This has been a banner year for plant growth in the garden. So much so that I find myself unable to keep up with the weeds. Plucking crabgrass out of the lawn portion, tugging out bindwind that tends to try to  hide itself among the clematis vines, and making quick work of clover and rampant violent growth has turned out to be more time-demanding than I'm willing to devote to it. And so, I guess I'll have to live with the consequences.

Early this afternoon when taking Jackie and Jillie out for a break in the backyard, I noted roses having to b be cut back again, and the drooping branches of the weeping mulberry, plus the robust, rampant spread of the Annabelle hydrangea beside the garden gate. Out came the compost bag, the long-handled pruners and loppers and before long the bag was pretty well filled.

The day was hot enough at 28C, but while we were out the sun (thankfully) was eclipsed by clouds and the ominous background rumble of thunder accompanied by fat drops of rain reminded me of the forecast for the likelihood of 'violent' thunderstorms. I got the puppies back into the house, and continued my pruning. The rain stopped, there was no more thunder and before long out came the sun again. 

There's colour in the backyard, since the day lilies have begun blooming, and so too have the California poppies. They look after themselves. Both have a spreading habit, the lilies divide and conquer continually, and the poppies simply self-seed to return in greater numbers each summer, plopping themselves down randomly to fill in 'empty' spaces. Turns out the electrician that came along to do some work in our house is an avid gardener. I gave him some spent poppy heads to sprinkle about in his garden.

Since the threat of a thunderstorm seemed remote with the sun back out, we decided to go out for our afternoon hike through the forest. We'd had some more rain overnight and we knew of a certainty the mosquitoes would be out in full force, so dressed accordingly, since neither of us use repellant. And yes, the mosquitoes were fierce, as expected.

We were surprised to see that the wild raspberries were already beginning to ripen, and found enough to treat Jackie and Jillie with. From now until fall there will be wild berries to pick during our forest excursions and the puppies will be alert to their good fortune. I also discovered that pilotweed is beginning to go into bloom, and making my way carefully down the bank of the creek over the scree and rocks, I found that evening primrose has established itself down there, too, amongst the daisies, and the fleabane. 

Being out in the forest is really liberating for the puppies. They aren't keen on spending any time in the backyard, at home. They're little house-pups and don't appreciate being out very much. Hikes through the forest are different to them, though; they're anxious to embark on those daily perambulations. There they pick up scents continually of other dogs, mostly those that have become familiar to them, as friends they sometimes come across in the ravine. They read those scents like the daily news.

As for us, being in the great out-of-doors as a daily ritual, has long been an integral part of the quality of our lives and age hasn't changed that. We wear good, supportive hiking boots and dress according to the prevailing weather, spring/summer/fall/winter. Right now a white shirt with a stiff high collar pulled on over short-sleeved tops, and good leg-coverings are a must, preferably with plenty of pocket space. 

 

 

 

We had a week of almost tropical heat and humidity last week. And a bonus of clear skies for hot, sunny days. Not only did we marvel at the swift transition, but so too did the forest that seemingly suddenly reminded itself that winter was long past and it was time to begin seriously leafing out. But yesterday morning when we awoke it was to a dark dawn and the sound of an approaching thunderstorm. I quickly got out of bed, as Jackie and Jillie followed close behind me. I was anxious to get them out to the backyard before the rain struck and they complied nicely. And then down it came.

 

When, some lengthy time after breakfast, the rain stopped, it almost looked as though we'd see clearing skies. We had a moment or two of actual sun beaming down through a crack in the clouds, and then for most of the afternoon, continued cloudy skies and intermittent rain. In the garden, the flowering trees are at their height of early-spring glory. From the large pink luscious blooms of the magnolia, to the smaller, innumerable and equally pink blossoms of the Sargenti crabapples, to the white blossoms of the weeping Jade crab, and the flowering pea.

