For bedtime reading material on this week's stay in New Hampshire I took along The Boys of Everest with its feature on the principal, Chris Bonington, a British climber, following the exploits of British mountaineers from the 1950s forward, and there are parts of the book so compelling that I read far longer into the wee night hours than I should have, resulting in a bit of a sleep deficit the following day. I admit, I do have a fascination for high-altitude climbing exploits, though I would never have wanted to venture it myself. I find reading about the indomitable will of mountaineers to ascend the most forbidding and inaccessible peaks truly compelling.

In any event, my husband found himself so exercised by the day's exertion the previous day on Welsh-Dickey that he slept through the night until 5:00 am before his demanding prostate kicked in to rouse him to the bathroom. A nice reprieve from the usual urges that strike him repeatedly through the night, interrupting normal sleep patterns. So, we were up at half-past seven to begin the day, and despite that it was Saturday decided we'd head for the Rattlesnake summit for a hike.

A pleasant drive took us to the parking lots and we shouldn't have been surprised to find it took patience to find a parking spot, and then only when an earlier hiking party had come down off the mountain and vacated the spot we were grateful to take. Jack is always on the lead, pulling ahead, with me holding his leash. Jillie is content to follow and her brother kept us climbing steadily, so we made fairly good time though of course others passed us in either direction on a regular basis. It wasn't quite Grand Central Station but a reasonable facsimile given its location. But those just represent occasions when there are pleasant interludes of greeting others -- unless one comes across Bostonians and they tend not to be gracious about acknowledging the presence of others, belying hiking manners.

At the top we veered off first to the lookout, then to the summit. At the lookout we found a pair of young women to whom we had previously mentioned the lookout as we had stopped to chat, as having a peerless view, and they'd taken our advice to see it. There too was just another couple, an older pair though nowhere near as ancient as we. Contrasted to the summit which fairly teemed with people looking out over the lake below, perched on the rockface, having snacks, children running about. We didn't stay very long before beginning our descent.

We heard the sweet trill of a thrush and then robins and an oven bird in the forest as we descended. this trail too has an abundance of oaks, yellow birch, hemlock and on the forest floor at the verges of the trail, lilies of the valley in bloom. It was a sunny, breezy 70F degrees, so the mosquitoes, usually a nuisance there, weren't too bad. We came across lots of dogs and families with small children in tow. A pleasant diversion for us, appreciating our natural surroundings, before spending the balance of the day in other pursuits that beckon us there.

We discovered a group antique shop (heavy on the collectibles as per usual) in Laconia. Jack and Jill behaved themselves extremely well under the circumstances, those circumstances being their continuing introduction to the larger world of curiosities.

Friday, June 5th, the day of our 60th wedding anniversary seemed like a perfect time, given the unusually clement weather in the mountains, to try for the Welsh-Dickey ledge. There was a time and it didn't seem all that long ago that we would never give it a second thought, that we would aspire to the entire circuit; having reached the ledge we would nonchalantly push on to the summit of Welsh, a relatively modest height, dip into the col connecting it to Dickey, forge on to the greater (not by much) height of the twin mountain, to make our exhilarating way down the rocky-faced slopes well above the treeline, of Dickey, and on into the dark, cool forest beyond, for the finished trek.

We first did that twin ascent with our teen-age children decades ago, and last did it with our teen-age granddaughter much later in time. Since then, we've aspired to no more than ascending to the lookout. We -- and in particular, me -- no longer have the stamina, the endurance, the physical energy to mount both peaks.

We might be able to do them, and probably still could, taking our time. But we would be hampered by our concern for the well-being of our two little dogs, hovering on eight months of age, for whom some of the approaches on Welsh would represent a hazard, and for whom we would have to expend both energy and foresight in aiding them physically to clear heights larger dogs would have no problems with. And, of course, they would be on the leash. Button never had to be, although we did keep Riley leashed, so we could respond if he got into trouble, and to keep him out of trouble to begin with.

The opportunity for accidents seem sobering to us beyond the attraction of continuing on, though in all likelihood they would be equal to the physical exertion required. Button always was, and Riley proved to be, as well, in their younger years. But then, we were younger too, and the additional exertion required to physically tend to them represented no hardship to us, back then.

This time Irving decided he'd take the backpack. The high for the day was to be 70F degrees and there was a bit of a wind along with a 20% chance of afternoon rain. Jack and Jill were excellent on the ascent, eager to pull ahead. The water level of the mountain stream alongside was higher than usual, but we forded the cross-stream with little trouble, bounding from rock to rock, above the water. The stream parallels the climb for a short distance, then veers off. We saw four pink Ladies Slippers beside the trail, never having seen them before, on that trail, so that was an extra visual treat. They were up at the approaches to the ledge.

There are tons of dogwood in the forest, lots of hemlock, beech, maple, moose maple and spruce. It was overcast and cool. The trail is well laddered with rocks and tree roots. Up on the ledge we felt pretty warm. And the black flies up there were murderously nuisance-prone. This year the fenced-off portions of the alpine growth areas have been vastly expanded over the previous years, with signage asking people to avoid treading on the delicate lichens and alpine plants. The black flies ensured we didn't linger there other than to give the puppies water and dog treats. We did come across an older couple, maybe in their early 60s climbing behind us. Hiking was new to them, old hat to us, and we stayed awhile, talking companionably.

