There are mornings when Jackie is just disinterested in having his breakfast. And that distresses us. It's a sign that not all is well with the little fellow, despite that he's perky and playful and wants attention and behaves normally in other respects. There are no mornings, none whatever, when Jillie is disinclined to eat. If she ever feels under-the-weather it would be difficult to discern; she is ready and eager to eat -- anything at any time -- it's just her way.

 

Because she's such a chunky little dog, I try to see that she gets less to eat than her brother, despite her robust appetite. She weighs a good 20% more than he does. Typically his meals are slightly larger than hers. When he finishes his meals he has no appetite for anything more. When she polishes off hers in half the time that he takes, she's raring to go for more.

 

None of their meals are exactly straightforward to begin with.  Pre-breakfast they eat little, very little, pieces of cheese. For breakfast they have kibble, over the kibble tiny pieces of melon to 'soften' the kibble, and a sprinkling of cooked chicken to enliven the taste for them. If Irving is having soft-boiled eggs for breakfast I hard-boil an egg to halve it between them, well chopped up. If he's having scrambled eggs, an egg is scrambled for them as well.

 

When we return from our afternoon hike through the forest trails in the ravine which takes us typically around an hour and a half, they get a little salad of chopped cucumber, bell pepper and tomato. In the evening they have kibble again moistened with chicken soup and more chicken sprinkled on top. But it's the second course they're really interested in; cauliflower, broccoli, bell pepper, cucumber, tomato chopped into little bowls.

 

 

There's an assortment of very small cookies or doggie treats that Irving always has on hand when we're out in the ravine. Two each will end up with Jackie and Jillie throughout the course of our tramp through the woods, and the remainder go to other dogs we happen to come across on the trails. Jackie is taller than his sister and lean and muscular. Jillie is shorter, thicker than Jackie and always cadging food at the table and despite my protests, she's rewarded with table food.

 

It's one of those 'oh well!' situations. Irving keeps promising not to give her food in addition to what they already get but doesn't abide by his promises. We're concerned about her weight but can't seem to find it in us to be as strict as we should be about her food intake. She has boundless energy; when the two begin to play-fight she's as vigorous as her brother. She's able to leap decent heights like her brother. Different metabolisms and differing personalities.

 

When we were out in the ravine this afternoon we realized we can see notable colour changes from day to day. Just as toadstools have the capacity to emerge from the soil atop decaying woody fibre ovenight, so too does the leaf mass turn swiftly from green to autumn colours. Particularly the birch, the poplars and the maples and the sumac. Hawthorns are well on their way to being leaf-nuded and the wild apple trees are quickly following suit. Oaks, hackberry and beech are laggards, but they're getting there in more ochre-tinted colours.

It's been another absolutely beautiful day of sun, wind and down-drifting leaves. In some areas the forest floor resembles a treasure chest of crisply-coloured gems. The forest pines are also driven to surrendering their dead needles to the array of deciduous trees abandoning their foliage, leaving a mat of orange needles thickly coating the trails.

 

 

I thought today, while I was cleaning the bathrooms anyway that I'd take a few minutes to practise my chemistry and do a little plumbing at the same time. Nothing like watching the volcanic interaction of baking soda and vinegar on a drain. I included the kitchen sink too, of course. Lots of household uses for baking soda and for vinegar, not necessarily in tandem.

I did find putting two tastes together at breakfast time a big hit, matching smoked salmon cream cheese with ripe avocado. A wicked treat on toast. My treat alone, since Irving doesn't appreciate avocado. He went for soft-boiled eggs instead and lathered his toast with Brie.

Breakfast over, he proceeded to install the door he's finished putting together. A perfect fit. Up now and awaiting the installation of a stained glass insert. It will have a long wait. A few months at the very least; likely longer. Whereas it took no more than a week to produce the door itself.

Later I cut up a pineapple; first, off with the top, then halve the pineapple and halve it again, so you've got four quarters. Slice off the inner core of each, work a curved knife between the flesh and the outer coating rind, separate them, then dice the flesh until all quarters have been thus processed. Refrigerate and serve as dessert at dinnertime.