 

 

The rain did its best to knock down as many of the petals as it could manage and soon our gardens and walkways had almost as much scattered white and pink petals as those remaining on the trees. I waited awhile for the light showers to abate, then began planting some of the annuals we'd acquired earlier in the week; begonias, petunias, impatiens, Canna lilies and a plant I'd never before seen nor heard of, curcuma (flowering turmeric). 

 

Typically, it's a plant from Asia where some of our most exotic and beautiful flowering annuals are derived from; perennials in their native habitat, but annuals in colder climates like ours. I just couldn't resist those beautiful blooms, just as I can't the hibiscus plants that I always buy in the hope they can carry over to the following summer, and never do. 

 

 

We decided to interrupt the gardening and take Jackie and Jillie out to the ravine for their daily trot through the forest trails, gauging we might be able to manage a hike without a sudden rain squall. But it was still warm enough that if they did become soaked it would be just an inconvenience. As it  happened, there was no rain while we were out, although the forest floor and the canopy were drenched from the thunderstorm's effect. There's an odd twilight that hovers in the forest on such heavily overcast, moist days that while the light is greatly reduced, colours tend to be intensified.

 

 

The all-encompassing, fresh verdancy was dazzling. It looked as though the forest was reaching out to embrace us all. And it happened so suddenly, a mere week or slightly more from the initial appearance of new foliage, to that point where the forest canopy was almost fully restored. Jackie and Jillie discover other minor miracles, mostly concerning the release of new smells that fascinate and draw their attention. Even while our very presence drew the attention of those hated denizens of a summer forest; blood-hungry mosquitoes.

 

 

The lilting, happy trills of cardinals and robins and song sparrows resounding through the woods is a conciliatory gesture by nature for us to overlook the prevalence of stinging, biting insects at this time of year. So our hiking venture was the usual pleasure and the serenity of our surroundings as always soothed us and refreshed us. So that Irving decided to take out the wheelbarrow to mix up garden soil, sheep manure and peat moss to begin filling up our numerous garden pots and urns.

 

I noticed, while I was adding bone meal to the mix, that suddenly mosquitoes began appearing. Peering a little closer I realized that mosquitoes which we normally don't come across around the house, were attracted to the bone meal, and rushing into the pots to sample the fertilizer I was mixing into the soil. Could have been some blood meal mixed in with the bone meal. So their presence was an unappreciated addition. Which didn't stop me from beginning to fill the pots with some of the annuals we had in preparation, from million bells to lobelias and wave petunias as stuffers along with the star performers, the begonias that thrive in our garden landscape that has a deficit of sun. 

 

We managed to get half of the pots and urns filled and planted and decided we'd had enough work done for the remainder of the day. I had earlier, after our ravine hike, decided to make a big bowl of Cole Slaw, because Irving said he planned to do ribs on the barbecue for dinner. And we'd have corn-on-the-cob on the side. So I grated cabbage, onion, carrot and an apple, and made a dressing of salt, pepper, cider vinegar, olive oil and mayonnaise to refrigerate it for several hours before dinner

 

Despite the rain -- which turned out to be helpful in its own way after all, since I didn't have to water the newly-planted annuals because the soil was already wet, and later in the evening more rain came down -- the cooler temperature of 22C, the humidity and breezes gave us a splendid opportunity to begin our annual planting. Before light failed with evening's approach I took another photograph of the garden and was pleased with the colour brought to our personal landscape with the addition of this year's annuals to complement the form and colour of emerging perennials, like our hostas, peonies, roses, lilies and irises.

 

 

 

Seems we've settled into a pattern. Overnight rain followed by either of two scenarios; morning-to-afternoon sun, or daytime overcast and forecasts of intermittent showers. I've discovered to my dismay, resuming gardening for another blissful summer of raising beautiful annuals and coaxing perennials to bloom, that the ants that last year infested one of the garden beds have returned after all. Late last summer after their persistent predation that destroyed some of our annuals, we acquired a liquid said to be lethal to ants. Drops applied to an aluminum disposable dish (a tiny one) or a cardboard disk seemed to work.

