We can never claim to be bored. There is always something to be done around the house. But we also cleave to routine. And routine was disrupted this morning when, perhaps thanks to a huge inundation of ongoing thunderstorms our newspaper deliveries failed to materialize. An interruption of the habit of reading the newspapers during breakfast. 

To be perfectly fair, it wasn't the newspaper delivery person at fault here, since the newspapers are delivered at a truly ungodly hour -- around five in the morning. And when we got up for breakfast, a whole lot later than that, the sun was out. We called to enquire at the newspaper delivery desk and a recorded message acknowledged they were aware of a lapse in our delivery, and we'd receive our papers by noon.

But by the time we'd called, just after having our breakfast there was no longer any sun, but there was an approaching thunderstorm that had announced its imminent arrival in no uncertain quavering voice. Massive thumps and electrical messaging delivered the message and the rain, an enormous amount, was right behind. Trouble was, as soon as one thunderstorm had exhausted itself, another moved in, so we had an unending series of violent rain events, completely overtaking the ground's capacity to absorb it all. Noon, no papers.

Jackie and Jillie weren't pleased. Nor were we especially, but not displeased, either. Since there's that comfortable feeling of security that a thunderstorm always brings to us. We enjoy the thunder, and find it mesmerizing to watch the inundations that follow. Even if we have to pull on rainjackets and carry Jillie outside to conduct her business. In contrast, Jackie is quite cocky about going out in the rain.

By the time six o'clock rolled around, the darkness in the house interior seemed to suddenly lift, and we paid attention. The rain petered off, and then stopped entirely. Our signal to prepare for a hike through the dripping ravine. And dripping it most certainly was. The sun came out, the clouds moved off, and we moved along the forest trails, occasionally splattered by overhead rain falling from the forest canopy. But before we left the house, the doorbell rang, and when we looked out, there were the newspapers.

Once in the forest, we were glad we'd made the choice to get out with the puppies. Everything else could wait. That special light penetrated the forest, everything looking brightly lacquered, and colours appearing brighter than usual. Moreover, plants and flowers, although somewhat battered, looked fairly happy. And it was intriguing to see translucent pearls of water hanging from the berries of the ripening Elderberry clusters.

The creek had swollen three times its usual width and depth, and stormed down its raceway. The water in motion bellowed and carried with it debris picked up along the way as well as detritus that had fallen from overhanging trees. Best of all, as we moved alongside the creek by the pollinating meadow, there was the Great Blue Heron again, lifting itself from the creek proximity to soar above to the forest canopy, and out of sight.  

Third day back from our trip, we're easing back into routine. The first order of business was emailing family on our return, including a brief description of the trip. Sometimes getting bogged down in telephone conversations for exhaustive discussions. But time is our friend, we're relaxed and taking things as they come. No big hurry, everything will straighten back to routine in no time.

Certainly Jackie and Jillie are happy to be home again. They adjusted quickly to our 'away' environment in the cottage, and it's likely they remember from previous years the various cottages we've stayed in with them. Their excitement every time we drove up to a trail head infused us as well with a delighted anticipation of revisiting old familiar haunts. Now that we're back on more intimately familiar trails they've known all their lives, they're equally enthusiastic.

The garden doesn't look too different than it had when we left just over a week ago. Mind, even then, it looked exhausted though still carrying on. It is preparing itself, however, for the onset of frosty nights. Awaiting that sad time when everything will be cut back, the perennials and shrubs at any rate. Annuals will be lifted and composted.

The bright colours and insouciant attitudes of the garden in its various poses will be muted and missed. The deciduous trees in the garden will see their leaves vacate their branches in a sad farewell. The crabapple trees are still shedding their fruit, and Jackie and Jillie enjoy the tiny apples as snacks after their hikes through the forest trails.

More than enough food in the refrigerator so we don't have to go shopping yet. Although Irving did pop out to pick up some fresh fruit to do us over the next few days. Not that there wasn't plenty left to greet us on arrival. I've  unpacked but Irving has yet to unpack his stuff. 