We bought baby Bok Choy for a change yesterday when we did the food shopping. I'll use it along with snap peas, chopped bell pepper, mushrooms, onion and garlic for a stir-fry for dinner. I plan to serve it over cous-cous. I've marinated thin strips of beef in olive oil, soy sauce, garlic and mixed herbs to stir-fry separately with chopped onion and that'll be piled on top of the vegetable stir-fry.

We worked up our appetite as usual during a long ravine walk with Jackie and Jillie this afternoon on just about the most perfect fall day imaginable, full sun, 18C, with the prospect of more of the same during the rest of the week and into the week-end. There weren't many others enjoying the forest today besides us which meant that Jackie and Jillie were relatively well behaved; a minimum of excited barking.

The sun was brilliant, directly above at an angle that illuminated the forest in a sun-dappled show of light and warmth. Hard to believe a week ago we protected ourselves against 8C-and-windy cold, all of us wearing jackets. This kind of weather makes us feel really relaxed and carefree, no need to think about much, just spontaneously responding to nature's mood of kindliness.

There are still fall asters in bloom, although fading. The sea of Himalayan balsam is gone, their bright pink flowerheads no more, their red, hollow stalks fallen over and dried. In the forest pollinator meadow the black-eyed Susans are similarly devastated, with here and there amongst the crowd of desiccated stalks and the dried 'eye' of the flowers, stubborn little fresh flowers refusing to fade.

We're finding colour now instead appearing in the trees, here and there, as we lift our heads now instead of looking toward the forest floor. The general leaf mass remains vibrant green but now and again a bright patch of red reveals itself and that will intensify over the coming weeks. We do, however, look down at the forest floor still saturated from current rain events as the occasional delightful surprise reveals itself.

We've come to appreciate the presence of shapely, colourful fungi as a fall replacement for fall flowers long past their bloom time. Some of the toadstools are those conventionally seen, pale white, occasionally pale blue and not all appear really attractive. Those that are symmetrical or oddly shaped or coloured with the palette of a true artist -- which no one can argue that nature is not -- we find fascinating.

 From the incomparably beautiful hallucinogenic (and toxic) amanita muscaria to the tiny blush-orange group-spheres we came across growing out of a decaying old tree stump. The variations in size, shape, texture and colour of fungi are endlessly curious and entertaining.

 

The past week or so of cooler temperatures,high wind and heavy rain events appears to have subsided for now. We were beginning to think nature had us heading precipitously into late fall and an early winter arrival. If she had, she appears to have given it second thought, and dialled back fall slightly. It was milder this morning than it has been in mid-afternoon for the past week; not at all hard to take.

We set out earlier than usual with Jackie and Jillie for a lazy and comfortable traipse through the ravine. Before we exited our driveway my eyes were drawn to  something strange. The sight of little red 'berries' where I'd never seen them before, all over our Japanese hemlock. It's located directly beside our weeping Jade crabapple tree which is itself absolutely crammed with tiny apples. 

It's possible I had assumed with quick glances that the red berries were from branches of the crabapple reaching over into hemlock territory. So I took a closer look and realized that as many apples there were on the crabapple there was an almost corresponding number of 'berries' on the hemlock. Both were planted decades ago beside the driveway. Some research informed me that the berries weren't berries at all, but rather 'cones' that had the appearance of berries. And within them were housed hemlock seeds.

It has been a truly extraordinary year for all manner of fruit trees. Never before have we ever seen such an abundance of fruiting bodies, seed-encased bodies in any of the trees, garden or forest. In the ravine, the forest floor is completely littered with cones from pines, hemlocks (tiny cones that look like cones), fir and spruce. We first noticed the rich abundance hanging on the trees last fall. From that time forward trees have dropped their cones, enriching the forest floor.

The wild apple trees bore a generous bounty of apples this year; last year there was a decided deficit of them. There was one year, could be a decade ago when an absolute paucity of seeds and cones was in evidence, making for a very difficult winter for the area wildlife; this abundance ensures they survive with flying colours. 

We were wondering why it was this year, on the other hand, that we saw so few spring-erupting fungi. Some years a mad proliferation of colourful, interesting, fancifully-shaped mushrooms fascinated us; not this spring. So we were interested that just as the array of fall wildflowers in their usual succession were fading, turning dark and brittle, mushrooms had begun finally to appear. Many get immediately knocked over by squirrels, who also take experimental nibbles out of them, just as they do with the apples.