 

And when I planted the annuals a few weeks back there was no sight of ants; I assumed the treatment had succeeded. Previously, digging into the soil at that point in the garden bed would rouse hundreds of ants scurrying out of the soil. Then, a week ago I saw the first of this year's destroyed zinnias, and realized that the colony had resisted the antecide assault and having survived were once again prospering at the expense of the plants. I even found that the new garden soil in one of our garden planters was infested with more of the tiny beasts.

This time I used very small cupcake paper forms, nailed their centers with thick toothpicks to the soil, and dropped the liquid pesticide sparingly into the forms and waited for my malign intentions to succeed. Trouble is since it rains every night and washes the papers clean, reapplication has to be done every day, and I don't yet see the problem resolving. I did, however, see plenty of ants in the paper cups enjoying the liquid.

So, there were things to be done in the kitchen, as well. And I decided since I had one large ultra-ripe banana that it would be perfect included in a batter for carrot muffins. I took one very large carrot, grated it, mashed the banana, set aside raisins, cut up tiny pieces of crystallized ginger, and prepared to bake carrot-banana muffins, topped with sliced almonds. A resounding success.

 

When we ventured out to the ravine later it was on a humid, warm and slightly windy day. Just perfect for a hike through the forest trails. Perfection, however eluded, thanks to the presence of newly-hatched mosquitoes whose larvae found perfect conditions in the pools of standing rainwater, thanks to those overnight rain events. I wore a white polka-dotted top and black pants. My upper body became immune to the mosquitoes, but my black trousers invited them to do their darndest.

Even Jackie and Jillie were harassed by the tiny predators, thanks to their black haircoats. Jillie in particular has a real hate-on for all flying insects. A large black fly, despite the care we take, managed to get into the house on one of the countless times we open the patio doors for Jackie and Jillie. They both station themselves at the doors in the house interior, waiting for the fly to perch at their level in its efforts to return to the outdoors. Our two little poodles identify flies as the 'enemy' and do their utmost to 'catch' them when they enter the house.

 

 

Down by the creek, we saw the lone Mallard drake coasting along and dabbling continually, obviously pecking away at floating vegetable detritus, and verbalizing his gratitude continually. Jackie and Jillie have become accustomed to seeing the Mallards; so far a pair, plus the lone drake that we think is an offspring of the other Mallard drake and its companion hen. When I attempted to photograph him, I discovered my camera battery unresponsive.

 

Just a few moments before, I had taken a few photographs of a Jack-in-the-Pulpit on the interior forest floor; I find them irresistible, reminding me of when I was an elementary school child 80 years ago, and during natural science classes geared toward my age group at the time were photographic exposures to Ontario wildflowers in season. Even then, as a child, I thought the Jacks were so exotic with their single-hooded petal hiding an interior of striped purple and pale green.

 

 

 

My gardener's heart exulted when this morning dawned brightly and heightened temperatures seemed in the offing. Today, after all, despite the long-range weather forecasting warning of rain for the following four days, would be giving us a respite. My intention to plant the gladiola and dahlia bulbs could proceed after all. And then the rain could erupt and all would be well in my little gardening world. First things first, though; we would take the puppies out for a prolonged ravine hike in such glorious weather. 

The workout would do us all well after our Saturday morning indulgence in having too much to eat for breakfast, in a completely relaxed mood. What could go wrong, the sun was out, not a cloud in the sky, the temperature was steadily rising and was already nudging 20C, and nature called! On such a lovely day we agreed we would take our time, choose a longer circuit, mosey about and make the most of this opportunity.

 

And so we did. Mind, for the most part the interior forest landscape is muted. Drab. Vacant of much of interest on the forest floor. Yet there's a faint mist of green over the forest canopy and tender green shoots tinged with red are steadily making progress. Wild raspberry canes are looking lively with green shoots, the hazelnut shrubs have lost their catkins replacing them with green shoots, red florets falling from the maples have been replaced with green, honeysuckle shrubs are greening and it won't be long before they flower.