Other than that couple there were plenty of younger people descending and ascending, passing by us with the alacrity of youthful vigour. Friendliness is the standard, the order of the day, any day, in the hiking community. The ascent and the descent took us about two and a half hours. Decades ago the entire circuit would have taken us that same time to complete. In fact, one young couple who had passed us on the ascent, descended from their circuit at the same time we did our truncated one.

Our first full day at the cottage in the Waterville Valley on June 4th saw us getting up a little earlier than we normally would, but we were anxious to begin our adventure, to get the puppies out and start the day. Despite which, we took our time with everything, since after all, we had plenty of time. The morning was heavily overcast and cool.

We decided after breakfast to head out to one of our favourite trails at Smarts Brook, and to do the complete circuit, which took us two and a half hours to complete, moving at a fairly steady clip. As we proceeded the sky cleared and the day began warming up. The first part of the trail passes through a rocky gorge with a mountain stream -- Smarts Brook -- rippling, raging and running through it, the water clear as a mountain stream should be, gurgling and fuming and sparkling in the light from above.

Over time great boulders have fallen from the slopes above to rest in various places throughout the forest and many of them lie steadfast on the floor of the brook itself, posing as restraints forcing the water streaming down from above to find its way around, up, through and triumphantly over the streambed and the boulders littering it. On its way downstream the roar of the water falling is orchestral-dramatic.

The forest at that point, as it is throughout much of the Waterville Valley, is heavy with hemlock, yellow birch, spruce, maple, oak and pines, with a thick understory of dogwood. The dogwood had obviously finished flowering the week before we arrived. And there was also spent trilliums which had seen their day, and lilies-of-the-valley in flower, dangling their little white bells. As we ascended we gradually swerved away from the brook, and silence reigned but for the clear call of a robin.

Ladies Slipper

At the pinnacle of that trail there is a large flat area, the pine flats, that stretches for a short distance. The first time we had come across it years ago it had been recently logged out and looked quite miserable; it has since grown in with mostly pine and spruce and hemlock. It is also where, years later, we saw an abundance of Ladies Slippers in shades of pink, but this year there was a lamentable paucity of them; we saw only a few, but did see many straw lilies in flower; they share similar foliage but the floral offerings are nothing alike.

Straw Lily

From there we dip into a denser forest, always humid with plenty of moss and lichen. The trail was damp as it always presents itself, and a series of ascents and descents eventually took us closer to the brook again, and another broad albeit not very deep waterfall, one my husband painted a landscape scene of, many years ago. For Jack and Jill every part of the trail was a new adventure, and they sniffed with huge curiosity to be satisfied constantly. Jill tends to stay on the trail, while her brother has a tendency to try to be frenetically everywhere at once.

Bunchberry (ground dogwood)

Once out of the dense inner forested portion of the trail, we proceeded onto the Yellowjacket Trail, and that part resembles an old cart track, it is more open, the trail wide and the flora different with a profusion of various types of ferns, lots of straw lilies and violets, and minuscule micro-landscapes comprised of 'ponds' surrounded by luxuriant mosses in flower and the presence of frogs. Ostrich ferns have colonized a small portion of the trail, and bunchberry was also in flower. Yellow Admirals tend always to be seen in that part of the trail.

Neither of the two cottages we usually rent for a week in the spring and another in the fall was available this time around; both had been rented on a long-term basis. So we chose another that we have used in the past. It is actually one that I prefer with its larger kitchen working area and more spacious feel than the other two. And it worked perfectly for us this time around, since it has a large screen-enclosed porch that was very useful in accommodating the hijinks of Jack and Jill, providing them with even more space to romp about unencumbered by harness and leash since they aren't mature enough yet to trust off leash in the out-of-doors.

You'd think the older we get the wiser, in terms of not trucking along all manner of extra gear for a mere one-week stay away from home in a vacation and wilderness area, but it just isn't the case with us. To feel comfortable entirely we take along all manner of things that more sensible people wouldn't dream of encumbering themselves with. So that packing and unpacking becomes a real trial. I keep saying we'd no longer burden ourselves with so much gear, but saying isn't doing...

When we left home we'd tried to leave earlier than usual, and also took the new Highway 30 bypass so we wouldn't have to enter Montreal on our way to New Hampshire. Despite that, we still arrived at three in the afternoon. The drive was pleasant and uneventful, the weather cooperating wonderfully well. We made our usual stop just over the border at the Vermont rest station, where we had our brunch and walked the puppies about a bit, before heading back our to our destination.

The drive through the Franconia Notch was as spectacular as usual and this time the summits of the surrounding mountains were not encased in opaque fog. Mount Lafayette looms beyond Eagle's Cliff as majestically as ever, leaving us in wonder that we climbed the mountain with our children so long ago, and climbed to Eagle's Cliff itself on several occasions even earlier before going beyond to the summit.

