There are some mornings when you feel just too comfortable to heave yourself out of bed, content to lie there, to talk in low tones, not to awaken your bed companions and contemplate the day ahead and all the possibilities your mind brings forward. Jillie, however, is attuned to even quiet sound and hearing  us murmur to one another, she has a tendency to leap down and emit short, sharp little orders to us to get up, for heaven's sake. Ignored, she will leap back onto the bed and begin to knead us with her paws, the weight of her little body ensuring the comfort we felt just moments earlier be overtaken by the discomfort of her considerable weight for a small dog.

 

Jackie for his part, is content to remain where he spends the night ensconced at the foot of the bed and elevated on the thickly rolled-up bedspread. While his sister persists in rousing us from bed he will eventually paddle over and join her, both pacified by a plenitude of hands reaching out to stroke them until such time as we agree to begin the day.

 

 

And what a day! A succession of warm -- not hot -- and certainly not humid days with good stiff breezes and eventual rainfall when the  sun has finally been overtaken in its periwinkle-blue sky, by darkly-streaked clouds to hover awhile before they find their voice in the thunderous introduction to a storm. What more could anyone expect of the perfect summer day than mild temperatures, clear sky and freshening breeze followed by an air-cleansing rainfall? The gardens are happy, and we're happy.

 

We decided on an early afternoon trek through the ravine on a day that mosquitoes decided to take the day off. The breeze, of course, helped. The saturated forest has responded to this predictable weather pattern by generous-sized wildflowers and overgrown bracken. We've never seen so much ragweed before, and hadn't before realized what a lovely perfume emanates from the plants. Just as well we're not allergic, between the ragweed and the goldenrod, proliferating everywhere on the forest floor.

 

As we trooped along choosing one linked trail after another, we decided to continue our forays, and because the atmosphere was so conducive to deep enjoyment of the environment with nature on her very best behaviour, we ended up taking trails we haven't been on in ages. In so doing, coming across storm-damaged areas and downed trees telling the story of an altogether different type of weather that roared through the forest now and again in the past several years.

 

Yet the forest carries on, and new saplings appear to begin the long process of replacing what has been lost. There are any number of ash, pine, fir, beech, poplar, Manitoba maple, even elm, that have begun to restore their presence in the forest understory, many of which will mature and again dominate the forest canopy. 

 

 

In the meanwhile, we came across some patches of sunflowers in bloom, asters just beginning to bloom, and pilotweed hitting their stride. We saw the occasional red baneberry sporting its cluster of fiery-red berries, and saw as well white baneberry, both of which are poisonous. As is the ripening berries of the Privet trees that have colonized the forest. The sprays of berries of the Elderberry trees are beginning to swell and colour, and the apples of the wild apple trees are ripening. Irving found one of the apples ready to eat, fresh, crisp and appealing. Sweet? Decidedly not -- yet.

 

And we saw amanita muscaria beginning to emerge, just a few mushrooms so far, thanks no doubt to the constant rain, and likely far more to begin popping up here and there. Last summer they were numerous, their caps brighter, yellow-to-orange, and festooned with little white dotted clusters of raised areas. We speculated that squirrels might nibble them for the 'magic mushroom' effect based on more than ample evidence that some of the caps' edges were clearly 'tested'.

 

Jackie and Jillie, fortunately, show no interest whatever in any of these obviously edible products of the forest soil. The apple that Irving and I tried out was of  no interest to Jackie because it lacked sweetness, but Jillie didn't mind; she ate what was offered.

 

 

 

Yesterday gave us yet another of those perfect midsummer weather days, despite the warning from Environment Canada that a tornado was expected to touch down in our general area. We've been enjoying a cooling trend the past few weeks, with reasonable temperatures, tempered by a cooling wind and daily rain events. It was sunny most of the afternoon yesterday until suddenly it wasn't any longer. At around half-past five thunder began to thump ominously and Jackie and Jillie responded. Thunder rolled across the sky for a good while, and it eventually occurred to me to get them out to the backyard before a storm struck.

 

Good idea, but a little late in the offing. Just as we went out and down the steps of the deck, the largest, thickest, heaviest raindrops I can remember began falling. This displeased Jillie mightily. But I wanted them to pee before dinnertime, and kept them out. Jackie performed, Jillie hid under the deck, and I was getting pretty wet. We scampered back into the house, and then the full force of the wind and the rain took over and the house interior became dark.

 

We only discovered this morning that while that fierce storm was inundating our area, a handful of kms away a tornado did rip through the area, wreaking damage on the landscape, damaging roofs and house sidings, and knocking down mature trees. Fortunately for us for the most part these adverse weather systems seem to strike in the West of Ottawa, not so much the east, where we are.

