually flapping, out of the water as it rapidly gained height and sight of it was quickly lost as it faded into the tree canopy.

 

 Jackie and Jillie trotted ahead as usual, a little faster than usual, though, as if they were contemplating the warm dry albeit darkened household interior as a reward on our return home, and the fresh-cut salad they anticipate after every walk as their special daily treat.

 

It's a wonder the ground can actually absorb any more rainwater. Every time the heavens open up a deluge almost swallows the landscape. It's not just our area of course, but wider afield. On the other hand, we haven't been too 'inconvenienced' by the incessant rain events. When the clouds withdraw, out comes the sun, and that can happen multiple times during the day. In the final analysis, we're not short of sunshine and nor are we desperate for irrigation; a kind of balance has been achieved, but it's still excessive. 

 

 

The forecast for today, after Friday's all-day heavy rain and Saturday's bit-of-everything weather, was for mostly sun, albeit a cool day at 20C. Yet, even before we sat down to breakfast (melon halves and banana pancakes and sausages) a thunderstorm clapped and inundated our immediate vicinity. It was prolonged and rain-fierce. And I was glad that Jackie and Jillie had already been out twice by then in the backyard; no need to tongue-lash them into getting out in that rain to perform their daily 'ablutions'. 

 

 

In the morning and into the afternoon I'm always busy even on Sunday. We had planned for a traipse through the forest pathways as usual in the early afternoon. But then the house interior became dark again with the arrival of grey-streaked clouds that soon turned charcoal grey and another oncoming thunderstorm was heard in the near distance, finally closing the gap and letting loose over us. It rained and didn't it rain!!!

 

 

Once it was over the sun returned quickly, peeking through a curtain of remaining grey clouds. So we thought we'd make a dash for it, and try for a quick run through the forest. Ahem, we don't run, not at our age. We plunge into the ravine and take our time toddling along the trails. And so we did just that. Soon after our entry to the ravine, descending from street level and approaching the trail that runs alongside the forest creek, a largish bird swooped down to perch on a tree fairly close to our approach.

 

 

I whipped out my camera since this was an opportunity to get a shot of a hawk. Which sat there inclining its head in our direction as though contemplating our presence. Just as I was enlarging the view with the expectation of getting a close-up, off he flew. But from its size and contours we knew it for a hawk and were pleased to see it. I had to be satisfied with the photo I took, which still shows the hawk, albeit at a distance. We usually see sharp-shinned hawks whistling on the wind as they arrive in early spring.

 

 

The creek itself was tossing and turning in a turbulent display of rushing, roiling, muck-filled rainwater. It had reached spring runoff levels, and the sound of its rushing passage was notable. The water had risen partway up a portion of its banks, inundating the trunks of trees as the rain-swelled current carried all manner of detritus from the overhanging forest in its wake.

 

 

Jackie and Jillie, notorious for their meticulous avoidance of getting unnecessarily wet, paced carefully around the large, wide ponds of rainwater that had a regular post-rainfall presence on the forest trails. At the start of our hike, despite their familiarity with the forest in all kinds of weather conditions, they made it clear that this was their least favourite. The humidity and constant dripping from the forest canopy didn't endear them to the walk today.

 

But halfway through our passage through the forest they set aside their distaste at what the elements had wrought and began to lose themselves in the pleasure of sniffing about and wandering here and there to satisfy their curiosity, insatiable as it is. There was no one out from the wider community save for us, so in that sense we had the forest to ourselves. All the vegetation has been well irrigated and has grown to quite notable heights this year. The invasive Himalayan orchids and even pilotweed have zoomed upward to over six feet; quite impressive.

 

Back home again, we wandered through our gardens a short while before heading back into the house after ascertaining that nothing had really suffered under the ferocity of the rain accompanying that thunderous orchestration earlier in the day. And then, back in the kitchen, I set about preparing cheese blintzes for dinner for tonight, along with a salad and watermelon for dessert.

 

So far, summer is continuing to shape up very nicely. We're now in a spate of the most pleasant of weather-days; warm but not hot, plenty of breezes, and a mixture of sun and cloud. And, of course, intermittent rain events. Yesterday, we deemed it reasonable, given the weather, to do a little work in the garden. Mostly tidying up, an all-summer-long occupation, in actual fact. Sun exposure, ample rain and reasonable weather conditions encourage vegetation growth. And from time to time -- at least once a week, the garden begs to be attended to, cutting back spent flowers to encourage new ones, sweeping up the detritus that tends to gather.

 

 

Nature is an endless assistant. Too bushed to do the watering yesterday, we wagered that it would soon rain, and rain it did, heavily, several hours after we completed our labours. Hard not to feel a bit smug about that kind of natural intervention. Despite that we've had so much rain this spring and summer it has all been absorbed by the thirsty ground below us. The trails in the forest have dried up nicely, and it's hard o discern that the gardens have received a needed quota of rain; with the constant wind, everything has a tendency to dry quickly.

 

 

Sun and rain have also hastened the ripening of the wild berries in the forest. And Jackie and Jillie are major beneficiaries. They know where the pickings are best because we've parked ourselves in those areas alongside the trails for weeks now, picking ripe raspberries, and now thimbleberries for them. The last of the berries -- are in even greater abundance, though they will be a while yet in ripening.