 

And the emerging wildflowers; we planned to skirt the patches of forest floor where we know the wildflowers tend to erupt, just to see how they're faring in this in-between time of frosty nights and rainy days interspersed with sun and occasionally moderate daytime temperatures. Jackie and Jillie leading the way, we meandered here and there. We ogled the landscape and they zeroed in on alluring odours.

The first of the foamflowers are beginning to make an appearance, and trilliums are popping up, along with trout lilies here and there, but we were headed for areas where they were less random in appearance, where they tended to colonize certain areas. Before that occurred we ran into a fellow forest hiker who had asked us how to visually identify hawks and owls, and we had advised him to look about at a certain area, where we'd seen an owl roosting the day before. He had looked, he said, but found nothing.

 

And just then, two crows rustled by and nearby another more rounded, larger form with striped wings flew through the trees, then descended directly into the creek. None other than the barred owl whose presence we had been discussing. We'd never seen owls other than securely roosting on trees in the forest canopy. The owl rose from the creek, moved swiftly from one vantage point to another, briefly pausing at each, then flew off.

The further we proceeded the more the opportunities presented. As for example, a large (relatively speaking) hairy woodpecker busy nearby, and countless chickadees flitting about in the forest interior. And, of course, the sound of crows. A sound that we both enjoy. Then the colonies of trout lilies began to appear, and it was surprising to see that unexpectedly some were bearing flower buds, since so few of the plants among hundreds of them, tend to flower.

 

Anticipating a blush of newly-opened purple trilliums, on the other hand, while there were ample numbers of trilliums, none appeared to be convinced it was time to fully bloom. Still, it was satisfying noting their presence and the early abundance. Until we finally were greeted by a pair fully blooming, as exceptions to the majority. 

 

Ascending back to street level, we stopped awhile to speak to a few neighbours, one of whom was chopping wood for next winter's storage. Others passed by with the intention of making as most of the opportunity to get out while the weather held, as possible. And I was anticipating planting summer-blooming Dahlias and Gladiolas into the ground, their corms would be well watered by impending rain. When suddenly the first drops heralded the rest of the day given over to rain, and my opportunity passed.

 

Finally. Last night was, we fervently believe, the last of the chilly, frost-bitten evenings for a while to come. Once again, the annuals awaiting transplant to our many garden urns and pots were covered for protection against the frost. But that won't happen again tonight. And with luck there'll be no more frost biting at tender shoots for months to come, once summer has passed.  

And because it was so cool even though we're reaching toward the end of May, I decided to make a fish paella for a change for dinner. Apart from the saffron for the rice, I've been using smoked paprika as well to give it a bit of a bite. I'm never entirely certain whether I'm using too much or too little. It can be pretty hot, but done just right, it enhances some dishes perfectly. As it turned out the balance was perfect.

 

Today turned out one of those perfect weather days. After a series of inordinately cool days and cooler nights we enjoyed a 20C-day, with full sun along with a boisterous wind. But the combination turned out extremely well. Irving went out soon after breakfast and began filling the garden urns and pots with the fresh new garden soil we had acquired yesterday. Usually when he does that he mixes peat moss, sheep manure and bone meal in with the soil to make a perfect medium for the  annuals to thrive.

 

This bagged soil, as it turned out, already had compost, bonemeal and peat moss throughout it, so it was a fairly simple matter to fill the pots, although Irving did add some sheep manure. It's a time-consuming process, but once it's done, it leaves me free to begin the planting of the annuals and that's pure joy. We calculate the kind of annuals we want, their colours and forms, and where they're meant to be planted, garden or pots.