Storm over eventually, the exterior was left dripping but still somehow able to absorb the day's addition to the enormous amount of rain we've been treated to, this summer. And today we've enjoyed mostly sun. In effect, another Friday as usual, and as usual, there are  routine things to be done, and so we were busy doing them. Irving had some errands to run and while he was off, I did some baking.

 

I had decided to bake cupcakes for today's dessert, and thought of Butterfly cupcakes, and then it occurred to me they could also be orange in flavour, so I zested a large orange and began putting together a batter for cupcakes. In went with the orange zest, though I also used vanilla flavouring. When the cupcakes had finished baking and had mostly cooled, I made a frosting and into that went the rest of the zest. The cupcake tops were sliced off, iced, halved, and arranged like butterfly wings on top of the cupcakes, anchored in place with a dollop of Seville orange marmalade.

 

When Irving finally returned home, off we went with Jackie and Jillie to the ravine. The temperature at 24C was just right, as long as the forest canopy shaded us, while up at street level directly in the sun it felt hot. Wild blackberries are slowly beginning to turn black, nicely ripening, taking the place of the now-exhausted raspberries.

 

Irving had forgotten to bring along his bag of cookies, an oversight for which an explanation and an apology didn't do much to clear up the puzzlement evinced by Jackie and Jillie when no cookies were forthcoming. Leading Irving to take extraordinary steps to find ripe berries for them as compensation. And while they were happily eager to eat the berries, the absence of cookies-mystery remained.

 

The jewelweed growing alongside the forest creek is now in full bloom, the bright orange little orchid heads sitting high on the long stems of the plants catching the sun, as the water of the creek ripples by behind them. I attempt to get as close as I can to the creek bank, but it's shored up with large boulders so it's tricky footing to get near them.

It's a lovely day, and we feel fortunate to have such close access to an urban forest that adds so much quality to our lives in exercising ourselves and exposure to entertainment related to the natural denizens of this unspoiled natural venue. Much less the wide array of people and their companion dogs that we've come to know over the decades. 

 

Climate change appears to have given us new weather patterns. We've been experiencing nearly-daily thunderstorms and that's unusual, particularly when they come in one after another in quick succession in the space of a few hours. Last night, after a day without rain in pleasantly cool temperatures and plenty of sun, a series of thunderstorms rolled overhead banging the roof of the house. It's either that or late-afternoon thunderstorms, and sometimes both. We've yet to see whether that will become a new summertime 'normal'.

 

What has become 'normal' is that tornadoes that once regularly hit Canada's mid-western provinces have moved east, to east-central Canada, over the past decade or so. This morning Environment Canada issued a weather warning for our area of Ontario -- that by late afternoon or early evening a tornado watch would be in effect. Today has been one of those days of low-lying clouds alternating with sunny breaks.

 

 

We decided to get out for our ravine hike with Jackie and Jillie a little earlier in the afternoon than usual, with the intention of leaving as little possibility that we'd encounter serious weather, as we could. Although it looked as though rain was imminent when we set out, that impression soon changed. From trepidation to relaxation, despite the warning, it just seemed like a beautiful day, so we took our time and decided to lengthen our circuit.

 

 

We're seeing some occasional colourful leaves on the forest floor discarded by overhead trees, though it's only midsummer and a long way from autumn. We've noticed over the years that poplar in particular have a tendency to drop foliage that has turned fiery orange-red; not in large numbers, but here and there. Maples also have a tendency to do the same thing. We also saw today that thanks to the inundating storms hitting regularly fungi is now appearing on the forest floor. 

 

Not so wonderful are the standing puddles of rainwater, the perfect venue for mosquitoes to lay their eggs, and this week the pests seem to have proliferated, albeit not in serious numbers. Just enough to be irritating and put us on our guard. As we entered the forest, we heard an owl call several times, but had no luck spotting it. At one juncture we saw and heard a few crows flying circles in a limited area and conjectured they were harassing an owl, though we couldn't confirm it.

 

Because we had extended our hike, we passed by an area that is host to a number of wild apple trees. The apples are numerous this year, and beginning to put on weight. In late summer and the fall months we often pick a few apples to munch on and share with Jackie and Jillie. Some of the apples are crisp and sour, others sweet and juicy.

 

Different wildflowers tend to grow in various areas, and so today we saw wild sunflowers in bloom. We tend not to see them everywhere in the ravine; they grow in a strictly defined area where asters can also be found, an area that is host to large colonies of trout lilies in spring. 

 

In the entire time we were out we saw only one familiar face, a woman we've known for decades as a dedicated trail-hiker. In fact, she comes out to the forest multiple times throughout the day; once when she does a really long circuit at a hot pace, leaving her dog Millie at home because Millie is getting on in age, and tends to linger here and there. And then again, bringing Millie out with her, at a more leisurely pace. Millie heard Jillie's falsetto barks and came barrelling through the trails to set herself expectantly beside Irving, to wait for cookies.

