What a gorgeous fall day this has been! Cool, granted, but that wide blue ceiling and the bright chandelier hanging within, warmed the day nicely. And with little wind, the cool temperature not all that noticeable when you're busy toddling along on forest trails. Which is precisely what we did, as is our usual, haunting our nearby forest with our presence. Jackie, our little companion would not have it, otherwise, anxious as he is to get out for his very important Doglish sniff-fests.

 

Last night's frost left the morning roofs steeped deep in hoar frost. As it melted under the sun, the eavestroughs dripped steadily. None of the annuals were touched by the frost; they remain crisp, bright and colourful. The result of all that rain the day before, which helped them to resist the effect of the cold atmosphere. And which gives us another few days or so to continue enjoying them.

 

Irving went out on a few errands after breakfast, so Jackie and I repaired to the backyard for some yardwork. I feel comfortable with him being around in the backyard since he cannot wander out on the street given the all-encompassing fence and gate. He doesn't particularly enjoy being out of doors unless it's sniffing his way through the forest trails. In the backyard I continued to cut back perennials that I hadn't done the first time around. And from there I moved to the side of the house where the narrow shade garden hosts a company of more hostas.

 

It took no time at all to fill up multiple compost bags. But I was able to complete the task I set for myself by the time Irving returned. And then we prepared for our usual tramp through the forest. Despite the beauty of the day we saw only two people with their companion dog through the entire circuit we took. The kind of people, though we've only seen them once or twice before, with whom it's a distinct pleasure to pause and engage in a casual conversation, relaxed and mutually pleasant in nature.

 

 

Birds are moving through in numbers now, not just through the forest, but in our garden as well. We still hear the occasional honking of Canada geese taking on their yearly migration south; sometimes they fly above a low cloud cover and it's only their nostalgic chorus that identifies their fleeting presence. At other times we watch that famous Vee formation for as long as it takes for them to disappear from sight again.

 

 

Alongside the foliage fallen from the forest canopy there's no end of detritus that has come down, bits of cellulose discarded from healthy branches that tend to adhere to various parts of a tree on their way down, that bursts of wind and rain eventually dislodge and bring to the forest floor. Larger parts of decaying limbs are favourites of some large dogs with their tendency to 'own' them while prancing through the woods, a sight that never fails to impress, for the size of the branch that some dogs' jaws can accommodate, occasionally as wide as the trails themselves.

 

There is a sense of completeness to the day following our ravine walks. When for some reason on the rare occasion we miss a day going out to the ravine, we feel deprived, and we certainly feel badly for Jackie who so much looks forward to his daily venture. His usual routine these days is on our return home to head straight for the front garden under the Jackmanii crabapple tree to look for tiny ripe red fallen crabapples. There, he munches on a few. And when we enter the  house he's anxious for his usual chopped vegetable salad afternoon treat, pre-dinnertime.

 

 

 

Autumn Days in the Forest

Dogwood changing colour in the forest understory

We're so much creatures of the weather. Now well into Fall, we never know what each succeeding day will be like. Occasionally they're days of extreme contrasts. Yesterday morning found us with quite a cold day, going from 4C all the way up to a chilly 11C. But we had morning sun. It didn't last beyond several appreciated hours while it easily penetrated our large stained glass windows and speedily warmed up the house interior. Suddenly dark-grey-streaked clouds appeared on the far horizon and wind brought them speedily to a closer approach until we were inundated with heavy rain. 

We weren't, in any event, planning to go anywhere at that time. So I thought I'd put together the ingredients for an apple strudel. I hadn't baked one in ages. I decided to chop up some maraschino cherries and candied ginger into the apples and that worked out fine. Friday night dinners are always a theme on the familiar, a cultural focus on chicken soup and chicken cooked in various ways to stir up appetite.