Jackie and Jillie pay no mind to any of this. It's the messages left by other dogs who have gone before them through the forest trails that they mostly focus on. So they're busy with their own concerns, occasionally deviating from their intense concentration on the latest 'news' conveyed through the medium of excreta. About as elemental as nature gets.

Our evening guests are most civilized and courteous. They arrive under cover of night, discreet little creatures. They come in groups, in pairs and singly. And they take turns. When one group, pair or single raccoon leaves, others take their place. There sometimes is ample time to refresh the offerings before succeeding guests make their appearance, and sometimes there isn't. But they're so accustomed to being served, they don't bother retreating when Irving makes his appearance on the porch with his peanut pail. Moving back slightly to wait under the porch bench is the usual modus operandi.

The first to arrive last night was a group of four kits. They're old enough now that they can venture out without Mama, but most often they're all together. When they eventually left it was the much younger, smaller kit who is a loner that took their place. He's the one your heart melts over. Earlier in the day yesterday when we returned from a brief foray into the ravine, Jackie chased the little rabbit that sometimes drops by; he was just leaving the porch. It's more usual to see him at night.

Irving is in the process of turning mouldings for the door he's just made, planning to install it tomorrow. Once that's done he'll turn his attention to creating a cartoon drawing of the stained glass he intends to fill the door with. But it was cleaning day, so he also turned his attention to the more immediate imperative of the house vacuuming. 

I couldn't stand the look of the porch, the walkways and patios out front of the house, after all the rain. It had washed more leaves down off the trees and tons of tiny crabapples. The porch was full of peanut skins and everything called out to be swept away. I interrupted my dusting to do just that. A cool, windy day today but no rain for a change. Mostly heavily overcast, but on those few occasions when the sun shone briefly it felt incomparably warmer especially in the backyard's microclimate, which suited Jackie and Jillie very well. As long as one of us was out with them.

The constant rain over the weekend didn't allow for any gardening and gardening clean-up. Some of the rose shrubs have gone on a cane-growing spree, but no hint of any roses beginning to bud as a farewell to this summer's growing season. They'll soon be penalized. When all the outdoor sweeping was done back into the house to do the interior; dry-mopping and floor-washing.

Patient as usual, Jackie and Jillie were relieved to finally get out into the ravine, allowing us to accompany them. Cool enough, we thought for them to wear little tee-shirts, both identifying them as 'sloppy kissers' and they certainly are that. The wind remained up at street level as we plunged our way into the ravine, on to trails thick with mud. The level of the creek is down from the past several days but still the water rushes downstream, a turbulent run-off.

When we climbed up to the heights where trails pass alongside wild apple trees, Irving scrubbed about to find a few nice ripe apples not yet taste-tested by squirrels, and shared them with Jackie and Jillie. A bit for one, a bite for the other. Sweet, he told me, and juicy. I took his word for it, no I didn't feel like eating any at that moment.

There are areas off certain trails where we know we can expect to see fungal growth in such mushroom-perfect conditions as today, and we weren't disappointed. Intact specimens of amanita muscaria, not yet nibbled or knocked asunder by squirrels. It's a mystery to us why other than sheer mischief, squirrels nibble everything; the apples, the mushrooms, then discard them. These, after all, are both psychotropic and poisonous ... but not to squirrels?

 They don't seem to be as interested in trying out the clumps of oyster mushrooms that have also come up in some abundance and these mushrooms are edible, no threat to human health, reputed to have heart-health properties, in fact. Perhaps we can deduce that squirrels are like children, whatever they'[re told is good for them is uninteresting; anything forbidden has an irresistible allure... 

The lone littlest of the raccoon kits was by himself as usual on the porch when we went up to bed last night. Jackie and Jillie had just been out in the backyard last thing, reluctantly, in the pouring rain, the positive aspect of which was their anticipation of a brisk rubdown. Moving to the front door we stood a few minutes watching the little fellow outside, and I had the brief impression that neither Jackie nor Jillie would bark, but Jackie did, and I felt a pang of regret, like kicking yourself in the backside when the little creature hurried away.

We stood vigil for a while after shooing our little miscreants upstairs to bed, but the small raccoon failed to reappear, as we thought it might, given that most often the others, reassured that there was no imminent threat, do. Irving put out a few more edibles, then followed me upstairs and we tucked our rascals into bed. Then, while I was changing into a nightgown, he went back downstairs and sure enough the little fellow had returned and was nonchalantly and daintily selecting treats. That made us feel better.