 

After I finished puttering about in the kitchen, baking a white-chocolate cheesecake, and putting on a chicken soup to simmer for dinner, the puppies agitated for their ravine hike, so off we went on this lovely day. Our eyes keep wandering everywhere in appreciation of the forest fully filling out with fresh new green, glowing in the sun. There are more Jack-in-the-Pulpits to be seen as the earlier-blooming flowers begin to fade.

 

Last year there were scant few red baneberry in evidence. This year we've seen the exact opposite, and to my surprise, they're already beginning to bloom, sending up their little sprays of white flowers that will, in about two months, be transformed into brilliant red clusters of berries, gorgeous to look at, even if they're not be ingested since they're poisonous.

 

 

There are also strawberries in bloom now. The tiniest of plants with the tiniest of flowers that produce tiny, sweet strawberries in June. They're the first of the soft fruit that can be found in the forest to ripen. And our pups love eating them. 

 

It was a quiet, serene walk through the forest trails. In places where the bare forest floor can be seen it's obvious that the forest awaits irrigation. Cracks are appearing and beginning to widen. Tomorrow is destined to be a rainy day, so that should solve that immediate problem. We could certainly use some rain. And that being the case, it was also an opportune time for me to spend an hour or so out in the garden when we returned from our forest circuit.

 

 

I began pondering the plants and the colours and combinations. First thing to plant, Canna lilies as centrepieces for several of the larger garden pots. We're besotted with begonias, so we plant them liberally and enjoy them all summer long. I chose delicate, pendulous geraniums this time around, and a number of bleeding heart plants beloved of hummingbirds. We love seeing them flitting wildly about the flowers.

I focused on planting the urns and pots and left chrysanthemums and giant dahlias for the garden. The lobelia and million bells and petunias will have to wait for another day, because there simply wasn't time to plant everything and have enough time to devote to preparing dinner on time, too. But I was more than satisfied with the amount of planting that was completed. All the more so that tomorrow's rain will also benefit them.

Once again, frost last night, a little deeper than the night before. So, since I forgot to take in the hanging basket and cover the yet-to-be-planted annuals against the frost, I went out at midnight last night to do it, which was when I remembered. Frost over, not to return until September/October? Nope. More of it tonight, but that should do it, for now. I'll try to remember to protect everything before bedtime tonight.

Actually, this afternoon after our ravine ramble, we decided to return and look about for more pot fillers. And while we were there, we bought annual garden soil in bags, prepared with peat moss and aged fertilizer that we would normally mix up ourselves. There was even more annuals available this time, and Cleroux wasn't busy, for a change. So we brought home more treasures, and possibly on Saturday I can get a start on filling up the garden urns and pots. Exciting!

Yesterday's cole slaw that I prepared with Vidalia onion (just a tad), and an apple grated into the cabbage and carrot turned out very piquant, a perfect accompaniment with the beef stew I had cooked for dinner. I had also baked whole-wheat dinner rolls to go with the stew because Irving enjoys dipping soft warm bread into stew gravy. And we had fresh figs for dessert. A cool-weather dinner because it really was cool yesterday.

Neither Jackie nor Jillie felt top-notch last night. It was time for them to have their Heartworm medication, and the day previous they had the tick medication, and it might have been a good idea to spread them over a longer period between each. Jillie threw up last night, and this morning Jackie refused his breakfast. Thankfully, by the time we returned from our afternoon hike through the forest trails today, they were both expectant for a salad.

There's so much to see these days in the forest. The trout lilies have finished flowering, but the trilliums are still going strong. Every time I see a trillium or a Jack-in-the-Pulpit I have an urge to photograph them. Their bloom time is so looked forward to in the spring and they bloom for such a short period, they've got to be  appreciated in that brief time.

As has been usual lately, the Mallard drake was in the creek at the bottom of the ravine, where he tends to pose himself for naps on a flat, mid-stream rock. It's quietly serene, the sound of the water trickling downstream, birdsong, and the wind soughing through the new foliage all lend an air of peace and beauty. A landscape tailor-made so thoughtfully by nature for ducks and hikers.