Irving did some light vacuuming, and Jackie got increasingly impatient to get out for a walk through the forest trails in the ravine. By mid-afternoon the rain appeared to be lightening, so we geared up in rain jackets bearing in mind the cold, wind and rain perhaps yet to come. So weren't we surprised exiting the house to see the sky completely blue, and the sun making a concerted effort to dry the landscape! It felt somewhat excessive as the day began to warm to be wearing rain gear, but off we went.

More foliage and pine needles had fallen under the influence of the wind gusts and heavy rain, making the trails brightly coloured from fallen poplar and maple and pine. It will be a good year for the forest denizens, ample pine, hemlock and spruce cones litter the forest floor. We're now seeing, black, grey and red squirrels dashing about, busily collecting winter-storage caches, along with the occasional chipmunk. Birds are passing through from the Boreal forest; returning chickadees and nuthatches. Cardinals and robins and the occasional flock of doves and the everpresent crows.

 

We came across quite a few of Jackie's friends, who somehow sense our presence though they're elsewhere on the forest trail network. They suddenly appear before us, exciting Jackie to the prospect of himself cadging more cookies. Our visitors calmly park themselves before Irving, who pats their heads and rummages about in his shoulder pack for their rewards. Three large cookies for each large dog, and small ones for smaller dogs.

 

 

There's infinitely more colour on the forest floor than one sees looking about at the surrounding trees. Unless viewing the forest canopy from a distance or a height, it's easy to miss the presence of Fall colours; in some areas the preponderance of conifers with their bright greens tend to camouflage the presence of birch, wild apple trees, hawthorns, but the staghorn sumac stand out unmistakably with their bright crimson Autumn foliage.

 

As we approached the end of our circuit through the forest, despite the bright blue seen through the forest canopy we became aware of light rain droplets. Disbelievingly, yet convinced we were in for a downpour, we made our way up the last of the ascents toward street level, and once gained, realized that the sky was rapidly being transformed. Looking to the West, dark clouds were swiftly take precedence over the wide blue viewed from the East, as the wind reversed its usual east-to-west trajectory.

 

 

We reached home just as the light version became a heavy downpour. Our garden, which has given us so much pleasure throughout spring, summer and early fall is in the stages of decomposition at my hands. Two days earlier I had filled four giant compost bags with Hosta foliage. I still have plenty of hostas in our shade garden at the side of the house to be cut back. I'll leave the annuals in their urns and garden pots until a hard frost assails them. All the rain we had yesterday helped them to survive last night's frost that left the  house roofs white with hoar frost.

 

 

In our 20's Doris and Me

Today is my younger sister's birthday. When I speak with her the first thing she says when I ask how she is, is 'not good'. She's been saying that for many years. Up until eight months ago when her husband died, he looked after every aspect of her life. For the past five years she rarely ventured out of their house. She had a litany of physical problems, from compromised lungs, pain in her legs and back, and a memory that did not serve her well. Our mother had died of complications of frontal lobe dementia, at age 84. My sister ministered to her at a time when she recognized no one else, even her own sister who was housed in the same elder-care institution.

Now my sister is in the very same predicament; a widow, physically and mentally incapacitated, diagnosed with Alzheimers, housed in an institution where amenities for the elderly as well as medical care is available around the clock. Her three children and a grandchild visit when they can, but it is our younger brother, whose hermit personality makes him alienated from society, who visits her the most often. I called to wish her happy 85, and we spoke for a while, but the energy toll that takes is too much of an exertion for her and when she began that deep, moist coughing, we ended our conversation. 

Beyond sobering, a sure-fire way to dampen one's enthusiasm for anything. Granted, a temporary condition for us. My own birthday is four days after my sister's when I 'turn' 89. I have no complaints other than those mostly transitory aches and pains that afflict most people my age. When I wake in the morning and rouse out of bed, it's the physical low point of the day. Once I get moving and involved with everything, those aches and pains leave the premises. My zest for housekeeping, cooking and baking keeps me engrossed in doing both. Since Irving enjoys rice dishes so much, when I prepare a fish meal for dinner, I often do my own version of Paella; colourful and exuberantly zesty with saffron and hot smoked paprika.