We carried on with  our ravine walks with Jackie and Jillie each day of our return, including the day we returned. The forest looks like fall. The canopy is beginning to change, and enough leaves have drifted off the trees onto the forest floor to make it quite clear that the woods are ready to bid farewell to fall in favour of winter. There's a broad emerging pale yellow cast making its way onto the green leaf mass.

Poplar leaves coloured with soft yellows and oranges and pinks have fallen, as well as bright crimson maple leaves. The sumacs are turning that typical flame-red of their species. Wildflowers have succumbed to the cold and excessive moisture. Goldenrod has turned from bright yellow to dark brown, shrivelling just as the black-eyed Susans have, though the Himalayan orchids remain defiantly bright pink. 

We've been impressed by the large numbers of people and dogs we've seen making their way through the woods these past few days. It's unusual in our experience. We more generally never would see others out on the trails in years back. The pandemic appears to have changed a lot of peoples' attitudes and habits; perhaps more people in the community have learned to value the opportunity the wooded ravine presents as a healthy alternative to remaining closeted at home.

A wider circle of dogs appear to have realized that someone who is out regularly on the trails doesn't mind handing out treats, and consequently we're seeing dogs never before encountered discovering goodies when they come across Irving handing out dog cookies to dogs long accustomed to politely asking for them. Good as a fast-track educational tool for dogs. Jackie and Jillie quickly understood that if other dogs were being treated, they would be as well.

 

Seems I was a little precipitate congratulating myself that my back had fully recovered and was no longer under duress as a result of the episode weeks ago at the dentist's when the reclining chair was tilted much too far in the wrong direction, leaving my head lower than my feet to an instantly uncomfortable degree that seemed to stretch my spine; a warning I failed to heed because it passed so quickly. Usually the dentist asks, once she adjusts the chair, whether I'm comfortable, but I don't recall hearing that this time. I would likely have said that I was perfectly comfortable since at that point the discomfort had swiftly disappeared.

 

Only when she was finished replacing a filling that had inconveniently failed a week earlier, and when the chair was adjusted to a normal seated position was I struck with the most painful reaction to my efforts to exit the chair. I was immediately arrested with the pain and was unable to move. She was alarmed and I wasn't much able to allay her concern since I was frozen with inaction, the overwhelming pain unlike anything I'd experienced before, kept me frozen. I said, I'd be all right in a minute.

 

 

Quite a few minutes passed, the pain eased and I was able to carefully begin moving to extricate myself from the chair and stand upright. With difficulty. But I was ambulatory, she walked me to the front desk, I paid my portion of the invoice, and left. Full mobility with a minimum of discomfort wasn't long in coming, but since that time I've had episodes of extreme lower back discomfort. Then I thought, a few days ago, aha! I hadn't even noticed, I've overcome it entirely.

 

 

But that night in the middle of our sleeping hours I awoke to excruciating pain and was unable to effect a position that would ease the pain. Eventually it subsided to a point where I was able to fall back to sleep, exhausted. In the morning after limbering up, assuming my usual daily routine I was fine. And then it was repeated the following night. Well, damn! 

 

 

I feel perfectly fine, able to do everything with no problem, that I usually do. Just a reminder here and there with these episodes that circumstances such as less elasticity with age and unforeseen stressors can play havoc. Then you wait, hoping it will be temporary, and usually it is. Yesterday I hauled about heavy containers of groceries as usual. I did some planting in the garden. We had our usual hour-and-a-half hike through the ravine. I prepared bread dough for a pizza we made together for dinner. All's well, she said unconvincingly to herself.

 

And today, another beautiful day. The dog days of summer are long gone. There's still some heat to be shared when the sun's fully high in the sky. The rains have stopped for the time being, and we've had moderate winds, making for quite lovely days. At night the temperature dips giving us cooling night-time breezes to waft through the bedroom window.