All this, in the rain. And rain continued all night, just as it has for the past several nights. When we woke this morning it was to a dark atmosphere, the kind of morning when your warm and comforting blankets on a cool night tighten their grip and won't let go, convincing you that it is that much more pleasurable to remain in bed. We resisted initially, then since the puppies were quiet and obviously inclined to remain in deep sleep, we did the same.

The rain thundered down pummeling the landscape, and there was no question they'd have to plunge into it once again before we'd even think about breakfast. Another towelling-down and breakfast was on the way. Their kibble sported some little slivers of honeydew and fresh chicken, but this was Sunday and they know, and can smell the French toast and sausages on the stove, and that they get to share our breakfast.

Once again we resigned ourselves to the expectation the weather wouldn't relent and this would be a no-forest-hike day. But by three in the afternoon came that lull that invited us to make a dash for it, and we did. Although the canopy was dripping the rain held off for the length of time we tramped a shorter-than-usual circuit. Not the kind of day that we would expect to see many other people and dogs out and about in the forest.

But we did come across someone we know who lives a few streets over from ours and whose backyard on that street backs onto the ravine. Her two dogs had made a trip down from the height of the ravine to the fast-running creek swollen with rain, to have a quick dunk. Jackie and Jillie hailed them with the usual boisterous barking they reserve for friends and we climbed to the spine and the main trail network.

Another day of rain and 6C temperature overnight is hastening the colour change in the trees, although most still retain their healthy summer dark-green aspect. Here and there, however, there are bright reminders that soon the entire forest will be in colour-flux. Now, each day we see a larger swath of greens that have turned the palest of green-yellows, and among them some trees, like maples, sumacs and poplar entirely bright red, tucked in among those not yet changing.

The sky was densely crowded with grey clouds, the atmosphere soupy with unseen minuscule water droplets. The far-off sound of geese overhead informed us that migration is underway, but there was nothing to be seen in the sky to reveal the presence of the geese, flying through the mass of clouds, and one wonders what that does to interfere with their navigational skills?

October came in gently, unwilling to leave the impression that September is the kindest month of Autumn. October can be, too. So the first day of the month was a tad warmer than the day before, the last day of September and there was more sun and it was an absolutely beautiful day. Hello, October, good to see you again!

And then, and then. Rain started pelting the windows late last night. When Jackie and Jillie were taken out to the backyard before bedtime, it was an exercise in instant pee-and-you're-done. Executed under the deck, where they could stay relatively dry; they made a beeline for it. 

Earlier in the evening it hadn't yet begun raining. Our midnight visitors -- at least one group of them -- were ensconced on the porch, nibbling daintily away at peanuts and biscuits. This was the group comprised of Mama and five offspring. Some of whom have outstripped others in the group in size. They know we're there, when we appear at the glass front door, and take little notice. Occasionally one will look up at us, then resume his nibbling.

Mama usually has her back to the door, with a night-eye view of everything in front of her, the garden, walkway, and out beyond, sensitive to any sound or movement. On occasion the mama raccoon will alert her kits and they'll all instantly disappear through the porch surround. Invariably, they'll return a few moments later to resume where they left off, reassured that it was a false alarm.

Irving was intent on putting out more goodies, but the first group hung around. Soon one of the large kits splayed himself out on his back in one of those completely relaxed poses dogs we're familiar with will sometimes take, blissed out and totally ready for a nap. When they did eventually move on, before Irving could act on his impulse, two juveniles appeared.

They edged back slightly as Irving exited onto the porch to distribute more biscuits and peanuts, and they waited patiently under the bench until he was finished, and when he returned to the house, out they came to placidly take their place beside the food and begin their repast. There is ample shelter on the porch from the two-story overhang, from the rain.

Overnight the rain continued. This morning the rain was heavy, pounding on the metal canopy on the deck, but last night's performance was repeated; out-and-in with two drenched little puppies who had a good rubdown and were still wet. But breakfast went a long way to salving that wet assault. Rain showed no signs of abating and we mentally prepared ourselves for a totally indoor day.