 

 

Yesterday we had seen a pair of male Pileated woodpeckers in the woods, not far off one of the trails we were on. Strange to see a pair -- not a male and female -- together actually working in concert with one another. They flew together to the trees of interest to them, and finally settled, one on each side of an old tree trunk, just a foot off the ground, to begin battering the decaying wood.

 

 

Despite the beautiful weather and the recreational allure of the forest trails, and anticipating surprises now and again at unexpected sightings every time we enter the forest, we haven't seen too many other area residents around and about in the forest. Conditions that we consider a bit of a nuisance: muddy trails, hot, humid atmosphere, stinging insects, are a real turn-off for most people. Constant threat of rain keeps a lot of even dedicated trail hikers away. But there are always exceptions, and today an old friend appeared, patiently awaiting his reward of doggy cookies. 

 

Today, as we made our way up one of the hills in the ravine's forest we saw a mess of equipment at the side of the trail, and recognized that the young men who had weeks ago set up a zip line were at it again. One man begins by shimmying up a tree trunk to fasten his end of a line that has to be taut enough to take their weight, while at the other end another of the men is also busy with his end of the line, intent on getting the tension just right. From the upper ridge of the ravine, the zip line extended across the creek to a lower portion of the ravine, across the pollinating meadow with the forest on either side. Hard, exacting work.

 

 

Jackie and Jillie were alarmed at first at their presence and the strange objects they saw beside the trail. Then their attitude changed to curiosity as they sniffed about. We were ourselves curious, speaking briefly to the two men as we passed, earning ourselves broad smiles. No doubt they were feeling a little cautious, hoping that no one would draw attention to what they were doing and invite any kind of unwanted questioning by the local parks and recreation authorities. We urged them to have a care.

 

 

Back home, time to relax briefly in the garden, look about at everything and recognize areas that we missed on our clean-up routine of yesterday. I briefly flirted with tackling the backyard which is also in need of trim-and-tidy, but I had too much to do in the house, so decided to leave it for another day in this coming new week.

 

 

Irving does everything that has to be done technically in our house, and he always has. It's the third house we've owned and lived in, discounting the houses that weren't owned by us but in which we lived for years in both Tokyo and Atlanta. From plumbing to electrical, building walls downstairs in the basements to transform the space there to an additionally livable part of the house, installing doors and altering 'open concept' spaces to fully enclosed rooms, designing and producing stained glass windows for every window in the house, to excavation work in the garden and building stone retaining walls and brick walkways, there is absolutely nothing he couldn't conceive of, and build.

 

It was as though each of the prior houses represented a rehearsal for the final house we now live in, and have done for over 30 years. Among other things he did was to install dimmer switches in all the bedrooms. One of those switches exhibited a penchant for mischief over the years, suddenly deciding to turn itself on independently during the night hours. The ghost-in-the-light-switch as it were. When we shut down the dimmer function, it began to balk at being turned on and off, until finally it gave up the ghost (see?). So today Irving rummaged about in his workshop to come up with an ordinary switch and an hour later the balky dimmer switch was exchanged.

 

 

His ability to do such a wide variety of things always impresses me. He attributes it to the fact that when he was in his teens and at high school 'shop' was a mandatory class where he was exposed to all manner of maintenance and upkeep standards having equipped him to tackle all these household chores. And that may be so, but only partially, since his own inbred sense of aesthetic and  his indistinguishable curiosity really prepared him to explore and learn and flourish at creative tasks and enterprises.  

We've got another hot, humid and sunny day, with an 80 percent chance of thunderstorms forecasted today. A bit of a breeze helps, but barely. A number of trips out to the backyard in between laundering towels and linen and deep-cleaning bathrooms gave me the opportunity to do a little bit of weeding in the back garden; a task that frays our patience but whose presentation is never-ending. Jackie and Jillie view such excursions as opportunities to chase rabbits and squirrels within our firmly fenced backyard.

 

Later on, out we went to the ravine, roasting in the sun until we reached the confines of the forest. On the way we picked some ripe raspberries for the puppies, who hover expectantly beside us while we do the picking and the mosquitoes punish us for disturbing their places of residence. Yesterday's heavy ongoing rain events through the late afternoon into the evening left a fine glittering veil of moisture over everything where the sun cannot penetrate the forest canopy.

 

The trails winding through the forest are as steeped in muck as we've ever seen them, and the rain puddles are extensive, their avoidance requiring little detours we all indulge in. The wildflowers of early- and mid-spring have had their day, to be replaced by summer wildflowers that are going into bloom much earlier than usual, thanks to a very wet and humid spring. Even the ripening of berries is earlier than usual by weeks. Now, we see Black-eyed-Susans and Queen Anne's lace, Pilotweed and Fleabane in nature's summer garden.

We came across only one of the many dogs who make a beeline for Irving, a Bernese Mountain Dog accustomed to plopping himself down beside Irving to await notice (as though his presence could be overlooked) and receive his reward for exemplary behaviour.  Jackie and Jillie as delighted to see the dog as it is to encounter us, just as we prepared to clamber up the last long hill to street level, and home. Their delight stems from the fact that while the Big Boy gets a selection of big cookies, they too are acknowledged with their own array of tiny cookies.

Once home, we take advantage of a shady nook in the garden's seating arrangement where a very efficient breeze demonstrates just how welcome the elements of shade and wind can be restoratively on such hot, muggy days. That rest period also gives me another opportunity to do a little weeding and tidying-up in the garden whose presence gives us so much pleasure.