Last Thursday, the third day after our arrival in the Waterville Valley, New Hampshire, the weather turned dramatically from cool and wet to warm and dry, and we could hardly believe the blue sky that greeted us in the morning. Clearly, nature has her own ideas about how she will present despite the conceit that those who study weather patterns and predict weather-days well in advance of what nature prepares to advise her elements.

We decided to make the drive over to Rattlesnake Mountain, the one mountain now accessible to us in our elder years. It's a pleasant drive to get there, bypassing Center Harbour to Holderness, to take the long meandering drive into the forested region, skirting Squam Lake. The parking area held only a few vehicles as we pulled in at about half-past ten. The parking area across the highway was empty. We didn't actually expect to see many people taking the trail to access the top of the mountain, since it was a week-day.

But we had forgotten how popular a trail it is simply because it is such a relatively easy climb at just under 1,300 feet elevation for a very nice view. It's popular both with the locals and with tourists. It is such a favourite destination that we once came across a wedding procession trudging up the rocky, root-riven slope, the bride in full white bridal gear, wearing hiking boots, attendants in tuxes, determined to make this a unique event. It was the year we had our granddaughter with us, and she wasn't impressed, at age thirteen.

We were informed by someone living locally that she had once reached the top to find a full band playing up there. On this day, however, we took our time doing the climb, and so did our two little dogs. The parking lot may not have been full when we arrived, but obviously people kept arriving, since people kept coming up behind us, more than were passing in the opposite direction, descending from the top.

Any time another dog came along our two awful little dogs became barking-hysterical; most embarrassing. Generally people are very forgiving, thank heavens. We plodded along up the slope determined to reach our destination, knowing nice and easy does it. We did see other older people and some who were fairly unfit in appearance, quite overweight, making the climb. I have no idea if any others our age were among them, since most people tend to look older than their years.

We did decide, when we reached the point where the path divided, left and right, to turn right. Left takes one a few hundred yards on to the mountain top, a wide expanse of granite with stunted pines and some alpine growth fringing it. Standing there (or sitting, as the case may be) one looks down upon Squam Lake. Not a spectacular view from an imposing height by any means, but respectable enough.

We decided this time around to bypass the immensely popular 'top', given the unexpectedly heavy traffic, and to take the right-hand path to take us to the stony outcrop that is the lookout. We're familiar with both, after years of hiking there. And we happen to enjoy the lookout, not only for its beautiful aspect and presentation, but for the fact that most people are unaware of its existence. And we found no one else there, on this hike.

So we sat around awhile, refreshed our two little canine companions with water and doggy treats, took photographs, discussed how well our trip had proceeded thus far, and eventually decided to carry on back down. The hike up took us approximately a half-hour of dogged (oops!) concentration, while the descent took slightly shorter. The thing of it is, this time we found the trail, as a result of the continuous rain the region has had, very boggy in many places.

When we first began coming around this site it was to climb the more ambitious heights; (West) Rattlesnake was just a little pleasant diversion. And at that time, decades ago, one climbed the natural slope. Many years later the hiking trail was 'improved' with the addition of 'steps' made out of logs and stones, and those steps are a major irritant, far more difficult to use than the natural slope itself.

The forest on either side of the trail is very pleasant, and often one hears robins and thrushes singing from tree tops. Often other winged creatures are present, as they were this time; both mosquitoes and black flies. Red oak and pine and hemlock and yellow birch seem to predominate. We don't find the wide range of wildflowers there that we do on hikes elsewhere in the White Mountain range.

When we reached the parking lot and prepared to leave, my husband put the truck into reverse. And it slumped forward. Because of all the rain drenching the area past the point where absorption could occur, only the top inch or so of the soil appeared dry; below it the ground is saturated. And that saturated ground held the truck in thrall. It looked as though we would need help leaving that parking space. The back wheels spun and dug deep into the soil as my husband tried again to back up and the truck continued to fall forward toward a ditch beyond the flat ground. Another attempt, and it worked; we were able to back out and go on our way.