Although Jackie and Jillie were aware rain was pounding down without cease, they still relayed the impression that they were anticipating a ravine hike. They balk at going out in the rain to the backyard, but still are intent on roving through the forest trails. Fortunately by three in the afternoon the rain relented, became less frantic and then stopped. That's when we sprang into action, got our rainjackets on and left for a quick foray into the ravine, knowing the rain was certain to resume at some point.

Everything in the ravine was slick with rain, well lacquered and bright with that bizarre light an overcast sky and daytime dusk introduces to the forest. The rain had stopped for the nonce, but in the interior of the forest there was a steady drip from the forest canopy shedding its overburden of rain. It seemed to us that overnight a subtle colour change had taken place; foliage that had been dark, bright green yesterday was now sporting a wan yellow shade.

The air was saturated, the vision prospect seemed influenced by the moisture-laden atmosphere; colours seemed brighter, though objects appeared somewhat indistinct, as though viewed through a watery veil. No rain descended during the period we were out. So we felt pretty fortunate, having our outing-cake and enjoying the frosting.

October already. The month our two boys were born. The oldest will be 62, the younger 59, their sister turned 60 back in April. Can't believe another year has gone by. Just amazing. We heard the furnace come on this morning, for the first time. The temperature had dropped to 6C last night, but by morning it had risen to 10, and by afternoon with the sun out it was comfortable enough. These are yet early fall days.

After breakfast I worked up a bread dough  to refrigerate for use later in the week, and then put on a chicken soup to simmer away for our evening meal. I grated a big horse carrot and began putting together dessert cupcakes for tonight. Carrot cupcakes with cream cheese frosting. Irving had gone out briefly in the afternoon and brought back a case of fresh California figs, so I'll peel some of those and they'll accompany the cupcakes. 

When we set off for the ravine we were wearing light jackets and it was only once we were in the forest that the cool atmosphere really penetrated, thanks largely to a cold wind annulling the effects of the sun. But it was, nonetheless, wonderful to be out on the trails. The leaf mass is beginning to show signs of fall change with foliage still on the trees turning pale yellow. Poplar and maple leaves, however, are falling more steadily now, colouring the forest floor. 

We came across a woman we'd never seen before, walking a small Pomeranian-mix. It was evident looking at the little dog that it was quite elderly; its haircoat was sparse and it trod the forest floor with especial care. It was unleashed and unheeding of Jackie and Jillie's robust greetings, just plodding along but with enough energy to get there.

This was the first time we'd ever seen a dog aged 20 years, six months. Originally, the woman told us, she had two sibling females. The other had died at age 18 when her  trachea collapsed, leaving her sister inconsolable with grief. But this little girl was a survivor; blind and deaf, she navigates by small just as she identifies the presence of her human by smell. An amazing little creature.

For a Friday there was an unusual number of people out with their dogs of all sizes and breeds, young and old. And everyone managed to get along. The usual sniff-fest ensued and then the gatherings dispersed, people and dogs going their separate ways.

Tramping along the main trail on the spine of the ravine, we decided to do a little bushwhacking. What appeared to be a faint trail that had been created a year earlier when the community was in total lockdown and people began entering the ravine, some of them forging new trails particularly in the winter months with snow covering the landscape, beckoned to us.

It was a meandering pathway forged through areas of least resistance, between trees and over some pretty challenging terrain, but it was interesting and we didn't feel we were contributing to erosion or stamping on vulnerable vegetation; most it was cleared forest floor where if bracken had grown, it had already been subsumed by the changes of fall.

And then, exiting the forest and making our way over a familiar bridge, the very last one we mostly take before emerging from the ravine, we discovered the tree that had fallen yesterday, the screeching, grating sound of its fall as it ripped through other intact trees alerting us to the crash that followed. It was an old poplar, a tree seemingly in good health, with a good green leaf mass, that had broken from its roots in a bank over the creek.

In falling, the trunk crossed the creek, its top mast hitting one end of the sturdy bridge, crashing into the top rails and destroying their integrity. In the interim between when we saw the bridge and tree and when we had heard it the day before, municipal crews (we assume) had cut the tree away from the bridge rail, cut and hauled away to the side the mass of leafy branches. It will be interesting to see if and when repair of the bridge will commence, although the bridge floor and most of the rails remain intact...