Ambling about on forest trails together gives us the opportunity to watch Jackie and Jillie as they interact with other dogs they may happen to come upon. It exposes us to  the minuscule 'landscapes' that every turn in the trail reveals, to discover something new and interesting we hadn't noticed before on our many forays into the ravine. And it affords us the opportunity to discuss an entire range of topics together. Usually my husband, reading a book that fascinates him, will relate to me passages in the book, or its thesis, or describe characterizations of diverse people and how their times and their actions influence history.

And there's more mundane things to discuss. What, for example, each of us plans to do with the hours of the day following our return home after our early morning run in the ravine. For me, Friday is baking day. And so I asked my husband which of the two he would prefer; a raisin pie or a pecan pie. Silence. Thoughtful silence, as he weighs his response. He's careful about such responses. And he knows how much I detest it when his response is "What about you?' and then I respond as though by rote, it was I soliciting his opinion.

Such a simple question. Put forward to assess his preference. And on the basis of his preferential response I would proceed. Hedging; well, on the one hand, raisins are nice and on the other hand so are pecans. Perhaps use the pecans since if they stay too long in the pantry they can go rancid? Well, how about me, what would I prefer, came the irritating hedge. So I baked a pie after breakfast to enjoy for dessert at dinnertime, and it was a compromise; containing both raisins and pecans.

I suppose in some measure discussion-and-compromise, from silly little unimportant issues to really vitally important ones work to smooth out the lifetime passage of intimate relations; being aware of one another's 'choices', caring about them in complete empathy from the sublime to the ridiculous means being sensitive to one another reflecting how we feel about one another. We're heading toward our 66th year of marriage.

The morning was cool when we set out before breakfast. No need for any of us, Jackie and Jillie included, to wear a raincoat this morning. No rain in the forecast, just cool and dry and mostly overcast. The water level in the creek running through the bottom of the ravine much reduced from yesterday. The forest interior a little on the dusky side as a reflection of a mostly cloudy sky. The sound of nuthatches in the trees.

And the occasional appearance of someone else going through the trail network, with a companion. Large dogs, we notice, tend to be more playful with other large dogs. Inviting one another to run about through the trees in the time-old game of catch-if-you-can. Smaller dogs tend to be standoffish, rarely do they invite other dogs, large or small in our experience, to indulge in shared activities in the relatively brief time available to them before their humans carry on.

With Jackie and Jillie there's a perfunctory resumption of a friendship-at-a-distance, but no shared activity of any note. When they're in the presence of other dogs they know, and those dogs happen to be large and happy-go-lucky, chasing one another about, our two little dogs receive a puzzling mixed message to which they bark frantically as though concerned that the other dogs are fighting, not playing. They are, nonetheless interested in the presence of other dogs, happy enough in their low-key way to see them. But they reserve ebullient physical interaction between themselves.

Because of all the rain events this month, large white mushrooms are beginning to appear on the forest floor. They're not particularly attractive, other than that they emerge from the soil large and flat, carrying a lot of soil with them; black-on-white. And squirrels seem to find them an interesting tidbit. We see some of the mushrooms upended, gill side up, with tiny nibbles taken from the edges.

Fall asters have joined other wildflowers blooming alongside the trails. These are the early-blooming white fall asters, unremarkable, not particularly attractive. Other, later-blooming asters in tones of mauve to bright purple usually follow, more shapely and regular petal arrangements. There are larger blooms and infinitesimally small ones,with  exquisitely delicate. And there are the beautiful ones, large, pink-purple blooms, perfectly sculpted, the very last to bloom. 

 

There was no lack of well-met however briefly, companions for Jackie and Jillie this morning as we all strode comfortably through the forest trails. Beyond comfortable, actually, with no mosquitoes in sight or feel, a wide blue sky above, and we sheltered from the  heat of the sun thanks to the generous forest canopy. A blue jay's welcome followed us briefly, then the wild cry of a Pileated woodpecker informing us that business as usual proceeds apace in the ravine.

Bees and hover flies flit around and about the still-flowering thimbleberry bushes growing everywhere and ripening quickly, their pink blossoms fresh and beautiful. But it is yellow that tends to stand out among all colours, its warm brightness reflecting the sun, and in the ravine at this time, pilotweed has firmly established itself in widespread colonies.

Their ubiquitous presence is challenged in discreet areas by the emerging proliferation of Himalayan orchids, their flowers exceeding in beauty those of the berries' with their deep, bright pink colour and orchid-shaped flowers held proudly aloft on tall stalks. And at the side of the trail on a short ascent we were greeted by the sight of pussy toes beginning to flower. There's just a limited few areas of the ravine where these flowers grow and each time we see them we're surprised, never recalling, year-to-year, their presence.

For the most part, the trails were quiet and peaceful, none others about as we looped around our familiar circuit, from left to right in a wide arc swinging over no fewer than four bridges switchbacking over the forest stream. Occasionally, however, we came abreast of others and their dogs, all a well-behaved clique of regulars who make it their business to daily make contact with natural surroundings to complement their days.

Next week is the delivery date of one of the couples we've lately befriended with their dog whom they follow in good faith, knowing the trails more intimately than they do. They enjoy stopping and chatting. Jillie in particular likes that they notice her and stoop to rub her head so obligingly while Jackie as usual closes in to sniff, then makes himself scarce.

Because they're both fairly large people, generously sized, we hadn't realized our friend was pregnant; we just put her size down to overweight, but carrying she is, with her due date next week, and she is cheerfully anticipatory. She's 39, and they've been trying for years for a pregnancy hoping to raise at least one child between them. That's the kind of story that has a warm glow of expectation around it, infecting anyone who hears about it with a edge of happiness.

