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

 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Yesterday being house-cleaning day, Irving and I were both busy, doing just that. On such days I'm all for the convenience of meal preparations that don't require too much effort. In that category I place tiny frozen Cornish game hens. They're so quick and easy to prepare. I often bake a little egg-noodle pudding to accompany a game hen, and some kind of green vegetable. Jackie and  Jillie are most appreciative of that kind of meal; invariably there's some of the breast left over that they can enjoy as a supplement-treat for several days afterward. 

 

Convenience is steadily taken out of our lives and the irritation factor is immense, but livable. In Canada, we're no longer able to rely on those disposable plastic shopping bags we're all so familiar with. They've been outlawed in the name of environmental protection. I can understand that to a degree, but in the same token though they're considered disposable, once they've served their original purpose, to carry your purchases home after a shopping trip, they have other uses, mostly as receptacles for trash. In their absence the option is to buy these same bags marketed as what else; receptacles for trash.

I also relied on those bags for other reasons. To be filled with articles of clothing, for example, that were deemed expendable, no longer serving a personal purpose, and to be donated to the Salvation Army thrift shop. I also used them each time we did our food shopping, filling one each week with a selection of canned and boxed food, to be deposited for the Food Bank. I began using cloth bags instead. But then last September we drove to New Hampshire for a week of vacation in the White Mountain National Forest range. And each time we shopped, for groceries or any other type of consumer product, they were packed in the kind of plastic bags that were outlawed in Canada.

 

I kept each and every one of them. And by the time we were ready to return home I had amassed a surprising number of plastic disposable bags. We packed them up and brought them home, and we're still using them for our weekly grocery deposits for the Food Bank. Ah, the weekly grocery shopping expeditions -- they too now have an irritant-factor. Supermarkets intent on maximizing their profits and focusing on the expendability of employing people to expedite their sales.

When we do our shopping, invariably we fill up that shopping cart. And we have no intention of using any of the self-check-outs. We go through the aisles with actual cashiers; they're far more adept, experienced and above all, efficient than we can be at putting all our purchases sliding along the conveyor belt, through the computer system to be cashed out. And we've noticed in the past several weeks that of the four-five cashier stations only one or two will be open.

People with a lot fewer purchases generally use the self-check-out, and store employees formerly acting as cashiers are often delegated to stand around the self-check-out area to supervise and assist people using that method. Today when we did our shopping there was a long line of people awaiting their opportunity to get at all the self-check-outs, since all were occupied. And there were no regular cashier-assisted lanes open.

People with shopping carts were patiently waiting at the Customer Service aisle, and a lone cashier that usually sells Lottery tickets and looks after client-store interactions was now doing the job of a regular cashier. Inconvenient to say the least. Did I mention that the small disposable plastic bags used for fruits and vegetables in bulk have also been changed; the plastic fabric is now so thin that anything of any weight like large oranges piled into them destroys the integrity of the plastic and the bag simply disintegrates.

People still maintain good humour through it all. While we were waiting our turn at that single Client Service lane, on two occasions young women carrying a few items offered to give us their places. We thanked them of course, and their offers made us all feel fairly good, but their surrendering their place in line while only purchasing several items made no practical sense, and we demurred.

Earlier in the day we took our puppies out for their afternoon hike through the forest. We've been plunged back into the January deep-freeze. We had sunshine and -3C yesterday, but overcast, an icy wind and -5C today. The temperature-wind combination made for a very cold adventure through the woods. Not cold enough to dampen Jackie and Jillie's enthusiasm for their walk on the wild side, however.

It was a fine outing we all had, invigorating and pleasurable simply to be out there. And as familiar as we are with the terrain and the landscape, it seems as though we're always seeing the arras before us as though through an lens of unfamiliarity. There is always something different to be noted. And today we fell in with familiar faces and other little dogs about the size of our own, all of whom had a lot to impart to one another.

 

The series of thunderstorms that rumbled and rolled through our area yesterday inundated the landscape to the point where we felt saturation was at its peak. After about six of these thunderstorms bolted through, there was a period of calm and cessation of rain. And then the temperature plunged, cooling off notably to the extent where when only hours earlier the thick atmosphere of humidity exacerbating the ambient heated environment gave over to a sharp chill and we actually felt cold.

 

Looking out the bedroom window from bed this morning it was clear that wildfire haze remained a problem. Apart from the smoky haze, dark-streaked clouds were scuttling through the sky. A high wind prevailed, forceful enough to sway the crowns of trees in the distance from the forested ravine. The forecast warned of a repeat of yesterday when we'd risked going out for our hike through the forest earlier than usual with Jackie and Jillie, and were able to evade rain.

