Today turned out yet another beautiful late-summer day. Considerably cooler than yesterday's 28C, with a good stiff wind, but although the morning remained overcast, that changed by afternoon and we were once again in full sun. We expected, when we set out for the ravine with our puppies in the early afternoon that the forest trails would be steeped deep in muck after last night's prolonged boom-and-light thunderstorm and the deluge that accompanied it, but such was not the case.

 

Yesterday was a fine day, but it was humid and steaming to go along with the full sun. We were relieved to finally get some rain. All the more so that it was such an enjoyable event; to hear the thunder claps, see the evening sky briefly alight and the rain slamming against the windows. We needed it, the landscape needed it, and we expected to view the results of it today. But no. The trails were still damp and muddy in places after the rain events of the previous week, but this rain of last night appeared to make no difference at all, but for our personal entertainment.

 

It complemented a delicious dinner; a fresh salad to begin, bookending a French onion soup with fresh raspberries. When I gave Irving a choice of cheese blintzes or onion soup, he snapped  up the soup. And I was happy to oblige. Jackie and Jillie don't think much of soup beyond chicken soup; we had it all to ourselves. As comfort food it can't be beat, though tonight's Shepherd pie will give it a run.

 

 

In the ravine we noticed that False Solomon's seal's berries were turning red. I'd never seen that before. Another oddity we came across that arrested our attention -- even Jackie and Jillie stopped briefly to give the little tableau a sniff -- but the bees involved, three of them were not to be distracted. At first we thought it was a huge single bee, beginning to expire. Closer inspection identified three bees and they were tightly clasping what appeared to be a caterpillar. Now that's a first for us. Not exactly a thrilling encounter; never is, seeing nature 'red in tooth and claw".

 

 

But in the day's peregrination, we also came across a few little dogs of our acquaintance.  And it's always a pleasure to see them. Irving always comes equipped to reward their expectant presence as they invariably settle down before him with beseeching eyes that only a heartless monster could ignore. Thrilling Jackie and Jillie no end as they claim their share of the treats, even though they've had more than enough to begin with.

 

 

Our walk through the trails was so pleasant we decided to double the length of the circuit we normally take, and so we did. There's always something different to see, things popping up you might not have noticed before. For our puppies an extended hike means more sniffing opportunities. For us, just the pleasure of walking along loose-limbed and foot-sure on terrain that may be familiar, but is forever changing in subtle ways provides a sense of balance to the day. 

 

On top of the 25cm of snow that fell on Monday, and which we managed to clear up for the most part, we were met with another 5cm yesterday which we didn't manage to clear up, figuring it was just a few inches and clearing it away could wait. It waited for today, when Irving went out to do just that. No sense firing up the snow thrower, so shovelling did the trick. The weather wasn't quite pleasant, in that it was -12C, with a brisk wind, and even shovelling didn't compensate for the wind tearing into bare faces, despite the energy being expended.

 

With that level of cold, we decided to butter up a few slices of bread, cut them into squares and put them out at the side door, along with peanuts. It's not only the neighbourhood squirrels and rabbits that have learned to come around regularly, now repeated visits by crows make quick work of whatever's put out, as well. Deposits made three times daily.

 

 

As for us, I most often decide the night before or early the next morning what our menu for the day will be. Sometimes it seems more vexingly troublesome to think of what to prepare for dinner than the actual preparation, which is a pleasure by comparison. On Monday we had a roasted Cornish hen accompanied by green beans, a noodle pudding and plums for dessert. We usually alternate between dairy and meat meals, so searching my memory files for recipes yesterday I realized I hadn't made a French onion soup in a while. A fresh garden salad went well with the soup, with raspberries for dessert.

 

It's a meal that doesn't take long to put together; basically preparing the onion soup itself, but earlier in the day toasting croutons with butter, garlic powder and Parmesan cheese to complement the old Cheddar I invariably use with these soups. We'd gone out to do the food shopping earlier in the day and even driving to the supermarket after our ravine hike felt like an Everest-type adventure. We're in a cold snap. This time, at least, unlike last week, we were able to manoeuvre the shopping cart over to our car in the parking lot.

 

If anything reflects comfort on the dinner table on cold and windy days it's any kind of soup.  Last night the temperature fell to -16C, and it'll go even lower tonight. But tonight there'll be a meat pie. What I think of as an entire meal in a casserole type of thing. Along with the ground beef in the pie filling there's also chopped garlic and onion, mushrooms and green peas. So other than fresh, sliced Bosc pears for dessert, that's the meal. Oh, and Irving asked for extra gravy to go with the pie.

