It took quite some time for our inner body temperatures to return to normal, as evidenced by the perspiration that kept forming on our hairlines and dripping down our faces yesterday after our afternoon hike through the ravine trails. So hot and humid we had to stop multiple times to rehydrate Jackie and Jillie. The heat obviously convinced a lot of people that even though the temperature in the ravine is lower than out at street level it would still be too uncomfortable hiking uphill and down, exerting oneself in the process, resulting in few people about in the forest.

From yesterday's humid 30C and evening rain to today's high of 17C, quite a reversal. Last night gusts of really cold wind wafted through our bedroom window, making sleep far more comfortable than the night before. One of our neighbours told us yesterday that in Washington, D.C. where she spent some time last month, she discovered that air conditioned homes have two AC systems, one for the first floor, another for the 2nd. Efficient cooling, they call it.

With our air conditioning system, the basement is chill, the first floor tolerable, the second floor where our bedrooms are located, are far too warm. The reverse occurs in the winter, when the heating system is on. And in Washington, our neighbour told us, there are also two furnaces commonly in the homes she was talking about, doing the same thing the double AC systems do. One doesn't normally think of the city of Washington and single-family dwellings. 

And the environmental movement is so strong in the U.S. that they turn their focus not entirely benign in nature, on Canada's energy sources, campaigning to shut them down, while operating a myriad of pipelines, and burning coal in plants like nobody's business. No outrage at double furnaces and double AC systems?

Needless to say, with cooler temperature and cloudy skies (threatening rain again) our hike through the forest trails was infinitely more comfortable today. Jackie and Jillie were completely disinterested in having any slurps of cool water, though they were enthusiastic enough about doggy treats. And far more people were in evidence here and there on some of the trails, and with them their companion dogs. At times it looked like the forest belonged to dogs, there were groups accumulating in sniff-fests on the occasional trail linkages.

 

The forest wildflowers are truly in their element; all growing conditions are completely optimal and it shows, with the spread of daisies, black-eyed Susans, ragweed, flowering clover and a host of other wildflowers, including thimbleberries. Today, for the first time compass plants proliferating everywhere are now in bloom to accompany Queen Anne's lace. A symphony of colour; pink, white, purple, yellow. Enough to dazzle the eyes, even under an overcast sky mysteriously casting down a luminous glow to illuminate colour and shading in a way far different from a clear and sunny day.

At mid-evening yesterday just as dusk was melting into night, the sky and its cloud formations began to reflect the setting sun, treating us to a fiery glow on the horizon, reflecting on the clouds above. Later on with a few hours' passage, rain began heavily falling. Although we were only mere steps from the breakfast room where the sliding glass doors leading to the deck remained open in hopes of catching stray breezes on that hot, humid night, we 'forgot' about both rain and open door. Only to 'remember' hours later on the cusp of taking Jackie and Jillie out before bedtime, to discover the floor mat swimming in rainwater.

This morning there was threat of rain, but none appeared, and just as well, since the landscape had been well inundated. Which is good for all growing things, and which also meant we didn't have to concern ourselves about ensuring that the garden and garden pots were in danger of drying out. All that irrigation makes for an interesting roundabout in t he garden, though, since it has such an immediate impact on flowering plants. The clematis vines in particular respond to such ideal conditions; lots of rain and sun.

The roses have receded, the peonies long gone, lilies beginning to flower, and so are the geranium shrubs and the bright red monarda.There's a little trouble in two of the pots at the front of the house. As often happens every summer, some squirrels decide to dig in one of the garden urns of the pair fronting the porch. Some years it's the urn on the left, other years the right-hand urn. They tend to dig into the roots of whatever is planted there -- usually begonias companioned with lobelia -- and they don't survive being dug up and their roots exposed time and again.

Another flower urn that we've had problems with before has retained water from all the rain, whereas most of the urns and pots drain excess water away. In that urn the plants simply drowned, their roots rotted and  I had decided to replace both urns. Hoping I could still find annuals for sale somewhere rather than robbing Peter to pay Paul, since I had plants expendable or excess to their original placement in backyard pots.