 

 

So we had a lovely amble with Jackie and Jillie through the forest trails today, just as we do every day. And just as generally happens each time we take ourselves out to the forest, familiar dogs present themselves for recognition as fans of the Cookie Man. Jackie and Jillie come back from our daily forays excited and more energetic than when we left, racing after one another, their little legs thundering through the upstairs in anticipation of their fresh vegetable salad, their very special afternoon treat.

 

And Irving and I settle down to read the newspapers, look through the mail, discuss dinner and have a peek at what's going on online. 

 

 

Jackie and Jillie can always be relied upon to bark up a storm whenever our front doorbell rings. They take their presence domiciled here as 'guard dogs' seriously. Their piercing barks are enough to bring on a headache but that's the price to pay to ensure that any unwanted intruders know their status; fair game for ferocious ear-splitting calls to the barricades.

 

A few days back Irving placed one of his regular orders for fair trade organic raw coffee beans. Today was the delivery. Every few days he hauls himself downstairs to the studio in the basement where his coffee roaster is located and gets it going, and the house is suffused with the odour of roasting coffee. Aromatic and pleasurable to coffee lovers, not so much for people who can't tolerate coffee. That's me.

 

It was one of the tastes I 'lost' 62 years ago during my first pregnancy. Up to then I had consumed coffee like any other normal person. And it's why I'm a dedicated  tea drinker now. That initial distaste for coffee during that pregnancy has only deepened since then. The smell of any kind of cooking meat made me gag back then too, but I got over that. So it's just one of those little mysteries that life is so full of. 

 

I think we've become a tad paranoid over the pandemic. I'm always urging Irving not to go out when he doesn't really, really, really have to. The fewer occasions for exposure to the virus, the better. He needed gas for the snow thrower, had to go to the bank for cash-and-carry (he doesn't like being without paper money, just reliant on credit/debit cards), wanted to pick up a Toronto Star/New York Times, and a few other items like batteries.

My pleading poodle eyes stop him in his tracks. We discuss how careful we always are when we're out and he finally agrees he'll go to the bank and get gas, but forget about the other things. When he's gone for longer than those two stops would warrant, I know he's changed his mind.It's a concern to both of us and of course to most people that case numbers are steadily increasing once again; Delta predominating for now, but Omicron fast catching  up.

Afterward we took the puppies out to the ravine.  A surprisingly mild day, the thermometer rose steadily to an afternoon high of 4C with a stiff wind, but a gloriously blue sky and full sun exposure. Unfortunately, even with the forest canopy now bare of foliage, not all that much sun filters through to the forest interior, but it is decidedly lighter than an overcast day

 

We decided at that temperature and hazarding that there would be lots of ice on the trail, Jackie and Jillie would be better off without their boots. We had cleats firmly strapped over ours.  And we needed them. Though we anticipated icy trails, we under-appreciated what the weather conditions would make of the forest floor. Both we and J&J were soon engrossed in weighing the chances of making it down the first hill into the ravine without slipping.

 

Careful attention to where our boots were being directed by our eyes picking out opportunistic areas that appeared safe, which is to say, snow-piled at the outer edges of the trails, we managed to stay upright. Striding confidently ahead was not in the books today. Once we had re-gained the upper ridge trail we were able to relax, still placing our boots judiciously but not as critically so; no longer ascending or descending.

We basked, in a sense, in the milder temperature, finally relaxing as we made our way along the ridge. In any direction the distant view of the forest canopy showed the sun lighting up the spires of both evergreens and hardwoods in bright, fiery orange shades. Getting on into late afternoon the sun preparing to set beyond the horizon.