Unrelenting rain and cold temperatures followed us from our departure from home, through Ontario, Quebec, Vermont and New Hampshire. Clearly, a geographically large weather system. Throughout the day and all through the succeeding night, rain fell in copious amounts.

When we arrived at the cottage we had rented for the week, we first unpacked and then went out to do grocery shopping, to sustain us for the week in our chosen jumping-off spot in the Waterville Valley where we had access to old, familiar trails. From the cottage we look beyond in one direction to the forest behind, and in the opposite to mountains. Spectacular sunsets can be seen from that vantage.

In the morning we were relieved to note that the rain had eased considerably. The sky was now merely dripping. We set out after breakfast for our favourite area hike, Smartsbrook. On the way stopping for our permit to access the sites we had come down to see from the National Forestry Service. By the time we reached the trail and parked the rain had stopped, but it was still cold, and jackets were needed.

Off we went, our two puppies, Jack and Jill anxious to get on with things, sniffing the new terrain, overwhelmed by the fragrance of the woods, the pounding of the mountain stream over the boulders littering the streambed. A thrush sang nearby, likely perched on a tree mast, the sweet notes of its trill adding to the pleasure of our being among trees thriving with the excess of this spring's rainy season, heavy with mosses and lichens on their trunks.

The forest floor had the remnants of trilliums long past their flowering, but gigantic in size, the largest we've ever seen. We saw plenty of straw lilies in bloom but we were anxious to see if our trip this year coincided with the flowering of the Ladies Slipper orchids. Dogwood, which predominate along with Moose maple in the understory of the forest there had already bloomed.

 Most of the forests in this region are heavy with hemlock and yellow birch, some of which grow to venerable size, although what we see is most likely a third or even fourth growth; the predecessors long since logged out as a valuable resource for the State of New Hampshire. There is also spruce, pine and fir, along with maples and oaks, a nice mix of deciduous and coniferous trees. The forest floor welcomes the presence of vast multitudes of saplings.

The mountain stream was swollen with runoff from the mountainsides, heavily augmented by yesterday's constant rainfall. The entire forest landscape virtually thrummed with brilliant greens, foliage accentuated in colour by the drenching it had received. Parts of the trail were boggy, reflecting that inundation, but it was such a beautiful day we decided to forge on and hike the circuit that would take us hours to complete.

Like any other trail in the mountainous region of the White Mountain National Forest, there were continuous ascents and matching descents. We took our time, and the time it took us to complete the circuit was close to three hours. Mosquitoes and black flies were tolerable. The presence of Yellow Admirals flitting among the tree branches added to the overall beauty of the site.

On what we call the 'opposite' side of the trail we found bunchberry blooming in abundance, along with violets and woodcress, ferns and buttercups. It's a vigorous but physically tolerable hike for us two 80-year-olds and our little dogs, leaving us with a sense of accomplishment as we exited the trail.

It was early but not too early when we left for our week away in New Hampshire. We'd packed insanely, as we usually do, and my husband had loaded up the truck partially with all the stuff we were taking along with us. The new cap he'd ordered for his truck makes him feel more secure about everything tucked away into it.

It was cool and it was wet. Raining, as usual. The last peek I took online at the ten-day weather forecast for the Waterville Valley didn't look promising. But it often rains while we're down there, and we seldom miss a planned forest walk, despite the rain. Since our hikes are always in forested areas, the tree canopies do a fairly good job of keeping us reasonably dry, and we always have rain gear along with us, in any event.

The light rain that was watering everything as we departed from home soon turned to heavy rain. And it was heavy rain that pervaded the atmosphere for the six hours we were on the road. We often enough, doing that trip, as we have over many years, encountered rainy conditions. So apart from the distance and traffic, there's rain to contend with.