We eventually parted after other dogs and people passed us on the trail, while we had parked ourselves at the fork of two adjoining trails, one they would take, the other awaiting our arrival. A trail that takes us eventually to a more open area of the woods which leads to a more gradual ascent toward the long hill that brings us at its top to street level.

 

That glade is where we see more exotic wildflowers like purple loosestrife, Queen Anne's lace, Yarrow, fleabane and black-eyed Susans proliferating. Their whites, pinks and yellows punctuating the otherwise green monotone of the landscape. We've taken lately to using that extended route for the pleasure of coming across patches of these wildflowers, far less numerous in the interior depth of the forest where less sunlight penetrates to encourage the growth and flowering of the wildflowers.

 

Then on home, when our circuit has completed. This afternoon, thoug it warmed considerably since our sun-sheltered tramp in the forest, was perfect to spend an hour snipping back here and there in the garden. The self-seeding Morning glory vines have outdone themselves once again this summer. They appear in unbelievable numbers as seedlings, and I pull most of them out. Then stabilize those that remain, along the side fence, tying them at first, then allowing them to begin covering the fence.

And cover it they do, while countless new seedlings keep appearing at the top of the rock garden amongst the hens 'n chicks and other low-growing rock garden plants, so every week I have to pluck out more of them because they tend, given time, to completely overwhelm everything growing there. They even insinuate themselves in the large urn of geraniums at the top of the garden.

Penelope, overseeing the growth pattern of the garden vegetation must be pleased at the robust presence of all these garden inhabitants. That self-seeded, surprise-presence tomato plant in the backyard which I refrained from pulling, has now gained two and a half feet in height, and still growing. It  has finally put out its yellow flowers, and it will be fascinating to see what kind of tomatoes it will bear, much less whether it has sufficient time left in the season to mature them.

I stuffed light little rainjackets into my own rainjacket pockets for Jackie and Jillie, just in case. We wore ours as we ventured out after a heavy thunderstorm that came roaring and tumbling out of the early afternoon sky yesterday, following a bright, sunny morning of clear blue skies. Nature up to her cavalier tricks again.

Although the sun shone on our backs as we headed up the street on a cool windy day, we failed to reach the ravine entrance before it was hidden once again under dark clouds. We'd decide once we were in the woods just how long a trail circuit we'd commit to, we had agreed. Although we gambled that there wouldn't be another thunderstorm, it was clear from the condition of the gathering clouds there would be more rain in some guise.

Once on the trails, it was hard to tell whether the large fat drops falling on us intermittently were occasioned by the wind loosening them from the drenched canopy above, or that the rain had started up again. But it was a pleasant day and Jackie and Jillie were happy enough snuffling about everywhere picking up those canine-critical messages telling them who had been by before them and likely when, as well.

At the sides of the trail blackberry bushes had begun to flower. It seems obvious from what we've seen thus far this spring that it will be a good year for wild berries for anyone interested in picking them in the ravine. The strawberry plants are blooming, as well as the raspberry plants. And although the thimbleberry shrubs haven't yet begun their bloom, they're maturing nicely and it won't take long for them to begin flowering.

When Jackie and Jillie topped the longest of the hills to ascend to the forest plateau they were beautifully framed on either side by wild apple trees and tall old dogwood growing the height of understory trees. The apple blossoms were a feature last week, but wind and rain made quick work of them and they've now begun the slow process of turning into fruit ready for plucking in late summer and through the fall months. The dogwood are in their glory now, with broad white panicles of flowerheads some of them resembling the blooms of hydrangeas.

Various types of ferns are now coming into their own on the forest floor. For the past several years we've noted in one particular area spectacular clumps of flowing, graceful, tall ostrich ferns, hard by sumacs and hawthorn trees.

From time to time light rain fell, but not enough to spur us to put on their little rainjackets for Jackie and Jillie, since the forest canopy was doing a very good job keeping us dry and the rain fell in light sprinkles. The rain, varnishing the landscape turns the verdant forest into a blaze of green shades, almost luminous, all the more so that there's a dusky atmosphere that prevails when a dark cloud hovers overhead.

Stand still for any length of time under these conditions, say to conduct a conversation with someone else on the trail and mosquitoes are encouraged by your presence as 'standing ducks', converging in hungry hordes to feast on your tender flesh. So though we came across scant few other people and their dogs, when the occasion did arise to briefly stop and converse, we were reminded just how nasty mosquitoes are, as we waved our arms in hopeless dispatch of the clouds that began surrounding us.

And then it was time to complete the circuit for the day to return home. By then the rain had stopped, so when we stepped out onto the street, leaving the forest confines, the sun was back, doing its best to begin drying the rain-slicked pavement on the street. All this rain and the sun that follows that we've been enjoying for weeks, has turned the garden into a wonderland. We wonder each time we wander out-of-doors what next will be coming up and blooming in the garden.

And yesterday it was the old Bridal Veil Spirea planted at the edge of the driveway many years ago, faithfully putting out its generous white clusters of tiny flowers to cascade from top to bottom of the energetic shrub that gets cut back ruthlessly afterward, because if it had its way it would occupy half of the driveway, along with that patch of the side garden that is its home.

I'd noted awhile ago that the most energetic of our clematis vines and the one incidentally that produces the largest, most beautiful of the clematis flowers, had set an unusual number of flower buds this spring. And was surprised when I looked over to where it produces its vertical abundance of colour and form, to see that they had already begun opening those distinctive decorative-blue flower heads alongside the tree peony with its huge blush-pink blossoms.