Yesterday, before we went out to the supermarket for our weekly grocery shopping, we dropped by the pet food store to pick up a 17 kilo bag of Wild Prairie kibble produced by Acana that we prefer for J&J's meals. While there we looked at their winter coat selection for dogs and finally found the kind of coats we were looking for. Thick, warm and snug. This is turning out to be a very cold winter. It isn't winter yet by the calendar and it's been penetratingly cold. Of the coats, a medium for Jillie, and small for Jackie. And while we were at it, we searched for new harnesses as well. Jillie has outgrown the old harness and though Irving has patched it with velcro, it keeps going awry.

 

 

We hadn't taken them with us but it would have been awkward to try the coats on them at the pet store, so we gave them a trial this morning. Perfect fit for both. As far as the coats were concerned and while Jackie's harness fit him well, Jillie's was too tight. They were extended as far as they could go. But Irving has a solution for everything. He set about snipping and sewing, and voila! a proper-fitting harness for Jillie, too; no need to return anything. We'd been that route several weeks ago.

 

 

From the pet shop we made our way to the supermarket. And for the first time in our memory shopping there for the past several decades not only was the store crowded, but there were more visible minorities in view than we'd ever before seen. There are several aisles in the store devoted to stocking ethnic foods of south-east Asia and we'd always wondered why, since we rarely saw people from India, from China, from the Middle East, from Jamaica, yet such foods choices were featured. 

Monday's inclement weather with non-ending rain evidently kept people who normally shop on Monday from venturing out. So everyone congregated on Tuesday to do their shopping. Thus the crowding. Line-ups at the cash register reminiscent of the early days of the pandemic when everything was a chaotic panic. This was not a pleasant experience back then, and nor was it yesterday.

 

 

We though it was pretty amazing that there was any snow left at all on the ground after dawn-to-evening rain on Monday. But there was, and yesterday when we went out to the ravine we discovered just how much the intersection of heavy snow/rain/flash-freeze made a trek through the ravine beyond difficult. Today when we went out in the early afternoon for our usual daily hike through the forest trails, the temperature had dipped to -7.7C, and it was flurrying, with a light wind.

 

We had dressed Jackie and Jillie in their new coats and they looked snug and warm. Jackie, in fact, was beyond exuberant, racing madly back and forth, excited at being out and happy as a lark. We hadn't ventured very far into the forest before they both leaped enthusiastically at Irving-the-cookie-dispenser for treats. There are two places where Irving started out offering cookies; close to the start of our daily jaunt, and another place not far from the first. They fixed those spots in their minds and we cannot now go past them without the two clamouring for their due.

 

Like our experience of yesterday, it was difficult keeping upright and the chances of twisting an ankle were pretty good for the unaware. The frozen depressions in the snow have a tendency to throw one off kilter, as a boot slides into the depression and the ice within makes it slippery, threatening one's balance. The only solution, where possible, is to seek out undisturbed areas of the snow on the trails -- usually right at the perimeters either side to safely cushion each step forward.

But we managed to stay upright throughout our hike and that was all to the good. Both of my cleats fell off each boot as we progressed, as a result of my boots twisting and turning on the uneven trail surface. And though I was dressed for the cold, the wind kept sending its malicious fingers of ice right through my down-filled jacket, filtering through the thick turtle-neck sweater for good measure.

 

 

It

Casting about in my mind's recipe file I considered what I might bake for a dessert treat today. Then I remembered Irving talking in the past about a yeast-raised buttercake his mother used to bake on occasion. I dimly recall it but took no interest of it those long years ago. In the past I've baked what I imagined to be versions of it, but I thought on an impulse that I'd look on the Internet. And I found an intriguing recipe there for a yeast-raised buttercake. I changed it slightly and gave it a try this morning.

It certainly doesn't look like much, but it smells good and it will be interesting this evening to see what it tastes like. It's almost like putting together a cake-in-a-cake, actually. The bottom portion forming the base is yeast-raised, the top portion more cake-like. Into the bottom portion went a half-cup butter, quarter cup granulated sugar, an egg, 1/2 cup warmed milk, yeast, vanilla, salt and two cups of flour. To form a batter which I kneaded and then set to rise.