Well, we decided on our daily hike through the ravine with Jackie and Jillie, and off we went, sagging with the humid heat as we made our way up the street toward the ravine entrance. We were quickly restored once we had the forest around us as we entered the interior, shielded from the overbearing heat of the sun and cooled by wind gusts soughing through the trees, making the atmosphere quite bearable.

As usual, Jackie and Jillie met up with a few of their friends and a little party was held with doggie treats handed out all around. This was the kind of day that Jackie and Jillie who most often spurn offers for a drink, slurped avidly at water on several occasions as we stopped briefly to refresh them. We decided, before leaving the forest to make a little side-visit to the forest clearing to take in any new wildflower events, and were overwhelmed once again by the wild proliferation of black-eyed Susans.

There were more wild parsnip in evidence blooming amongst the Queen Anne's lace and the ragweed and daisies and fleabane. Nature's garden of wildflowers on full, colourful display, alongside the elderberry blossoms with their lovely sweet fragrance freshening the air.

Later, we drove over to a few rural plant nurseries in hopes that any of them might still have some annuals for sale. None did, to our disappointment since I had those ruined plants of the urns in mind, and also would have liked to pick up a few more bedding plants. As well as most things have flourished this summer, some of the annuals I planted months ago haven't done well, despite fertilizing, despite ample sun and rain. I'd almost surrendered to the fact that no one had any annuals when we stopped briefly by the garden center at Canadian Tire.

Again, perennials, shrubs and trees, but annuals there were none. Mind, just about everything looked either half dead or on their way to achieving that status. But I did find a few pots of begonias, and ended up with four pots that I judged could be resuscitated and on our return home, did a little remedial planting...

While Irving vacuums the house, when we're both busy doing the Monday house-cleaning, Jackie and Jillie are disconsolate, unable to find comfort for themselves. During the time that the upstairs is being vacuumed they settle down miserably in the family room but their favourite perches just don't seem to give them the assurance they usually do. When the vacuuming is moved downstairs they try finding comfort upstairs in our bedroom, Jackie leaping up to squash the pillows at the head of the bed, always seeking out the high ground, while Jillie splays out at the foot of the bed. 

Finally, when we've finished and the last floor has been washed and I haul myself upstairs to change from my work clothes, the two imps go berserk. Leaping around me happily -- are they happy for me that the drudgery of cleaning is done for another week? Before I've finished Irving has completed the vacuuming and he sits with them on the sofa, while I complete my portion of the clean-up. As long as he's with them they're happy and comfortable.

But the moment they see me carrying the pail of soapy water out of the kitchen (where they've been excluded, the doors closed) they abandon him and race after me. Upstairs in the bathroom, I replace the little rugs on the now-dry floor. I've done the same in the laundry room, the powder room, the foyer. Those little rugs become casualties as Jackie and Jillie race like the wind after one another, coasting on the rugs sending them flying over the floor in disarray. Something else for me to clean up afterward.

They're beside themselves with excitement: what's next! Why, preparations for our ravine hike, that's what! The sky's former blue with wispy white clouds has become aggressive with dishrag grey clouds and in the distance, huge billowing charcoal grey clouds; does that look in the distance like a curtain of rain falling out of those threatening clouds? Could be.

We wrap rainjackets around our waists on this hot day before setting off, tucking little ones for the puppies in our pockets. At first there's no breeze, the air still and heavy with moisture, the sun beaming through a light cloud cover, darker clouds approaching. There is relief from the heat once we're in the forest. And while Jackie and Jillie plunge into the ravine before we do, they're barking furiously. There's a group of young teens with bicycles parked beside the bridge on the right and a lot of shouting back and forth between the young people.

We take the trail to the left and ford the bridge on the left; all is quiet, signs of dogs having spurted up another hill we begin to ascend are there, with big wet splotches leading from the creek up the hilly trail. We rise to the main trail on the spine of the ravine and meet up with a woman and her two dogs, retriever mixes happy for a little distraction gained in the company of our two. Cookies are dispensed all around. Along comes another regular hiker with her two dogs and a brief brouhaha ensues; it seems as though there are dogs everywhere because of the constant movement.