Yesterday I baked a maraschino cherry/cream cheese bundt-type cake for dessert. I've turned to baking cakes more frequently lately, leaving behind summer fruit pies and other, lighter pastries for the nonce. Many years ago there was a chocolate maraschino cherry cake I used to bake that was a favourite with our family; this was kind of a take-off of that cake. I really enjoy experimenting with a variety of flavours and ingredients, melding them and savouring the results. Somewhat, I suspect, like a chemist in a laboratory. For me, it's a challenge and enjoyable.

This is turning out to be quite a cold winter; unexpected after the relatively mild fall we'd enjoyed. Even though we've also had intermittent mild spells with rain to wash away much of the winter snowpack that has been building up in the ravine. When we went out for our afternoon hike through the ravine yesterday, the forest trails were well packed with snow from last week's snowstorm, plus the occasional snow events that followed. And it was cold, at -14C, with wind sweeping the snow about, under partially sunny skies.

We still occasionally come across other community hikers who note our missing puppy and ask about her. Irving usually does the explaining, it's just so painful I find myself helpless to stop weeping whenever I think of Jillie's departure from life. Just too sudden and unexpected, leaving us helpless and in grief. Jackie still hasn't fully recovered and possibly never will. He was always sensitive to our going out without them, both of them were particularly prone to separation anxiety, but that has now intensified for Jackie given the circumstances, and so we don't. We haven't left him  on his own for a month and a half. 

When we're out on the forest trails, he now does all the barking that Jillie used to do. There are other behavioral traits of hers that he now assumes as well, oddly enough. He's as curious as always about the outside world of the forest; his intense enjoyment is obvious. His relationship with other dogs is as remote as always. As siblings Jackie and Jillie knew only one another; playmates and confidantes sharing life. Despite that we tried to socialize them early in their puppyhood through contact with other dogs, nothing seemed to work; they remained standoffish. Their interest in other dogs was always problematic; they simply had no interest in socializing, though they did on occasion evince some shallow level of curiosity that was never sustained.

We had some more snow fall overnight. The winds were so high they swept the snow everywhere. In the morning we shovelled out backyard pathways for Jackie. On the newfallen snow we could see rabbit tracks everywhere. When he goes out to the backyard, Jackie follows the tracks, sniffing energetically. Some of them end under the big garden shed. I haven't put any food out in the backyard, depending on the rabbits to come around to the side door or the porch for the carrots and peanuts and peanut-buttered bread squares we put out for our neighbouring wildlife. Occasionally we're lucky enough to see one of them on the porch.

The crows are far more evident, as are black squirrels; we don't see many red or grey squirrels about as we used to. The juncos, cardinals and chickadees come scrounging about as well. Whatever we put out is not left for very long, which explains why we rarely see raccoons on the porch this winter since Irving stopped putting out kibbles.

Today's hike through the ravine saw us out a little longer. It was cold at -6C this afternoon but nowhere near as icy as yesterday. Ice is just beginning to form at the edges of the creek. Already at 3:30 p.m. dusk has entered and in another hour the darkness of the short winter days would make sightlines difficult if it were not for the generous coverlet of snow over the landscape.

 

This is the year's penultimate second shortest day of the year. It seemed to us when we were out in the ravine this afternoon at 3:00 p.m. that dusk was already falling. But that could be the effect primarily of the pewter-tinged clouds crowding the sky. Tomorrow is the winter solstice. From December 21 forward the days begin -- excruciatingly slowly -- their trek back to more daylight hours. Usually by February we can really see the difference.

Today's temperature was a complete reversal of yesterday's. Yesterday brought us copious rainfall and high winds to drive the rain at a warmish 4 C. We saw some sun briefly this morning, but it couldn't contend with the volume of clouds hoving into view and soon the sky was completely packed and began unleashing snow once more. Too late to save the snowpack that had already accumulated earlier in December with most days at or below -10C.