The second portion was comprised of (good grief!) a cup of butter, two cups of sugar, two eggs, and 2/3 cup of flour. I reduced the amount of butter and sugar and left out the 1/4 cup milk, adding instead a half-cup ground almond, reducing the amount of flour accordingly but also adding a little baking powder. Then I rolled out the risen dough, patted it into a fairly large rectangular baking dish, let it rise for another half-hour then poured over the batter of the second portion and baked it in a pre-heated 350F oven for 30 minutes. Smells good. We'll see....

 There's cold days and really cold days. We're in a serious spate of cold for the next several days. We thought it was more than cold enough yesterday for us all at -10C, with a brisk wind and were well chilled despite dressing in warm layers when we went out for our daily hike through the woods. So we gave our foray into the ravine a pass today. Every time we took Jackie and Jillie out to the backyard today they ran amok as they often do in the snow, again once they got back up on the deck angling to get back indoors.

Mind, they did follow us about enquiringly enough. But we had decided we'd give the forest a pass today and that's that. Likely tomorrow as well, since the temperature won't rise above -14. Last night the temperature dipped to -24C, and that's pretty cold; the same expected for tonight.

Irving thought it as good a time as any, under lockdown and elderly social distancing to go about renewing his driver's license and vehicle registration plates online this afternoon. It's certainly far more complicated than going out to the motor vehicle registration bureau, but personal appearance is not now recommended for the elderly, and we're glad about that, and that the usual bi-annual 'tests' of the elderly to qualify for their licenses has been suspended, as well.

So it's been a quieter-than-normal day for us. Taking seriously for the first time in a long while, the 'stay-at-home' provincial instructions. Missing our hour-and-a-half out on the forest trails seems awfully strange. As though indeed, we're 'missing' something vital to the day. Jackie and Jillie don't seem to mind at all, they're entertaining themselves leaping at the front door and barking furiously at the impudent little squirrels that come along to take possession of the nuts and peanut-buttered bread squares. 

There is compensation for the extreme cold, with the bold, bright appearance in that big blue sky hosting the sun that shines through our windows, brightening the house and helping to warm it as well. Much appreciated. A comfort that belies the thick accumulation of snow resting like second-stories atop the two garden sheds in the backyard.

 

 

There is an air of unreality hovering in the general atmosphere. Can all of this really be happening ... the news replete with inexorably growing tallies of pandemic victims, the world struggling to save itself from the intrusion of a tiny virus that has laid millions low, hundreds of thousands in intensive care, hospitals overwhelmed, nations' economies in tatters, and people everywhere confused and fearful. 

Lockdowns, tightening the screws on permissible social activities, all extraneous actions on tampdown leaving the most basic of needs to be carefully catered to -- at a distance, masked, cognizant of possibly infected surfaces, keeping distance, finding it difficult to maintain sanity. It's the mental tipple of thrills tinged with fear read of in thrillers and viewed in horror films.

But there is normalcy for those fortunate enough to find it, and some have. Normalcy is living life as best you can, reliant on catering to ordinary needs, safe shelter, food, medical attention if required, mental stimulation, physical exercise. Uncomplicated by the presence of dependents if you're elderly, focusing on the here and now and what can be done to ensure that even this straitened life is a treasure to be jealously guarded.

Another interminably long email received this morning from the 'Health First' medical clinic our family doctor works out of, informing us how much its patients mean to them, how their thoughts are with us all, and how they're working flat out to cope with the coronavirus and serve the best interests of their patients. Video-conference or telephone 'appointments' are available. No one is to consider dropping by the clinic without a prior appointment, not to drop off a document, not for anything. Many of its employees are working from home.

The clinic health collective urges their patients to call Ottawa Health for details regarding COVID vaccinations, but Health First urges its patients to acquire virus inoculations as speedily as possible when the opportunity rises, according to classification. These emails have been arriving fairly regularly for over a year. Just as well we haven't had a need to see a doctor in that time frame. We are, however, able to take our little dogs to the veterinarian hospital for physicals and annual shots, and to the grooming spa next door to it.