Finally, approaching the last bridge on today's tour, we can see in the distance as we descend another hill the bright yellow spread of the black-eyed Susans ahead on the opposite bank of the creek. They're magnificent in their radiance under the sun's influence but too distant for my camera to capture the brilliance of their presence. In short order we approach the last bridge and there about six or seven boys are milling about, their bicycles left in the tall grasses, the boys excitedly discussing something between themselves.

We discover what the excitement is about when we cross the bridge and encounter two other boys sullenly departing the bridge, shouting something out to their waiting companions. And there, at the end of the bridge are  two of our neighbours, one of them picking up small bright-coloured balls. The boys have been shooting pellet guns, the plastic bits littering the bridge, the forest floor. Our neighbours had been lecturing the boys on the harm the plastic bits do to the wildlife. Their faces just closed up in disinterested defiance at the lecture as though to say they have to listen to their parents criticizing them all the time; they don't have to stand and take it from complete strangers.

These cool, fresh mornings are just perfect for wandering about the backyard. When we  slide the glass doors to the deck open, Jackie and Jillie zip out like lightning yipping frantically as they disappear down the stairs and into the garden. On the run to see who they can intercept; chipmunks and squirrels, even birds that make their home in a transitory way, in the garden. They can disappear before our two little dogs comprehend where it is they've gone to. They're quite incorrigible about it, though we keep telling them to leave the little fellows alone. It's hard to say whether it's the excitement of the chase or an aggressive entitlement to 'their' territory that gets them going.

It takes a moment, however, for things to get quietly serene, the puppies nosing about here and there sniffing out messages, and the squirrels to ignore our importuning little devils. Leaving us free to wander about here and there, though the actual 'wandering' is limited to the square footage of a very small backyard. Small it may be, but there's a lot squeezed into it, from trees and shrubs to statuary and garden sheds and garden pots filled with flowers alongside flowerbeds. 

Over the years it's grown in and over, necessitating cut-backs here and there time and again. Just as well we're not meticulous about anything. At times we seem overrun by the sheer exuberance of the vegetation.  There was a time when it seemed that apart from early spring planting there wasn't all that much to do in garden maintenance. That is no longer true; there's plenty to do to keep from becoming completely engulfed in runaway spurts of green growth. Euonymus that sends its creeping fingers into the slots between the  house siding, for example, and shoving into nearby hostas and Ladies Mantle.

The monarda is now in flower, strange looking flowers but beautiful, in bright red, dominating one end of the backyard where earlier the cranesbill geranium and mountain bluet had celebrated their time in the sun. One of our clematis vines that had died back last summer just before it was going to bloom and I thought for certain it was a goner, has renewed itself with vigour this year, and now boasts large bright red flowers. 

In the afternoon we went off to the ravine with Jackie and Jillie, and the temperature was just perfect at 23C, with a nice breeze under a cerulean sky, with the occasional puffy white cloud formation. After all the rain we had in the past several weeks the forest has dried out very well, but the rain hastened the bloom of wildflowers earlier than we would consider normal for black eyed susans, yarrow and Queen Anne's lace.

We met up with a ravine friend who informed us that one day last week he had come upon a downed hawk's nest. We'd had two days of really robust wind gusts and as sturdy as that nest was built with care by the parent hawks, it was no match, evidently, for the wild wind gusts. It appeared that the parents had flown off and most of the fledglings obviously did as well, but for one little fellow not as well developed as its nestmates. So they collected the little bird and took it along to a bird rehabilitation centre in the west end of the city.

Our neighbour Dan was around early this morning to let us know that part of the fence between us collapsed. It's over 30 years old, and has gone the way of all structures. He and his son Christopher will work together to replace the post that rotted through. They've got an in-ground swimming pool and the concern is that Jackie and Jillie not get through to their backyard, so Irving put up a few temporary barricades. Neither Jackie nor Jillie would voluntarily take a swim, unlike Button, our first little dog in this house who got through once when workmen were busy in Dan's backyard installing something and had opened a gate and left it open. Leaping into the pool was no problem, getting out of it was and she had to be rescued. Button adored water, at any opportunity if we were canoeing she'd leap into the lake, then scramble with my help back into the canoe.