 

There were even tantalizing and brief episodes of sun breaking through what looked like an impenetrable shield of stormy clouds. So we did a repeat of yesterday, cleaning up from breakfast and setting off for the ravine. In some areas the forest floor was drenched but not overwhelmingly so, despite the overnight rain that had topped the series of thunderstorms the day before. The creek was turbid and tumbling with rainwater but not excessively so.

 

The takeaway from that is a forest so parched it had eagerly absorbed all the steady rain events some of which seemed overwhelmingly violent in intensity. Yesterday's air quality was in the poor range, although not quite that of Sunday's when it was right off the scale, the amount of fine particulate matter from Quebec and Northern Ontario's wildfires topping the scale of hazardous air quality. Today, by comparison it was considered 'fair'. The atmosphere was so polluted a number of downtown public events were cancelled, like the Ottawa Dragon Boat Festival, and the summer solstice Indigenous Festival.

 

Our tramp through the ravine was uneventful and pleasant, and we came across no one else out on this day. Perhaps unwilling the risk of the potential of being caught out in a violent thunderstorm, or just feeling the effects of the extreme humidity that made the temperature of 24C seem more like 30C. The always-dusky atmosphere of the forest interior emphasized colour, aided by the remaining glistening effect of the night's rainfall. Negotiating the up- and down-hill was in fact made more footsure since the surface dampness on the grit of the hillside trails made for good boot gripping.

 

When we later set off for our weekly supermarket shopping, the sky opened briefly as a black cloud that sprawled over the landscape hesitated before moving on, but no thunderstorms had manifested to that point. They waited, suspensefully, for later in the afternoon. The morning newspaper celebrated the fact that the inflation index had been reduced -- but not affecting food prices. And we had evidence of that in the continuation of rising food prices we saw while shopping. Not so evident in most fresh fruits and vegetables and eggs and milk products which is a good thing.

 

Later, a little bit of time spent in the garden made me wonder at how adept vegetation is at withstanding punishing conditions like the pounding it sustained with those repeated thunderstorms. The flowers and the garden pots look this side of ragged, but when the sun emerges, the wind subsides and the rain quiets down, they'll once again take on their lush beauty and fullness of form to warrant their conceit and our admiration.

There is never a day when we don't discover something new in the forest. It's only one element, that of pleasant surprise, that draws us into the ravine for a daily tramp on forest trails with our two little dogs. People largely fail to understand the benefits of being in a green, wild space, to the human psyche. It is balm to the soul, serene, restful and a source of both entertainment and information about nature and our place within the great out-of-doors.

Of course, Irving and I were always inclined to green spaces. Throughout our lives we've actively and deliberately sought them out, as fulfilling, pleasurable destinations. From the time we were inseparable as children together, accessing green landscapes was as vital to us as visiting local libraries. We just took it for granted that our lives gained quality from that exposure.

Well, yes, we also spent time with friends. Attended community events like weekly dance nights. And together explored the city where we lived, Toronto. When we were married, our honeymoon destination was a lodge not far from Algonquin Park-- Cedar Grove Lodge. There was a lake on the lodge property, and cabins interspersed among mature trees. And a large building where meals were served. It was a brief idyll for us, and we were to visit Algonquin Park countless times over the years.

Now, at our age, we're grateful to have a natural forest in close walking distance of our house. Access to the forest represents a large quality-of-life quotient for us, as it does for our little pups, Jackie and Jillie. They're acutely aware of our daily routines and know precisely when it's time -- although the time differs from day to day-- for all of us to set out for our daily ramble through the forest trails.

Today we saw cinquefoil in bloom for the first time. And noted an abundance of wild blackberry flowers, promising a huge crop of berries this summer. Before concluding our circuit, we went by the forest meadow, and there were huge colonies of buttercups, daisies, flowering clover and thimbleberry shrubs in bloom. Early this morning the house interior was dark in the throes of a morning rain. But the clouds did clear, and the sun arrived to dry the rain.

The garden was delighted with this turn of events. Everything is thriving; the proper elements all cooperating resulting in bright colours and healthy plants; form, texture and nuanced colour in abundance. Each time we glance out the doors to the outside, the garden landscape captures our eyes; it's like standing before a beautiful painting.

 

We're back again in what is likely to be the last of this season's hot and humid spells. A full week of extreme heat and humidity to match. According to the weather report today was supposed to be an equal mix of sun and overcast but it's turned out to be fully sunny. When it's this hot, all living things seek relief from the oppressive atmosphere. Perhaps more to the point, organic matter begins to reek as it decays even faster in this heat. Which means that the kitchen waste in our green bin kept in the garage begins to smell despite its lock-tight top.