 

 

It was colder temperature-wise when we went out with Jackie and Jillie to the ravine this afternoon, but since the wind had died down by then, we managed fine, though we had almost convinced ourselves that anything colder than -10C would be a good enough reason, allied with a whipping wind, to miss our daily hike through the forest. So far this winter we haven't had any daytime highs of -20C, but I'm sure they're yet to arrive.

 

Jackie and Jillie had a good time as usual, coming across some of their friends, and catching up with the neighbourhood canine gossip. By the time we arrive back home after our forest jaunt, their legs are well encrusted with icy snow. First thing is to remove their boots, then their jackets, then brush the snow off their legs and then they're free to romp through the house in happy anticipation of their routine afternoon salad.

 

   

 

This household's tried-and-true formula for winter meals is back in session by popular demand. So this morning breakfast consisted of melons and bananas, French toast and sausages, tea, coffee. After their own morning meal, Jackie and Jillie graciously volunteered themselves to aid and assist in making short work of our breakfast. And a good time was had by all.

 

 

Our evening meal last night was of less interest to them, though they deigned to help out where they could. We had bowls of vegetable soup, thick with garden vegetables and corn kernels, savoury, with a bit of a bite thanks to seasonings and herbs. I always try to remember to discard bay leaves from soups in fear that someone might not notice their presence and end up swallowing a piece.

 

 

And with the soup came freshly baked and fragrant cheese-sesame-seed croissants to augment and complement the savoury soup. They're natural companions. Nutritious and satisfyingly filling. I halved my croissant, actually and smoothed a ripe avocado over it, and Irving chose to slather his with liver pate. Fresh pears from, of all places, Portugal, completed the meal. Almost forgot, Irving had bought a container of Brazil nuts and we enjoyed some of those, as well.

 

 

Today, another cool, heavily overcast, slightly windy day. The thermometer registered a comfy 3C when we departed the house for the ravine with Jackie and Jillie in the afternoon. Once again, the ritual of pulling on cleats seemed to  us a sensible precaution, though we had no real way of knowing until we entered the forest if they would be needed.

 

As it happened, they were required. Even with them, we made our way gingerly down the first hill into the forest. And we could see approaching us from an angle on another hill, two figures cautiously negotiating their descent, grasping at tree trunks for stability. So for the foreseeable future, it will be sensible to continue wearing our cleats to avoid any uncomfortable and certainly inconvenient falls.

 

We came across one of our neighbours who lives down the street from us, with her new little rescue, a rambunctious year-and-a-half little terrier mix. They had to say a surprise farewell to their former little pup, a long-haired miniature dachshund who seemed in good health, but suddenly expired. A shock that only another little fellow could soften. This little fellow ran rings around Jackie and Jillie, just having a wonderful time of being out in the forest, a new adventure for him.

 

While most of the forest floor remains free of snow, the trails were tamped down well by passing hikers at a time of newfallen snow, and the season of freezing nights and cold days have ensured the hard-packed snow and ice on the trails remain fairly stable. Anywhere it has managed to melt, on the other hand, the result is muck from the thaw.

 

We weren't the least bit interested in experiencing a repeat of yesterday's excitement on the icy trails in the ravine for today. And although today was considerably milder, at 2C, than yesterday's -4C, little wind and plenty of sun, we anticipated that the  trails would still be treacherous. Not so bad in flat areas, but on the hillsides, too exciting altogether for our 87-year-old armatures.

 

 

We really didn't want to use the new crampons yet because they're just too heavy-duty. Walking on hard concrete like the roads wouldn't do them much credit either; for one thing it would mean a quick wearing-down of their properties, not to mention feeling pretty awkward walking on the raw concrete road surface bare of snow and ice. So we decided to use the old, much lighter rubber pull-on icers, and we set off with confidence early this afternoon for the ravine.

 

 

Disconcertingly, before there's a layer of snow on the forest floor, the forest interior even before 3:00 in the afternoon assumes a dusky appearance other than in areas where the forest canopy recedes briefly admitting a full measure of the sun's bright atmosphere.

 

 

Because it was early and since it was such a beautiful day we decided to stay out longer and forge ahead for a much longer trail hike through the woods. At first we saw no one else out, attributing it to the icy conditions underfoot, but after the first half-hour, we began to see others on the trails. And where people are out in the ravine, so too are their quadruped family members. 

 

Now and again, one or another of our hail-doggy-well-met friends would lope over to say hello and wait for recognition which was never long in coming. Big or small, they're always well-mannered and respectful, with rare exceptions. And even those rare exceptions are so ingratiating in their manner that it hardly matters when they leap up since an admonishment will see them once again seated obediently. It works beautifully for other dogs, but never for ours.