It's Saturday and a true day of leisure for us. But who needs leisure at this point in our lives? We found plenty to do. Irving started off with replacing the fluorescent light in the basement 'recreation room' that had been out for about a year. One-half of the large room was well lit, the other dim, and it was hard to get used to. But now that we can access a hardware store, Irving's catching up on all kinds of little things that have to be done in the house.

We both decided we'd do some gardening today; nothing spectacular, just more or less routine tidying up. With an elderly garden of mature trees, shrubs, perennials, there is always the need to tidy up. First, though, Jackie and Jillie reminded us that they were expecting a turn in the ravine. And so off we went with them. Jackie had refused breakfast this morning as he sometimes does. But knowing Irving had treats with him once we entered the forest, he let it be known that he was anxious for a treat. 

As we walked up the street to the ravine entrance, the sky captured our attention on this cool day. The most beautiful wide-sweeping collection of puffy clouds interrupted here and there by the wind bursting the bubbles of clouds and sending them sweeping away, the blue sky backgrounding everything, the sun beaming its life-giving rays on the landscape.

Because it's the weekend there were people on bicycles, courteous and careful around walkers with dogs. The trails were still fairly empty of other hikers, though. Jackie and Jillie made contact with a Doodle-type breed, a distant cousin, much larger than they, but same colour and conformation. They had a brief chat with the obligatory self-introductory smellathon, promised to meet again same time same place another day and went their separate ways.

We noted that the Pilotweed is beginning to bloom now, alongside the banks of the creek. This year as never before that we can recall, vegetation has surpassed itself, growing larger, more prolific, flowering earlier than expected, and we see this both in the garden and in the forest. Usually we see very small fleabane plants with single or double flowers whereas this year the plants are numerous, rising to my own height in great bunches with dozens of flowers. They're the most charming little flowers like miniature daisies but mostly pale pink with yellow centres, unlike daisies.

Back home again Jackie and Jillie got their little afternoon salad of diced tomato, cucumber, bell pepper and snap peas, and Irving and I went outdoors to begin cutting back, tying up, deadheading. An hour and a half later, a time frame matching our rounds in the ravine, we were finished and ready to relax. I've decided to make a mushroom-potato cream soup for dinner today for a change, and we'll have sandwiches along with the soup, and cherries for dessert.

Good news for us this morning. Our oldest son called to let us know they're heading out finally to Nova Scotia, to spend some time with his mother-in-law, still living in her rural farmhouse on her own, now 90 years of age. They'll stop in with us for a bit before driving out to Truro, then spend more time with us on their way back to Toronto. It's been far too long that anyone has been able to go about with any degree of confidence in the jaws of the global pandemic. We're on our way to normalcy or as close an approximation as is feasible.

Busy this morning with baking. Decided to bake date squares for a change. I put the dates on to cook prior to mashing them, and then promptly forgot them, as I busied myself with the ingredients for a chicken soup, and rolled out bread dough for dinner crescents, then made up another batch of bread dough to refrigerate. I took a break to have a look at what's happening on social media and got carried away. Next thing I knew I smelled something burning.

Sure enough, the 'forgotten' dates had bubbled up over the pot lid, down the sides of the pot, onto/into the burner and made a horrible mess. The dates themselves were fine, I just had to add some cranberry juice, butter and vanilla essence, then proceed with the flour/oatmeal/sugar/butter base. And then scrub the burner of the carbonated mess that had accrued on it. Sometimes, it's all's that well that ends.

We've got another cool, mostly sunny and breezy day, just perfect for a good, long round through the forest trails. So that's where we went when I cleaned up the kitchen, tagging after Jackie and Jillie. We discovered that Yarrow is now in bloom beside one of the trails. And of course Queen Anne's lace is also beginning to bloom. Everything is so early this year it's quite unbelievable.

So early that when we stopped at one juncture close to the outtake of the ravine's creek, Irving headed right over to a patch of raspberry canes directly in the sun where he had found some ripe berries last week. More ripe berries today, and Jackie and Jillie were beside themselves with joy over those bright red little jewels of taste-sensation.