Yesterday the melt effect was in full drive. The roofs of our garden sheds' snowpacks were reduced by fully three-quarters of their height, and the house roof even more so, judging from our view of the house roofs behind ours. There were even some patches of still-green grass revealed in the backyard. The wind was merciless, lashing the drenched atmosphere, knocking the snow shovels over on the deck, and there were several instances last night when we could hear the sound of snow slipping off the roof.

 

Needless to say, we cancelled our usual daily hike through the forest in favour of remaining dry and avoiding contending with the weather. Exposure to cold and the likelihood of becoming uncomfortably wet, despite his warm winter coat's rain-resistant protection isn't little Jackie's idea of having a good time. Nor ours, come to think of it, in our old age. I was busy anyway, spent time in the kitchen with the dessert of choice. Irving wanted a cake. So I thought of baking a bundt cake.

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A white cake, I decided, with three eggs to 1/2 cup butter and 3/4 cup of sugar, and a half-cup of cream cheese. I thought I'd use cake and pastry flour and aside from vanilla flavouring, added brandy essence, as well as adding it to the cream cheese topping that capped the baked cake. The cake finished off our meal of chicken soup followed by roasted cauliflower, potato pudding, deboned, skinned chicken thighs and mushroom gravy. Jackie makes certain we don't forget to include him.

 

 

At -4C today and light snow falling, with a light wind, our circuit through the forest trails this afternoon was pleasant. There was a small flock of robins around the creek, but then we often see them on extremely cold days flitting about the trees adjacent and overhanging the creek with its icy waters. In the last few decades robins have increasingly rejected their traditional southward migration. When we put peanut-buttered bread cubes out on the winter porch it is never robins that show up along with squirrels, but slate-back juncos and chickadees and crows. As live-eaters we speculate that the open waters offer robins minute aquatic creatures we cannot see.

 

 

There was no shortage of much larger creatures appearing in the forest today, coming by to visit with us from time to time. Their presence excites Jackie because he knows that if his buddies are offered treats he'll be in line for some of those treats or at least small portions of them, as well. These are all regular community resident pups accompanying their humans on their daily perambulations through the woods. They're invariably alert to our presence when Jackie barks if he sees or senses them on nearby trails. The response is dogs leaping helter-skelter down valley and uphill to reach where we happen to be. Once they receive their allotted two to three cookies, then turn smartly and race back to re-join their humans.

 

 

What was quite evident was the reduced snowpack, resulting from several days of rain this week, during a period of days when the temperature suddenly fell. The trails showed the effects of yesterday's rain and slush, with now-frozen imprints of boots etched deeply into the icy aftermath of nighttime freeze-up. And while the cleats strapped over our boots help us cope with icy conditions, there is now added the risk of boots slipping into one of those boot-troughs, resulting in a twisted ankle. Without an investment in a good pair of reliable, sharp cleats it becomes too risky at this time of year to negotiate the snow-and-ice-crusted winter trails. 

 

Back home again, there's a rush to get out of our suffocating-but-necessary winter gear. To light up the fireplace. Have a refreshing glass of fruit juice, while Jackie scarfs down his daily afternoon after-hike treat, a bowl of chopped fresh vegetables. 

  

When we set out on our hike in mid-afternoon today, the temperature was a nice 0.7C, quite a departure from yesterday's -10C, exacerbated by wind, although the sun was out. It was a terribly cold day and we felt the effects of both the icy temperature and the wind on our bare faces, even infiltrating our warmest winter jackets. It had snowed yet again overnight and kept snowing throughout the day today, mostly light flurries, alternating from time to time to heavy-duty snow. We shovelled out the pathways in the backyard before breakfast for Jackie so he wouldn't have to flounder in its accumulated depths. The snow was so light and fluffy it hardly took much physical effort.

 

By the time we set out for the forest, there was yet another accumulation on top of the snowpack that has been steadily growing this week with most days offering ongoing snow events. It was also one of those times when the snow became heavier as we plodded up the snow-packed street. By the time we reached the ravine and left street level it became evident that the milder temperature and beauty of the landscape had drawn a good number of people from the larger community into the forest.