I had wondered, on the approach to the forest meadow whether the tomatillo plant that had borne fruit last summer/fall would reassert itself again. What could be more mysterious than to find a fruit-bearing plant cultivated in Mexico in an urban forest in Ottawa? Well, there it was, the plant overcame our harsh winter and it looks green, healthy and flourishing. I'll look forward to seeing its lovely little flowers in mid-summer.

 

I've only just realized that the strange flowering plants several feet in height with tiny clusters of white flowers represent a colonizing invasive plant, one that poses a threat, given its easy adjustment to growing conditions in the forest enabling it to flourish, known to squeeze out native plants like trilliums and trout lilies. At the base of the pollinating meadow close to the creek there's quite a crop of these garlic mustard plants.

I watched as a bee flitted from flower to flower on the plants and thought of the ensuing honey that would result from the hive cooperative honey production. It's why bee-keepers are so anxious to place their hives in landscapes of sweet perennial wildflowers, hoping that species like the garlic mustard won't be in evidence to destroy the familiar integrity of the finished product beloved the world over.

 

At this time of year, it's inevitable; we become consumed with planting fever. That's the irresistible urge to respond to all the tantalizing displays in local plant nurseries and big box stores displaying annuals and all the paraphernalia required to indulge full steam ahead on planting season. But in this part of the woods it is yet far too early to put out tender annuals. 

 

The thing of it is, May has a tendency to give us days of really warm weather with a magnificence of sun exposure after April's rains. We see our perennials resurfacing tentatively, as though testing the air for license to emerge from winter's clasp deep in the soil. And not satisfied with that, even when those same perennials begin to bloom and liven up the garden, we're itching to plant annuals.

 

People don't tend to learn necessarily from experience. That's because hope springs eternal, and we think this year it'll be different. This year we won't be fooled. This year the warm, sunny delectably plantable weather will be constant. This year we won't be pranked by nature sending in day after day of frost after teasing us with planting weather.

 

 

This year like any other we allow ourselves to fantasize because it's what we want, not what we should know we're getting. That feverish impulse to begin planting to take advantage of weather that we know, we really do know, is susceptible to sudden change and overnight frosts plays a game with our common sense, and common sense and experience defer to fantasy.

 

We went out this afternoon to our most favourite of all venues a half-hour or less drive from home where at a former farm a family business has long attracted area gardeners for the quality of the annuals they bring in for spring planting. They cannot be beat for begonias, and this is a flower that we both appreciate as one of the most beautiful, everblooming the entire summer, both the wax and the tuberous types. We just can't resist them, and new colour-combination cultivars appear as though by magic wish annually.

 

 

So, off we went after our earlier-than-usual ravine hike with Jackie and Jillie. They both accompanied us, excited to be taken along on our little mission. As anticipated, the parking lot was pretty full. That was the negative, so to speak, the positive was that there was more than ample choice there, from canna lilies to Margarita daisies, marigolds, bleeding hearts, impatiens, geraniums, and of course, our beloved begonias.

 

 

Their assortment - a huge, colourful one - of hanging baskets, and patio floral arrangements is second to none. Their prices, always a bargain in our opinion, have risen, just as they have everywhere else, for all products. It's hard not to exult seeing the form, texture, colour and extent of choices on offer. So didn't I indulge! The business proprietress knows us well, as annual clients. We hug when we see one another. I often bring along a little gift of jewellery for her because she loves jewellery.

 

When we finally arrived back home after a few other errands, I further indulged by planting a few flats of wax begonias in a few of our garden beds. We'll have to be prepared to protect them from frost should the need arise, but it is exciting to see all those promising, bright little floral faces, cheekily looking back at  us.

 

 

This afternoon, on a 31C-degree day in May, I could feel the dampness of perspiration at my forehead hairline, it was that muggy. And though we offered Jackie and Jillie sips of cool fresh water repeatedly during our two-hour plod through the ravine, neither took up the offer. I came better prepared today for the heat and humidity that yesterday brought out mosquitoes in a feeding frenzy. Long white, light cotton pants and jacket-top. No mosquitoes.