We had earlier come across a group of teens on bicycles heading for a part of the trail system we know well and tend to bypass. Asking if they're familiar with the trail, which they weren't, Irving discouraged them from taking it, recommending they stay on the main trail and then make their way over to another trail which is challenging enough, but doable, and they took his advice. Had they continued where they had tentatively headed, they would have been forced to return to where they stood then, the course they decided on far too difficult, the terrain extremely rough and sharply hilly, the ascents and descents at a steeply difficult angle for bicycles.

Continuing along close to the creek on our return trip our eyes literally boggled at the sight of Black-eyed Susans spread out on the opposite, unapproachable side of the waterway. In the past several years wildflowers have proliferated wildly, the result of some necessary deforestation in that particular sloped area where remedial work was carried out after the ravine hillside collapses. Trees were replanted and normal regeneration of trees like poplars has begun, but in the interim there are clear spaces where ground vegetation has soared.

And there a wide profusion of wildflowers grow, some in bloom, some later to bloom as summer advances. In the meantime, there are so many huge stands of Black-eyes Susans, daisies, henbane, clover, ragweed, nettle... Some of the plants, the ragweed, nettle and Black-eyes Susans have grown to my height and more. Irving took a photograph of me standing in a group of Black-eyes Susans, but the flowers go on and on and on as far as the eye can see.

July 1st, Canada Day. A time to celebrate the nation whose current prime minister doesn't believe it is among the finest countries in the world. It  may not have started out that way, but over the years it has achieved that status. My parents were children in their early teens when they arrived as refugees; my father alone, picked up on the street of Warsaw, an orphan sent along with other street children by a Jewish philanthropic society to a new life in Canada. He started that new life as an indentured farmhand not far from Toronto, until he paid off his passage, then struck out on his own.

My mother, at age 12, arrived with her older sisters to begin their new lives in Canada, leaving the Pale of Settlement in Russia, as a result of the upheaval during the Russian revolution between the White and the Red factions; imperialists versus 'socialists'. Her older brother, a supporter of the Reds, was the target of a bomb thrown into their home one day, killing father and brother, wounding all others. My parents met through membership in a social club, married, and by 1936 their first child was born, and that child was me.

Though young when they arrived in Canada, neither attended school, both went immediately to work in factories, my father at Fashion Hat & Cap in central Toronto, my mother on Spadina Avenue, at  a garment factory. When I was 13 my mother took me to that same factory when summer arrived and school was out, to earn something to help the family. My formal education stopped after Grade 10, again to find work to help support the family.

In the intervening years we understood quite clearly how fortunate we were to live in Canada, far from the Europe that became Nazi-occupied busily rounding up its Jews to be sent to slave-labour camps, concentration camps, death camps. At a too-young age I learned how Jews were perceived in society and to keep my identity as a Jew out of sight. Even so, neighbourhood people knew, and their children often shouted after me: "Christ killer!". At too-young an age I discovered something unspeakably horrible was happening to my people on the far-off continent of Europe. 

All these years later, we live in a country that nurtured us, gave us opportunities to become educated, to dream about our futures, to find one another, to raise families and to appreciate life while mourning the horrors of the recent past. A country whose possibilities enabled us to prosper in every sense of the word and however the imagination might roam. 

Today we roamed in familiar territory, located close to where we live in a comfortable home, enjoying the pleasures of living well, not worrying about our safety, or the ability to put food on the table, where we are surrounded by neighbours whose own backgrounds reflect countless origins, cultures, languages and experiences. They too, like us, live comfortable lives, and like us are fortunate to be able to do so.

This country has its own background of discrimination and oppression reflecting the tenor of the times. None of which will disappear entirely because suspicion of the other is endemic and ingrained in humanity. But there are standards and values and a general acceptance of accountability and accommodation of others. There will always be social misfits in any society and Canada has its share. Which does nothing to diminish our confidence in the country and its mission as a nation to be all that it can to those within and responsible in part for the well-being to those without.