 

 

There were dogs big and small everywhere, trailing their humans or breaking track in front of them. So many of them were familiar to us, just as we were to them, and they demonstrated that familiarity by settling down in front of Irving as he fumbled with his cookie pack. They're so well behaved. There are times when the excitement of anticipation of a treat will stimulate one or another of them to leap onto Irving's chest, but a quiet remonstration usually sees them settling back down. 

 

It was also one of those times when we saw a family with small children out with sleds, the children delighted to be out, seeming to prefer rolling in the snow rather than trundling downhill in a parent-controlled haul. Their shrill shouts of joy in the season gave ample reason why winter is favoured by the young.

A half-hour after entering the forest we suddenly looked up to the sky, astonished to see a wide blue canopy above and the sun making its entrance. The weather forecast for the day mentioned the snow would stop around five. As it was, great clumps of snow lay everywhere on conifer boughs and naked branches of deciduous trees. There was little wind, not enough to disturb the smooth lengths of mounded snow on the trees. Tree trunks were plastered with snow, and the forest floor resembled a stark white coverlet lulling the forest to sleep.

 

A half hour later we suddenly realized that snowclouds had moved back in and it was once again snowing. As we progressed through the trails the snow became heavier. Most people out with their pups seem to see the utility of dressing them for the cold, including some who thought boots would also be a good idea. We came across one individual we'd never seen before with a miniature-sized pup completely unclad and gave him our street address, offering a winter coat for their pet, but they said the 4-year-old hated to be dressed.

 

 

Others we came across whom we haven't seen in several weeks asked about our missing Jillie and we had to explain yet again, painfully, that we'd lost her several weeks back to congestive heart failure. She had been coughing for quite a while and we thought she had a virus like kennel cough. When we took her to our veterinarian clinic the vet who examined her said, no not kennel cough, gave her a thorough examination, mentioning she had a heart murmur, which we've always known. Both she and her brother were diagnosed with heart murmurs many years ago. They're now 13. He gave us a prescription for an antibiotic just in case, and we put them through a 10-day course of antibiotics.

 

A week later we took them for their scheduled two-month grooming at the spa next to the veterinarian clinic. As usual, we did the grocery shopping and then picked them up, shampooed and groomed and brought them home. An  hour later, Jillie was coughing heavily, and seemed to be having difficulty breathing. We gathered them both up and drove to an emergency animal hospital closest to us. They looked after her immediately. The examining vet told us her stomach cavity was filled with liquid, her heart condition had suddenly become acute, affected her liver, and there was nothing they could do to save her.

 

 

In her absence Jackie seemed lost, unstable, psychologically frail. In fact, exhibiting much of the confusion and disbelief that we felt ourselves, at the loss of his sister. We haven't left him alone since. We've scheduled an ultrasound of his heart to determine the state of his heart chambers in case there is anything we can do to forestall a similar catastrophe for him. 

 

When people ask about Jillie's absence, we explain the reason, what had happened, and they offer their consolations, but speaking about it, hurtles us back into grief over her absence. Memory of her joy in life, her antics, her very personalized persona, her emotional needs and even the last time -- not more than few days before her breakdown -- when she and her brother indulged in one of their stand-up wrestling matches and they were so full of life together. It tears me apart.

 

A half-hour after it began snowing again, the wind suddenly picked up, bellowing and howling through the ravine; unusual since the forest canopy usually serves to shield us from wind that is evident at street level. Snow was tossed everywhere, great sheets of opaque veils blowing off the trees to such an extent that it became a complete white-out with almost zero visibility. It was at that point that we ascended the last of the hills to make our way back home.

 

 

This has been a banner year for plant growth in the garden. So much so that I find myself unable to keep up with the weeds. Plucking crabgrass out of the lawn portion, tugging out bindwind that tends to try to  hide itself among the clematis vines, and making quick work of clover and rampant violent growth has turned out to be more time-demanding than I'm willing to devote to it. And so, I guess I'll have to live with the consequences.