We bypassed Montreal, using the new highway, more than pleased to pay the bridge tolls to avoid the heavy traffic that Montreal always hosts. And when we reached the Derby Line crossing into Vermont, it was still raining. The U.S. Customs/Immigration officer was decently courteous unlike many we've come across and we were soon off again.

A few miles down the road took us to the Vermont rest stop that we usually make use of. But since it was raining, although by then lightly, we took our puppies for a stroll along the grass to enable them to relieve themselves, but decided it would be nothing if not unpleasant to sit at one of the picnic tables to eat our brunch. So that was done sitting in the truck, with Jack and Jill beside us, sharing everything but tea and coffee.

They will eat clementines and bananas, and will never refuse as many bites of rye bread and sliced chicken as they can manage to wheedle from us. From the rest stop it takes about an hour and a half to reach the cottage we had reserved for the week. Halfway there, we drive through Franconia Notch. And by then the rain had notched up again and was falling hard once more. Which doesn't make for great sightings.

Clouds were hitched to the mountain summits and not going anywhere before dropping their loads.

During the winter months I tuck thoughts of the garden away carefully in my mind in some obscure corner which I seldom reach into until the time that spring is nigh. But during those winter months, say around early March, I begin to collect eggshells. I could, of course, buy diatomaceous earth which would accomplish the same thing I plan for eggshells. Which is to keep my prized hostas out of the nasty little stomachs of snails.

I collect eggshells for that purpose; their sharp edges deter the snails since they can be destructive on their soft bodies. I wash the eggshells with warm water, allow them to dry, and then pound them into tiny shards and by the time I'm ready to use them, around late April, I'll have amassed quite a store, since we use quite a lot of eggs in our kitchen.

When the time is right, once the hostas have begun rousing themselves from their winter sleep, I scatter eggshells around them to deter the snails and preserve the foliage. I need quite a few eggshells since we have quite a few hostas of all sizes, shapes, colour and texture because they add so much to the garden. They are, in fact, our favourite plant.

This morning when I was out in the backyard first thing, my eyes were drawn to the largest of our hostas, a venerable plant of great size. I realized that something was feasting on the leaves, and it wasn't insects, bugs or beetles, much less snails. there were obvious marks of an animal enjoying a salad and the conclusion is that it must be rabbits. So I won't attempt to do anything about it. I have no wish to interfere with a rabbit enjoying a daily salad. I just hope the little fellow isn't harbouring ambitions to widen its smorgasbord of easy-to-get greens because I would be rather less than pleased to see other hostas being devoured, they're such a mainstay of our gardens.

But it's unlikely. If the rabbit (or rabbits) tend to frequent the backyard (we've seen them more often there than at the front of the house) they're unlikely (I think) to venture to the front to explore what else is on offer. Sigh.

It was so cool and windy yesterday we needed wind-breaking, warm jackets for our ravine walk. And in the evening we were thankful to have the fireplace blazing away, warming up the family room, as we relaxed after dinner. Although there was an all-day threat of rain, we had only a light sprinkle in the morning. With all this rain, we're spared, at the very least, from having to water anything. Even the garden pots are bright and perky, their soil nice and damp.

The ravine, needless to say, is somewhat more than damp. But we had no rain today and the sun comes out occasionally and it's warmer than yesterday, though still with a wind brisk enough to keep mosquitoes away, and we needed only very light jackets.

All this rain has been a bonus for everything green in the ravine, little doubt about that. Everything is growing and maturing at a phenomenal rate. The bracken in the underbrush is fresh and bright and has achieved quite a height. New sumacs are popping up everywhere; they reach their climax of age and growth quite quickly; not a long-lived understory tree at all.

And the dogwoods are sending out their compound flowers in a frenzy of bloom. Also, we're finally seeing fungal growth, like shelf fungus in particular, growing  from decaying  tree trunks. Their patterns are beautiful, as though copying faithfully the pattern of the wood itself; perhaps not surprising since that's their existential source of energy.