Moderation called for a short hike through the woods, but sometimes you just don't feel like using common sense. Unlike many others, for our hike through the woods today, like yesterday in similar weather circumstances, was serenely quiet, no one else out and about on the forest trails. The mosquitoes were taken care of, but not so the heat and humidity. By the time we returned home I was prepared to peel that white outfit off my damp limbs.

But while we were out drawn to discover what new surprises maturing spring was prepared to reveal, we enjoyed toddling along, recognizing each surprise, like old friends returned, one after another. First off, we came across a surprise installed in the past few hours, but not by nature. This was a human amendment of a natural occurrence. The short stretch of lower trail on the bank of the creek that had collapsed yesterday, making us turn back and off the trail, now sported a tall, long wire fence around its approach extending to the edge of the upper trail to prevent anyone from accessing the collapsed trail.

We'd been expecting that to happen for a decade, actually. And now, it finally did; the lower trail no longer viable thanks to a slow and steady erosion of the ravine hillsides from time to time toppling into the creek. It's been many years since we used that lower trail and just for that reason; that it was on the cusp of collapse. We just happened yesterday, out of curiosity, to take it, at a time when the trail gave way.

In our perambulation on this exceedingly hot day we came across other, more pleasant surprises. We know the Saskatoon berry trees bloom early and we're always on the lookout but we're also always surprise when we see that the bloom time has arrived. They're also called serviceberry trees and the berries they produce make excellent pies. And then we saw as well baneberry in flower. They too produce berries (either red- or white-baneberries) and their fruit is not to be put into any pie; they can be lethal.

The forest floor is now carpeted with woodland violets, in shades primarily of yellow and mauve. Eventually white flowered violets will appear, and after they have bloomed, larger flowered, purple-pink violets in turn. More of the trout lilies are now blooming, as are the purple trilliums. I scrambled halfway down a hillside and found a lonely little pair of white trilliums had finally opened. I'm on the search for pink and Painted Lady trilliums. We often see a sample of both each spring, but so far no luck.

We had just returned home when Jackie and Jillie informed us there was someone at the door. He was, in fact, our daily visitor, halfway up the door, stretching, stretching. It was Junior Rascoon and our two are certainly familiar with his presence, just not on the cusp of entering the house. When he realized he was finally noticed, Junior stepped back and waited patiently for Irving to appear. Irving opened the door and spoke to his friend, then brought out his hospitality plate, as it were.

 Leftover bagel from breakfast cut up into neat little slices, and biscuits that Junior particularly enjoys. He moved back slightly to accommodate the door ajar with Irving's outstretched arm doling out the goodies, and when the door closed Junior moved back in to take possession of the offerings. He's a persistent little fellow and Irving has grown very fond of him.

That's the point at which we all piled into the truck to drive a half-hour distant to a converted old farm which in the spring brings in all manner of cultivated garden plants, mostly annuals. They have the most complete, healthiest display of flowering plants available anywhere and wherever they source them from obviously takes pride in their product. I bought begonias and petunias, canna lilies and dracaenia, wax begonias and dahlias, and felt as though I was in Ali Baba's cave with jewels glittering at me everywhere I looked.

Now I have enough, or almost enough plants to fill all our garden pots to brighten up summer days, as well as the spaces in the garden dominated by perennials but calling out for additional colour, texture and form. As soon as this heat wave passes I'll begin making a pass at the planting, and can hardly wait. 

When we arrived at the garden-plant destination we took turns sitting in the truck with Jackie and Jillie. I was first to look around and fill up on my floral menu, then Irving took his turn and chose a few baskets. In the interim, sitting in the truck, we each in turn offered the puppies the water they spurned while we were going through the ravine and both drank copiously, as though they were dying of thirst and just couldn't get enough.