 

It's either a desperate attempt to escape the ambient heat or an irresistible attraction to the odour that draws big black flies into the garage. There's easy enough entry from the garage to the house interior when doors are opened. It is only on these remaining dog days of summer that flies manage to enter our house. Jackie and Jillie know something is amiss when a fly is in the house. We detest their entry for the simple reason of hygiene. Our pups hate them because of their irritation factor.

 

So if a fly enters the house the goal is to exit it, if at all possible, else during the night it will follow us up to the bedroom and alarm J&J terribly. They become restless and edgy if a fly buzzes them in bed. Our role is to see this doesn't happen. Irving hates killing anything, so he does his best to thump a fly lightly, so he can pick it up and release it outside, alive. After our ravine walk today, I heard a light thwack where Irving had a fly sequestered in the powder room. Then a long pause and a harder smack, and finally a really massive thwack. Elusive stubbornness; that fly extinguished its opportunity for survival.

But we did get ourselves out to the ravine in the assured knowledge that we would find relief from the heat and the sun's glare under the shield of the forest canopy. Bluejays have returned. Their high-pitched cries are unlike those of any other bird. In southern Ontario we used to see them regularly. In north-eastern Ontario they're occasional visitors; just passing through in spring and fall. Hearing them is like bumping into an old friend.

 

Chickadees and nuthatches were busy today as well, in the forest. We're also hearing choruses of crickets and seeing grasshoppers leaping out of the tall grasses beside the forest creek these days. And now the forest's squirrel population, black, grey and red are suddenly to be seen everywhere already searching for winter-storage of food. Their presence creates an opportunity for Jackie and Jillie to occasionally sprint after them. The squirrels, challenged, scold and swing their tails from perches they attain in easy escapes.

 

Several years back, the forest ashes were attacked by Emerald Ash Borers and we saw the die-off of many mature trees, both those planted on lawns of houses on the street adjacent the forest, and those growing within the forest. The trees had all the appearances of death, but on the bottom quartile of old trunks, tentative small branches soon began to sprout. The trees above those slender new branches were skeletal in death, but the will to survive evident in live roots urging the growth of hopeful new life. 

 

The cycle of life and death of all growing things, something we witness yearly with the seasons. We tend to appreciate the gardens we lovingly cultivate all summer long for their fresh, attractive presence, their form and texture and colour and the multitude of flowers that enhance our properties and greet our appreciative eyes all summer long. But it's at the tail end of summer that our eyes devour the colour in the knowledge that it will all soon fade, the garden cut back and prepared for its winter rest.

My kid brother was a botanist and an academic. He was, of course, more than that, but that is what distinguished him to society at large, though not his family. There was 14 years between us, an age gap that separated us, since four years after he was born I was married. Until then, though, I helped my mother with her new baby and very early learned to change diapers and feed a fussy appetite. When he graduated with his doctorate in environmental science, he took a position in Halifax and remained there for his working professional life.

 

He was a proponent of naturalized gardens, and his own reflected that. He liked all plants, but he was consciously invested in biodiversity as it pertained to native plants, distinguishing them from plants imported and cultivated from all over the world. Sustaining native plants was integral to his commitment to the environment. So he dug out of his garden everything that wasn't of native Canadian origins and slowly began replacing them with what we might term 'wild plants', plants that were uncultured by human hand.

I had been doing the very same thing of my own initiative but only to a degree. I retained all of the non-native trees, shrubbery and perennials we had planted in our own garden over the years. Unlike my brother I was not motivated by the wish and will to preserve native species; I was attracted to some native species because they were beautiful and I wanted to share some of our garden space with them. I had some successes and some failures, as some plants adapted, and others failed to.

Over the years I collected a few species that I sourced from our nearby forest. Taking bits of what was there in abundance, which, once established in our garden, flourished and spread, making a showy home for themselves, and delighting us in the process. There were trout lilies, trilliums, wild ginger, foamflower and Jack-in-the-Pulpits. They grew to spreading proportions, making themselves right at home. The Jack-in-the-Pulpits attained giant size and doubled, then tripled in number. 

When we were children in grade school, we were taught about native species of plants. That was 80 years ago. Many people who take hikes through the forest whom we come across from time to time and may have known for many years have no idea what some of the plants are; never heard of jewelweed or meadow rue, pilotweed or coltsfoot, fleabane or hawkweed, though everyone pretty well knows plants like asters, violets, goldenrod and Queen Anne's lace. 