From that point the drive to the cottage is fairly close, no more than an hour. We arrived to be embraced by Donna and Byron and gave them the bags of books my husband had hunted down to gift them with; large and colourful coffee-table-sized railroad books for Byron, a railroad aficionado, and crime novels by a particular author for Donna.

We unpacked our belongings into the cottage, then set off as usual for the Hannaford supermarket to do the grocery shopping to last us through the week. Hannaford shoppers are accustomed to seeing dogs in their store and they greet the presence of dogs with great interest and joy. As was the case with us over the years, being able to take our little fellows in with us ensconced in their carry bags placed on the child seats of the shopping carts.

Jack and Jill took readily to their temporary new surroundings, exploring wherever they could, and soon becoming accustomed to the green space that beckoned them first thing every morning, throughout the day when we weren't out hiking or looking about the area, and last thing at night before turning in to sleep soundly, worn from the day's activities.

A brief change in environment is always interesting. It's nothing short of fun to return to places one visits on occasion that have good memories behind them. And then to embark on yet another small adventure of re-acquainting oneself with a landscape that is truly remarkable. It's why we return year after year to the Waterville Valley in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. We're no longer capable of climbing the steep mountains we once took pleasure in ascending with our children when they were teens. Since they're now all in the fifties, that is quite some time ago.

While we were in New Hampshire on our week away from home we also celebrated our 60th wedding anniversary. And managed, despite the gradual diminishing of our energy output and stamina to mount a few relatively modest trails leading to impressive lookouts.

But when the week was over, we were more than prepared to return home. We couldn't possibly ask for more sweet kindness from our hosts of the past decade and more. They're the dearest of people imaginable, and it is always a distinct pleasure to greet them again and renew that appreciated acquaintance we have built over the years. It's always like that; we enjoy a week away and then after having re-visited some of the favourite trails we're still able to traverse, we yearn to return home. And so, yesterday we did just that.

Even on the highways, seeing the grassy mediums bright with lupine and daisies, there's pleasure, let alone viewing the passing grandeur of the mountain summits with their aeries deep in enveloping cloud. And we acknowledge those peaks, as we pass, that we had once ascended and found huge pleasure on doing so.

But back home we are once again. And it never fails, the thrill of arriving back home after a week apart from the place we're most comfortable with. An inspection of the gardens, however brief, is mandatory to bring ourselves up to what we might have missed in that time away. Sure enough, the peonies are well on their way, the rhododendrons are beginning to fade, the roses are halfway to splendour, the irises are almost spent, and the lilies are coming into their own.

And when we step into the house, it all looks so oddly 'new', in the sense that everything sparkles and presents in the best possible perspective. Those transitory times away are very much anticipated, but returning home is yet another reward when we view our surroundings with a refurbished attitude of pride and belonging.

We have experienced, and continue to have on a daily basis an extraordinary amount of rainfall. No complaints, the gardens seem happy enough, and so should we be, since farmers' fields with growing crops will also welcome the rain. There are enough periods in between for some level of absorption and evaporation and it can count as compensation for our having had less rainfall and snow than usual from last fall into the winter months.

After a rain everything seems to glow. And grow exponentially as well. It is nothing short of amazing how healthy plants are advantaged by copious rain at this time of year when the drying wind which often accompanies the rain, and the appearance of the sun at regular intervals produce the perfect circumstances for the flora that surrounds us.

If a petal is beautiful in appearance because of its colour and texture and form, it becomes all the more so when it is glistening with rain, and when droplets of rain appear like jewels, glittering in the shaded light.

It is as times like this, soon after a considerable rainfall that the garden beckons, eager to show off its glorious presence and we respond with the admiration that it all deserves. Nature's faultless architecture and seasonal mysteries continue to enthrall us and always will, while it also offers us sustenance, prolonging our existence in a wonderfully interconnected world of flora and fauna -- and ourselves.

How the Internet connects us is astonishing. Who might have imagined such a communication tools just a few decades ago, when trans-Atlantic telephone calls were the sole medium aside from sending postcards to bring family and friends up to date on foreign travel episodes?

Two weeks ago our youngest son embarked from Vancouver to Spain to attend a conference where he would also be delivering a lecture/presentation. He arrived a few days before the start of the conference to do a little bit of exploration in the area on his own, though it isn't the first time he has travelled to Spain. He was there a few years ago, and remained after another conference, for a number of weeks, travelling, hiking in the mountains, visiting world-famous spots of antiquity.

Now he's back, and he'll be there this time for a month. The conference itself took up an entire week. It represented an opportunity to become re-acquainted with international colleagues, to be exposed to interesting scientific findings, to enjoy another attractive geographic site in the company of those whose life work as professional scientists bring them together regularly to share findings.

His own work as a biologist specializing in freshwater ecology has taken him to various parts of the world in the past, and while there on professional occasions, occasionally to sit on doctoral committees as well as attending conferences, he has always taken additional time to better inform himself of those areas of the world whose heritage, culture and societies are in many ways different from those he is most familiar with.

Girona, Pyrenees