 

It was once we were back on the street after our ravine circuit that we came across neighbours. One of the street's group mailboxes is located close to the entrance to the ravine, and sometimes it serves the function of the office water cooler. So we stood for a while in a little group, talking neighbourhood happenings, being brought up-to-date on what's been going on, with whom.

We'd set aside two pairs of khaki jeans that Irving had bought on sale at half price a few months back. They were still in the bag they had come in, lying on a shelf at the bottom of the double-glazed buffet in the breakfast room next to my sewing basket, and more or less forgotten, as a chore that could wait. But Irving hauled them out this morning, cut the bottoms of the legs to his proper size/height and pinned up the hem of one of the pair. Then he began shortening them. Not the first time he has hemmed a pair of his trousers, and it always makes me uncomfortable.

I was busy cleaning the bathroom and powder room. By the time he was finished, I was too, and we gathered ourselves for a walk in the ravine. Before that, we had ample time to spend in the backyard with Jackie and Jillie, looking about and admiring the garden phlox in bloom. While we were out food shopping yesterday, there was a plant at, of all places Farm Boy, that caught my eye. I'd never heard of it before, and intrigued by the emerging flower, brought it home. Called a Curcuma, a member of the ginger family, it's really a Turmeric plant. I can hardly wait to see its entire flowering.

The plant is from Asia, like so many of the plants we enjoy and admire in our gardens, where in our northern climate, they're seen as annuals. They cannot survive our winters, since they're essentially warm-weather plants that require damp soils. But they bring joy to our eyes with the diversity of their shapes, the beauty of their petals and their rich colours.

Of course there are wild counterparts, as well, intrusive foreign species that do adapt well to our climate, and they're considered pests. Like the beautiful Himalayan orchids that reseed themselves endlessly in the forest, like the purple loosestrife that at one time caused an uproar of warning that it would displace native species and take over completely...and never did.  

Of course there are also vegetation species that are interlopers that can cause medical problems if they're encountered in the wild; take for example Wild Parsnip that really is establishing itself throughout some areas of the forest, capable of causing severe skin irritation on contact. So we learn to avoid their presence. Taking precautionary measures becomes part of the natural environment risk we take willingly; like identifying poison ivy and staying well clear of it.

We decided we'd have barbecued hamburgers and corn for dinner tonight. I used lean ground beef and prepared it with egg, breadcrumbs, spices and made use of a hamburger press Irving had brought home years ago. One smaller hamburger will be used to supplement a few meals on top of kibble, for Jackie and Jillie. They'll be pleased about that.

When we returned from our ravine hike, it was the turn of the garden at the front of the house to take our attention. It's hard to believe at this time of year that the bold colours, the architecture of the garden trees, shrubs and hardscape that Irving built decades ago, will be entirely hidden for five months of the year, with winter's arrival. Just an indication of how resilient and fecund nature is in the garden's ability to restore itself from April to October.

Once we made our way back into the house, Jackie and Jillie nudged me to pay attention as they waited, not the least bit patiently, for their afternoon vegetable salad. It's gone in a snap, once the cucumbers, bell peppers and tomatoes have been cut into bite-sized pieces for them. And then I turned my attention to sewing up the second pair of trousers that Irving meant to do tomorrow, as he protested vigorously. I know he's capable of doing it himself, as he says, but it just doesn't feel right to me. In any event, he still had to thread the needles for me for as long as it took to do the job!

 

We may be in midsummer, but you'd hardly know it, from the cool temperatures that have moved in, the last few days. Certainly no complaints about that. The air is refreshing; gone the high humidity levels and even our daily thunderstorms have abated. The weather controls so much about our lives. For one thing, it allows us to sleep more comfortably, with a brisk breeze entering the bedroom window. Almost dictating to us what's appropriate, and when, taking into account prevailing weather patterns. Take, for example our menus; heavy on refreshing salads during hot and humid evenings.

 

 

Not tonight. There'll be a garden salad, a small one, prefacing a hot, hearty soup. A soup kind of halfway between winter and summer, come to think of it. A French onion soup seemed to answer to the dilemma of what to prepare for a day when it's been cool enough that a light jacket seemed just right for our afternoon foray into the ravine with Jackie and Jillie.

 

Before that, though, the cool weather reminded me that it's the perfect environment for a much-needed treat for the garden pots. To fertilize those hard-working pots and urns that have been giving us so much blooming pleasure this spring and summer. They've worked so hard, they're beginning to look a trifle exhausted. So a bath with fertilizing powder seemed just the solution. It can't be applied on hot days since plants work hard enough to sustain themselves under the pressure of heat. Today turned out just perfect for nurturing them with a pick-up.

 

 

After which off we went to the ravine, on a breezy, cool afternoon. The sun kept kissing our faces, and then disappearing behind wind-swept dark clouds. They looked like they were bearing rain, but failed to drop any. Although a hike through the ravine is pleasant in any weather during any season, when it's cool on a summer day the experience edges toward sheer perfection.