When my husband left the house soon after breakfast this morning his goal was to gas up the truck and bring home more of the same for the snow thrower. Which will likely see some significant action on the weekend, if the weather forecast is correct and no reason why it shouldn't be. He also had to drop by the bank -- closed, but the ATMs are available, and he only needed to make a withdrawal. At each ATM there is a large squirt bottle of disinfectant, over it a sign urging people to use it before and after using the machines. My husband noted those few people at the separate kiosks appear not to have read the sign. 

I realized this morning that there are many people walking singly, with or without dogs, in pairs and small family groups on the street. Normally, this very short street sees little traffic either motorized or people walking, other than its residents. Today I saw more walkers than I would normally see in a month, particularly in the winter months. Taking my cue from the walkers, I anticipated that when we went off later in the day for our usual afternoon spin through the forest trails we'd have lots of company. The 'wanderers', as my husband now calls the growing proliferation of casual hikers new to the ravine, appear to be growing in prevalence and numbers.

 

I had the impression yesterday that many among them carefully put on gloomy faces to match their unwillingness to acknowledge the presence of others ... not so much as a light-hearted 'hi!', as they pass, total failure to crack a smile when encountering one on someone else's face. So we were both pleasantly surprised on this mild-temperature day, well overcast, to encounter very few other people on the trails. Which made for a relaxed, enjoyable hour-and-a-half of leisurely strolling for Jackie and Jillie and we two.

We returned home to the fragrance of chicken soup simmering on the stove in preparation for dinner. And the sweet scent of a fruit pie still lingered as well, from the pie cooling on the kitchen countertop. I'd decided I hadn't baked a berry pie in quite awhile. Which is when those frozen mixed berries -- strawberries, raspberries, blackberries and blueberries contained in a frozen plastic pouch comes in handy for a pie filling, and tastes so very good.

 

Rain, rain, go away, Jackie and Jillie want to play. A child's wistful chant with some notable liberties taken. It's one of those days. Rare enough in its intransigence to shut us out of our daily ramble through the ravine trails. No let-up at all. Just a few reluctant, quick dashes to the backyard, then back into the house as soon as fleet little paws can take them. And us.

Good rub-downs with towels follow. Jackie and Jillie most definitely do not enjoy the rain. Much less having their hair wet, their body temperature slightly lowered with exposure to such inclement weather. Larger dogs don't much mind, small dogs do. And these two certainly detest it -- all the more so when the temperature is well on its way to being too cool to be wet.

The temperature stood at 4C when they went out for the first time this morning in the rain and graduated eventually all the way up to 10C, after repeated, very brief visits to the great outdoors as seen in the limited confines of our little backyard. The only positive thing about having to go out on such days is the unmitigated pleasure of a good rub-down afterward.

It's a rare day when we don't get out for our daily walk through the forest trails. We tell our little dogs one day won't make a difference. They'll get out tomorrow and enjoy it twice as much. They gaze at us with the skeptical manner of those who know better. On the other hand, they'd prefer by far to pass the opportunity to get out for a walk in this kind of rain. Too heavy for their little raincoats to be of much benefit.

 So they languished at home, while we were busy cleaning the house. Because we were so busy outside  yesterday on that cool, windy but rainless, overcast day cleaning up the gardens, house-cleaning day was put forward to today. What made up for all that exhausting outdoor work was the pleasure of a quiet Thanksgiving dinner, when we had turkey breast, tiny yellow potatoes, broccoli and cranberry sauce. 

My husband insisted on mopping up gravy with one of the little egg-loaf braided breads I had baked the day before. And for dessert we each had one of the double-chocolate cupcakes left over from Friday's baking. I wasn't able to find small tins of pumpkin so decided against baking a pumpkin pie yesterday.