But they're all there, in the forest, blooming in their seasonal displays, brightening the landscape with their presence. People who simply hike through the forest trails, or ride bicycles, without taking the time or interest in noticing, much less trying to identify these plants will never know what they're missing. The blossoms all over dogwood shrubs, wildflowers like pussytoes, honeysuckle shrubs, wild apple trees, hawthorns, even maple trees. They all have their brief seasonal time of blossoming glory and they're worth the effort to notice and admire.

 

Our drive to New Hampshire a week ago was uneventful, but long and somewhat tiring. Irving did all the driving, I don't drive. The puppies were content to sit between us, Jillie leaning her little head on Irving's lap and Jackie watching the passing scene from my lap until they both fell asleep and slept most of the trip. The weather was fine, overcast and cool, but no rain. We had no problems getting through US customs but Irving had stopped beforehand at Canada Customs where it was explained we would need to fill out online return questionnaires before crossing back into Canada to present them on our return.

 

We stopped after crossing the border at the usual Vermont welcome centre. There we took the puppies for a little walk before settling ourselves down at a picnic table to eat our 'brunch'. No breakfast this morning, but at around 1:30 pm we had clementines, bananas, sandwiches, tea and coffee. Jackie and Jillie had eaten breakfast, but at the stop they shared a boiled egg between them and part of our sandwiches.

 

When we passed through Franconia Notch after crossing into New Hampshire the cloud cover was so dense and low it wasn't possible to see the summits of the mountains we passed. But rain held off. After we settled into our cottage and emptied the truck of all our luggage, we set off again to Hannaford's to buy the week's groceries. So it was fairly late when all of us had dinner, and not long after that we went off to bed.

 

When we left New Hampshire yesterday morning it was in a heavy downpour, relentless, constant and copious. Sightlines were almost non-existent and driving some of those mountain hairpin turns got pretty exciting, particularly given the big trucking rigs that seem to specialize in sending thick, opaque showers onto windshields. Irving is a dexterous driver and we made good time. There was no respite from the rain; if we enjoyed a brief period of relief from the heavy downpour, it was brief indeed before we entered yet another squall, one after another. Some pretty reckless drivers out there.

 

Rain, as it happened, followed us all the way home. And once home it kept raining. Still, we did a ritual tour of the garden, grateful everything for the most part survived, thanks to a week of wet weather. We were amazed, as we always are, at what a difference a week makes in a garden. The perennials' succession of flowering, the growth of all the vegetation never fails to surprise us. I thought Irving would take it easy, unpack today, but he insisted on getting everything in the house.

 

It was good to sleep in our own bed last night, and Jackie and Jillie thought so, too. Needless to say, early to bed, early to rise, though not too early. Fruit and an oatmeal breakfast, tea and coffee seemed just right. Irving went out to pick up his new eyeglasses, ready at last, and to drop by the bank and to pick up a cauliflower, orange juice and blueberries. In his absence, I baked chocolate cupcakes, put on a chicken soup, and began to put some things in order.

 

And then it was time to take the puppies out for their afternoon hike through our own forest. Which looked greener, brighter and crisper than ever. A cool and windy day, some sun and some showers. We managed to make it through a long circuit with the sky holding back the clouds so eager to release their burden. They did just that, in fact, a few hours after we returned home again.

 

In the ravine we saw the thimbleberry shrubs had already begun to flower, and blackberries were in full flower. There were buttercups gleaming in some stray sunbeams, and the hazelnut shrubs were starting to fill in their nuts. The trails were even wetter than when we left, last week, given the unending rain events that kept occurring throughout the week. 

 

The sad fate of the forest where so many old pines and poplars had succumbed to the violence of the electrical/wind storm that passed through the area several weeks ago remains in stark evidence of the power of micro-tornadoes passing through in a successive burst of inclement weather. Some Good Samaritan had taken it upon himself to cut up one large tree that had fallen across one of the bridge entrances where one had to duck under at a really bad angle for anyone over 5' in height, like me.

 

We came across our local barred owl sitting regally and unperturbed by the fuss we made over him. For a change there were no crows around to harass him and his mate. Though crook our necks as we might, we were unable to make out the nest this afternoon to catch a glimpse of the nursing owl and the pair's owlets. 

And when we finally returned home again, there was the garden, waiting to be admired and fussed over.
We saw a little wild rabbit fleet as the wind, hop from one part of a garden bed to dive under the thick cover of a bed of large old hostas. The peonies haven't yet bloomed, so we haven't missed anything there. Some of the roses at the front of the house are fully blooming; one very old rose in particular, a rare bloomer that still emits a divine fragrance.