 

 

That being the case, we made it a longer circuit for today, and Jackie and Jillie were in perfect accord. We heard a pileated woodpecker just where we'd seen one close by a few days back. Its call is unmistakable; loud and a little high-pitched-deranged, as though it's laughing uproariously at its own jokes. We keep looking up and around in the hope of spotting one of the barred owls that we hear from time to time; often one calling from one direction and another responding from the opposite direction. Could be territorial, could be familial.

 

 

After we returned home we cruelly/evilly left Jackie and Jillie to their own devices as we left to do the food shopping for the week. Since plastic bags have been banned, we can no longer access them, and that presented us with a bit of a dilemma; what would we be placing the non-perishable food we buy weekly in, if not a plastic bag? Well, we've decided to use cotton, reusable bags; they come at a price but we can afford the $.35 for a stout reusable bag, it's a third of the price of a can of soup, after all.

 

 

We stopped by our local supermarket as usual for our groceries, then went on to Farm Boy, the fruit and vegetable specialists, to supplement what we couldn't get at Food Basics. And you just never know what you'll come across at Farm Boy, their choices are plentiful and surprising, and going there is like a surprise party.

 

 

 

On a hot and humid Friday night, our salad dinner was just perfect. In the winter Friday night dinners are much more complicated affairs reflecting the comfort food we need to keep us warm when it's frigid and snowy out and we've battled the elements in our daily outdoor excursions. Yesterday's salad, my version of a Caesar salad, was more to our taste on these summer evenings, though. I just prepare it in different stages before dinnertime. First off, the croutons, that I bake in the toaster-oven with lots of garlic and Parmesan sprinkled over.

 

 

An hour before assembling the salad I microwave the cauliflower and cover the skinned, deboned chicken breast with aluminum foil to bake it in the toaster oven. Then it's simply a matter of assembling the green onion, lettuce, snap peas, bell pepper and tomatoes along with the cauliflower and chicken cut into little squares. Finally, just before serving a sprinkling of Caesar dressing, and it's done. 

We'll have another salad this evening, a more conventional one, except that mixed beans will be added to it, and French dressing. That gets prepared a few hours before dinner, and refrigerated for everything to blend in taste. While I'm cutting up vegetables, Jackie and Jillie pick up their ears and let their nose lead them to the kitchen, directly underfoot, appealing for vegetable handouts, even when they've just finished a salad of their own.

 

The sun was out first thing this morning, and we were greeted with a much cooler day. Perfect, I thought, for finally getting out to do some garden work. And there's plenty to be done. I've been prevented from getting at it because of constant rain. But sun, that's great, all the more so with cooler temperatures. Then, right after breakfast in went the sun, nudged out of the sky by aggressive clouds.

 

We thought we'd be all right for at least the length of our hike through the ravine. And we thought wrong. Well, not quite; rain didn't begin coming down until we were almost out of the forest. But while we were out going through the trails, there were plenty of things to take our attention. Besides laughing at the antics Jackie and Jillie were up to. Yarrow is now in its element, growing thicker and taller in some places.

 

And to our surprise both Himalayan orchids on the hillside we descend into the forest has begun blooming, and Jewelweed growing thickly on the lower banks of the creek have also begun to bloom. Both are orchid-like, both are dainty given the size of the stems and foliage they're part of, and both are bright and beautiful, a pleasure to behold.

 

I was in a bit of a hurry, anxious not to be out too long, wanting to have some time in the garden before it began to rain. We're becoming accustomed to daily rain events, and no matter when we choose to go out to the ravine for our walks through the forest, invariably rain will erupt, and usually when we're close to the limits of our circuit for the day. It's hard not to linger, though, when we see such intriguing attractions.

 

As, for example, evening primrose maturing enough that its tiny yellow flowers have also begun blooming. Ragweed has restored its flowering state after being devastated by heavy downpours, and the fragrance of the blooms are once again perfuming the air where they proliferate. Burdock is still blooming, and the bees, with all these ready choices are having a wonderful time in the pollinating meadow.

 

Then came the first raindrops gently reminding us that the weather report indicated a 40% chance of rain. So we picked up our pace and once again managed to arrive back home before the skies really opened up. And I grieved and I grumbled that I was unable to get out to the garden to do those necessary and elemental things that keep it tidy and in good shape. But then, an hour later the rain stopped.

 

And out I went, relieved and prepared to spend as long as it might take to get something accomplished. Jackie and Jillie get quite upset when I leave the house. Their pacing back and forth and whining spurred Irving to let them out to see where I was and what I was doing, and then he began doing some of the garden work himself. In the end, working together, though at separate tasks, we spent a few hours in the garden and so did Jackie and Jillie, happy enough to be there because we were.