 

Of the people we did see out, many avoided the hills and the ascents and descents that required an effort to remain erect, confining themselves to the forested areas that were flat and above the ravine itself. We had the luxury of going wherever we felt inclined to, thanks to the icers. Inconveniently though, because of the unevenness of the terrain, the rocks and roots that we invariably have to negotiate, one of Irving's icers parted company with his boot on several occasions.

 

And it's a right royal pain to have to restore the things to their proper position when you're out in the forest, and dressed in winter gear. At one point, near the final portion of our day's outing, the problematic icer fell off just as we were ascending the next-to-last hill. And just then, one of our furry friends, always excitable because that's its character, charged at Irving in its anxiety for a cookie, threw him off balance, and he almost fell, caught by a helpful tree trunk.

So there was a modicum of drama in today's outing, after all. 

 

We had decided last year on our return from New Hampshire in September that we'd no longer make that pilgrimage to the White Mountain National Forest that we've been returning to twice a year, in spring and early fall for decades. When our children were young, before their teens, we first took them there, and the older they got the more accustomed we became to the mountains and the energy it would take to begin climbing them. They, like us, took to the adventure of it all, and we would rent cottages close to either the Crawford Notch, the Franconia Notch or Pinkham.

 

 

They're now far older than we were when we began vacationing with them there, and we've been returning on our own for the past thirty years, a week in June, another in September or October. The last summits we climbed was Welch-Dickey's 4-mile loop and that's almost ten years ago. When Jackie and Jillie were puppies we climbed with them nine years ago to the lookout and went no further. Their predecessors, Button and Riley, accompanied us year after year on our climbs. Button, older than Riley by seven years, climbed most of the Presidential range with us, with the exception of Mount Washington. 

 

The Basin, Franconia Notch

Old habits have a way of nagging at you. We had agreed between us, that at age 86 the long drive, the settling in, the packing, the search for trails in a mountain region that would still serve our need to be out in nature on forested trails without stretching our energy resources beyond what we could muster was unrealistic. Those days were over, we agreed. No trip in June.

 

But in August, Irving felt restless and said he'd been looking at the reservations available and found an opening for us for September and would I agree that we'd give it another go? Reservation made, we left home with the puppies on the 3rd of September and took that drive to the Waterville Valley. On the way, going through Vermont, we saw just how serious that state is about 'clean, green' energy. There are vast wind farms and electrical grids in wide stretches along the route we took. 

 

Sabbaday Falls

We left on a beautiful driving day, clear sky, sunny, mild temperature. We stopped for a brunch and the opportunity to have Jackie and Jillie get a little walk, before resuming the trip. They're great little travellers, content to be with us, uncomplaining, well behaved. When we finally arrived in New Hampshire, to our surprise there were motorcyclists everywhere. We're accustomed to seeing them in June, for the big rallies at Motorcycle Week, but here they were, brigades of them zipping about, many unhelmeted.

 

When we finally arrived at our destination, we were greeted by our hosts, Donna and Byron O'Donnell, who have in fact become dear friends over the past twenty years. Unpacking was a ritual we've been long familiar with. The puppies remembered the cottage; they've stayed at a number of them over the years, and they adjusted well. The days to follow gave us the opportunity to resume our acquaintance with that colossal, beautiful landscape.

 

It's hard to tell whether Jackie and Jillie remember other times when they've been with us on trips to the New Hampshire woods of the White Mountain National Forest. They have accompanied us for years, a week in the spring, and another in fall. Dogs have fairly good memories and it's quite feasible that they do find themselves familiar with a landscape visited infrequently.

 

 

In any event, once we were ensconced in the cottage we rent at those times in the Waterville Valley, they make themselves right at home. They find all the places where they can be comfortable and more or less claim them as their own. Entitled little pups, they are. Of course we'd have it no other way. Sharing with them is part of our own pleasure in removing ourselves briefly from the familiar.

 

 

We decided we would return to Smartsbrook for another hike there. Before we did, though Jackie and Jillie made a friendly trip over to say hello to the three miniature goats that our host houses behind their own large traditional country home. And nor did they intend to ignore the presence of the tiny white bunny which was quite unfazed at their presence.

 

 

The hencoop chickens now, that's another story altogether. They're mixed breed hens, raised from chicks. In fact, the last time we were there three years ago, before the Pandemic, the chicks were being warmed by a heat lantern in their very early days. They've turned out to be excellent layers, the eggs they leave for our host to pick up are coloured in beautiful soft shades of ivory and brown. We were given a gift of a half-dozen and enjoyed them; fresher than any eggs acquired in a supermarket. 