After cleaning the house -- our usual once-weekly ritual -- I decided to make a noodle-cheese-tuna-green pea casserole for dinner. Where yesterday's meal was a favourite for my husband, today's will represent mine. I made a butter-flour and milk choux seasoned with powdered mustard, paprika and freshly ground pepper, melted grated old Cheddar into it as it cooked and thickened. Mixed the drained cooked noodles into the choux, added the green peas.

Then layered it into a large flat baking dish, with the contents of a tin of tuna between the noodle layers. Over that I lightly scattered breadcrumbs, and then more grated cheese, to bake until bubbly-hot. Served with a fresh vegetable salad, and poached pears for dessert, that's tonight's dinner.

There was a tornado alert for this area last evening, along with thunderstorm warnings. Earlier in the day a tornado had touched down close to Kingston, at Napanee. There have been eight tornadoes this year but nothing like the damage caused several years ago in a northwestern part of the city. Years ago a micro-tornado had ripped through the ravine, taking down a succession of elderly pine trees. The corpses, a decade on, still remind us, lying on the forest floor gradually covered over by vegetation, how grand they had once been with their great gnarly thick trunks and piercingly-green needles.

The thunderstorms struck in the wee hours of the night, leaving behind generous evidence of just how copious the rainfall had been. Augmenting the torrential rain of the afternoon. We intended to set out for the ravine before breakfast as usual, but the sky was rife with dark clouds clamping us into another rainy day, as we read the symptoms. We decided we'd wait until one particularly belligerent and bruised-looking cloud passed, to weigh our further options.

And then we just got impatient and decided we'd go out and that was that. In the meantime, the cloud drifted on, no doubt dropping its load of moisture somewhere on the trajectory of its skyborne journey but not in our direct vicinity. All the rain we've been having, soaking the landscape thoroughly, then drying surprisingly swiftly under the influence of the hot summer sun and emphatic winds have encouraged the presence of fungi.

For the past several days we've been seeing bright orange -- rather lurid in fact -- fungi appearing here and there on the forest floor. At times resembling orange rind, other times with a glistening appearance, looking quite like someone had lost their breakfast. Photographs fail to do justice to the fungi which appear to the naked eye both colour-appealing and shape-disgusting. And alongside the trails, thistles are flowering as well, with bright pink blooms, the bull thistles in particular.

The puzzle of the absence of apples on the wild apple trees as opposed to an abundance of berries on the thimbleberry and raspberry bushes baffles us. As does the absence of those bright red berry clusters typical of most summers' red baneberry shrubbery, strangely missing this year. We had seen a few intact and ripening specimens a month back, but they too are now gone. They're poisonous to humans but evidently not to all mammals, so possibly they've been eaten just as all the hazelnuts that we had seen ripening several months back are also now nowhere to be seen.

The clouds gradually dissipated, and the sun was free to begin warming the atmosphere and brightening the landscape. Although by afternoon we're supposed to be in an average summertime temperature zone, even 26C with full sun tends to be hot. So we were glad to have been able to get out with Jackie and Jillie in the morning, rather than setting out due to unsettled weather conditions, in the afternoon.

At home, the garden appeared vivaciously iridescent in the sun, all the greens vibrant and translucent in appearance, the sun seeming to set them afire with light. In the backyard I staked up a little tomato volunteer that had appeared a month ago and has since grown robustly in the garden. Where the seed came from that inspired the tomato plant to begin growing amongst the hostas, roses, clematis and Harlequin vines I'll never know. I'm awaiting some signs that it will soon begin flowering, it's certainly mature enough at this point.

More of those familiar old Tiger lilies have appeared here and there in the garden, separate and apart from our Day lily beds. I cannot ever recall planting them, but there they are, single plants, hale and beautiful in three different locations. Like the tomato plant, I consider them to represent 'volunteers' that just happened along, making themselves comfortable in the garden, not bothering anyone while adding to the general confused clutter and colour in the garden.