Come to think of it, what we're experiencing altogether is perfect hiking weather. In the forest there's a perpetual dusky appearance given the full foliage of the forest canopy is resistant to full sun penetration, a kind of twilight atmosphere prevailing that is both wistful and beautiful. It's the kind of light, like what pervades after a heavy rain, where colours seem to intensify, the verdant atmosphere taking on a strange, living glow, captivating and mysterious.

Our area has broken all previous weather records substantially, not by a little, but by a lot, for example twice as much rain has fallen since March 1st of this year and for the succeeding months toward June than has normally fallen in other years. And those years, dating back to around 1939 that had whopping rainfalls, still come long short of what we've received in April and May of this year.

So little wonder, the first hill of the ravine behind the street we live on has slumped, creating landslides some of which areas have threatened the stability of homes built, in retrospect, too close to the ravine, for which building permits were given by the municipality. Now, work to remedy the situation has been ongoing for months, and the construction crews are moving ever closer to our entrance to the ravine.

Which we keep accessing despite that a number of restraining 'gates' have been put up to keep people out, for fear of danger. We slip around and beyond those restraints and access our usual trails. Entrances in other parts of the ravine, through streets in the community, quite distant from where our street is, many of them, remain accessible, but most people accustomed as we are to hiking large circuits in the ravine have found, like us, that they've had to be resourceful in accessing alternate routes.

For us, it has meant that our circuit is somewhat more complicated and certainly takes longer, but we remain grateful that we can still gain entry to our routes. As construction moves closer,  however, we will likely have to be diverted, and walk along various streets to be able to access entrances that will offer us shorter woodland walks and much longer walks on streets simply to be able to enter the ravine from places that are under no destabilizing threat.

Meanwhile, we're seeing only the diehard trail walkers from time to time. People have been discouraged by the presence of mosquitoes, thanks to standing water on the forest floor, and the muddy conditions on the trails themselves, for the same reason, as much as by the truncated trails.

Yesterday on part of the trail we now have to take we saw a sight that really excited me. Years ago we used to see small colonies of dogwood, ground dogwood, otherwise called bunchberries. But around four years ago they suddenly presented in fewer numbers until now they're not there at all any longer. But yesterday we suddenly realized there were several bunchberries in flower beside the trail. And by several I mean only two discrete plants, not the bunches we used to see. But it's nice to see them and we can only hope they'll begin to proliferate in this new location.

We had thought that we'd been through wet times in the ravine at the time of transition into spring from winter when warmer temperatures were causing the snowpack and accumulated ice to melt in a rush, transforming the creek into a raging torrent, and the woodland trails into muddy tracks, while the forest floor resembled exotic swampland.

And it's true that the ravine dried up as it always does once spring finally arrives, but then the rains began. Not the sweet-tempered rain of the usual April showers, but unrelenting downpours, day after day, from mid-April into the month of May. The full month of May, as it happens, when April rains are traditionally the introduction to the first of the May flowers.

The rain continues, interspersed with sunny days, so we haven't too much to complain about, unless you're one of the many who experienced flooding and had to evacuate your home, or like a few of our neighbours whose houses back onto the ravine whose slopes had melted away into gigantic slumps causing the city to bring in engineering and construction companies to figure out how to stop the deterioration, while the families of those affected houses have also had to evacuate until such time as it is judged safe for their return.

Yesterday's ravine walk for us followed more all-day rains, particularly Monday when the rain was ferociously driven by winds determined to penetrate anywhere they could. What we discovered during yesterday's woodland ramble was that the situation on the ground had reverted to what we experienced in early spring, and gone beyond that point; hugely unusual.

Now that the bracken has arisen from its slumber and the forest floor is once again green, the presence of various types of ferns filling up the blanks, with the appearance of large pools of water the landscape has really taken on the look of a bog.

Still, though trudging through deep mud in some places on the trails, we were happy to discover the honeysuckles in full bloom with their white or pink flowers covering the otherwise-undistinguished shrubs, and dogwood as well, in full flower.