 

And then we returned to Smartsbrook and this time it wasn't raining, so no one needed rainjackets. The roar of the mountain stream tumbling over rocks and boulders has its own pleasurable cadence and loud though it may be as the trail edges closer to the streambed, it is also soothing and tranquilizing. The constant spray of the stream moisturizes the air; reason enough why vegetation on the forest floor grows to great size, and why there is copious lichen of various colours and forms clinging to the trunks of trees and hanging from their branches.

 

We hear song sparrows in the forest, and see yellow Admirals fluttering about the trees. Underfoot the trail is wet and on either side grow straw lilies, lilies-of-the-valley, and false Solomon's Seal in abundance. Only one lonely Ladies Slipper comes to our notice. Jackie and Jillie forge enthusiastically ahead, and we follow. The footing is fine for the most part, but complicated here and there as it narrows to accommodate ladders comprised of crossing roots and rocks liberally strewn about.

 

This also happens to be the day we've decided to drive south in the state, to mosey about what is called Antique Alley, a series of antique, memorabilia and frankly junk shops along the route. Where now and again we end up popping into shops, with Jackie and Jillie sitting in pouches slung over our shoulders. A not inconsiderable weight which guarantees we don't linger too long in any one place. It's part of the fun of being there. But there is disappointment when we come across one shop after another shuttered, the result of a downturn in the trade.

Our first day in New Hampshire on the 2nd of June was cold and wet. It was 8:00 pm before we were completely settled in, unpacked, shopping for the week's food  finished, and Jackie and Jillie fed. And then we had our own late-night meal. Beyond which we hadn't much energy and decided that 9:30 was a fine time to go straight to bed. Jackie and Jillie agreed, with their usual enthusiasm.  We were all tired and needed a good rest. 

Just before dusk, soon after our return from Hannaford's supermarket, we heard what sounded like a telephone ringing. Frogs' spring serenade, that's what it was, and we heard them in the forest behind the cottage at around that same time, falling dusk, every evening thereafter. 

An early bedtime deserves an early morning rise, and we settled for 7:30 am. The routine then ensued; first off, taking Jackie and Jillie for a stroll around the grassy compound that held the cottage we would be staying in for the week. We took the measure of the day; cool, overcast, wet. But as long as there was no heavy rain we'd make the most of the day.

Time to shower, feed the puppies and prepare our own breakfast. All at a leisurely pace. The cottage kitchen is well equipped with full refrigerator and stove, coffee maker, toaster, pots and pans. Despite which we tend to bring along our own utensils; plunger coffee pot, coffee grinder, tea kettle, teapot, and a few pots and pans, along with a set of knives and cutlery. It's why things get rather complicated, hauling so much around with us beyond necessity.

We cleaned up and Irving did the vacuuming. We've been coming to this cottage for many years and our hosts know we like to use a vacuum so there's always one awaiting us in the cottage. We had, in fact, bought a vacuum cleaner ages ago and left it there. 

Our destination for the day would be our favourite trail; Smartsbrook, where area mountain streams pour down mountainsides into the Pemigewasset River. Smartsbrook had been heavily logged out decades ago when we first came across it, and the result was a real shocker. Since then, the pines that had been deemed too immature to harvest have grown thick and tall. We've always noticed the predominance of hemlock and yellow birch, as well as spruce and maple, with moose maple and dogwood in the forest understory.

It's a picturesque trail, and so is the mountain stream, boulder-strewn and thunderous. Since the area had experienced quite a lot of recent rain there was no dearth of water tumbling over the erratics and into the gorge formed by aeons of water streaming down mountainsides. At one time we could be assured of seeing plentiful beautiful Ladies Slippers in bloom especially along an adjoining trail further upstream, Pine Flats. Every year there has been a diminishing number of those lovely orchids, and now we see mostly straw lilies.

The trails were sodden, but we've seen them much wetter at this time of year. It's a steady uphill climb negotiating root ladders and rocks and boulders but the effort taken has its rewards in the microlandscapes, one after another. We took our time, occasionally leaving the trail to move closer to the stream, marvelling at the striated, black-and-red granite and the depth of the stream as we ascended. Up to the last time we had visited three years ago we would hike the entire trail, leaving Pine Flats to enter the forest interior for a much longer trail commitment. This time, on our 76th wedding anniversary, we felt the need to pace ourselves, and turned back when we reached the end of the Pine Flats trail.