Early this afternoon when taking Jackie and Jillie out for a break in the backyard, I noted roses having to b be cut back again, and the drooping branches of the weeping mulberry, plus the robust, rampant spread of the Annabelle hydrangea beside the garden gate. Out came the compost bag, the long-handled pruners and loppers and before long the bag was pretty well filled.

The day was hot enough at 28C, but while we were out the sun (thankfully) was eclipsed by clouds and the ominous background rumble of thunder accompanied by fat drops of rain reminded me of the forecast for the likelihood of 'violent' thunderstorms. I got the puppies back into the house, and continued my pruning. The rain stopped, there was no more thunder and before long out came the sun again. 

There's colour in the backyard, since the day lilies have begun blooming, and so too have the California poppies. They look after themselves. Both have a spreading habit, the lilies divide and conquer continually, and the poppies simply self-seed to return in greater numbers each summer, plopping themselves down randomly to fill in 'empty' spaces. Turns out the electrician that came along to do some work in our house is an avid gardener. I gave him some spent poppy heads to sprinkle about in his garden.

Since the threat of a thunderstorm seemed remote with the sun back out, we decided to go out for our afternoon hike through the forest. We'd had some more rain overnight and we knew of a certainty the mosquitoes would be out in full force, so dressed accordingly, since neither of us use repellant. And yes, the mosquitoes were fierce, as expected.

We were surprised to see that the wild raspberries were already beginning to ripen, and found enough to treat Jackie and Jillie with. From now until fall there will be wild berries to pick during our forest excursions and the puppies will be alert to their good fortune. I also discovered that pilotweed is beginning to go into bloom, and making my way carefully down the bank of the creek over the scree and rocks, I found that evening primrose has established itself down there, too, amongst the daisies, and the fleabane. 

Being out in the forest is really liberating for the puppies. They aren't keen on spending any time in the backyard, at home. They're little house-pups and don't appreciate being out very much. Hikes through the forest are different to them, though; they're anxious to embark on those daily perambulations. There they pick up scents continually of other dogs, mostly those that have become familiar to them, as friends they sometimes come across in the ravine. They read those scents like the daily news.

As for us, being in the great out-of-doors as a daily ritual, has long been an integral part of the quality of our lives and age hasn't changed that. We wear good, supportive hiking boots and dress according to the prevailing weather, spring/summer/fall/winter. Right now a white shirt with a stiff high collar pulled on over short-sleeved tops, and good leg-coverings are a must, preferably with plenty of pocket space. 

 

 

 

We had a week of almost tropical heat and humidity last week. And a bonus of clear skies for hot, sunny days. Not only did we marvel at the swift transition, but so too did the forest that seemingly suddenly reminded itself that winter was long past and it was time to begin seriously leafing out. But yesterday morning when we awoke it was to a dark dawn and the sound of an approaching thunderstorm. I quickly got out of bed, as Jackie and Jillie followed close behind me. I was anxious to get them out to the backyard before the rain struck and they complied nicely. And then down it came.

 

When, some lengthy time after breakfast, the rain stopped, it almost looked as though we'd see clearing skies. We had a moment or two of actual sun beaming down through a crack in the clouds, and then for most of the afternoon, continued cloudy skies and intermittent rain. In the garden, the flowering trees are at their height of early-spring glory. From the large pink luscious blooms of the magnolia, to the smaller, innumerable and equally pink blossoms of the Sargenti crabapples, to the white blossoms of the weeping Jade crab, and the flowering pea.

 

 

The rain did its best to knock down as many of the petals as it could manage and soon our gardens and walkways had almost as much scattered white and pink petals as those remaining on the trees. I waited awhile for the light showers to abate, then began planting some of the annuals we'd acquired earlier in the week; begonias, petunias, impatiens, Canna lilies and a plant I'd never before seen nor heard of, curcuma (flowering turmeric). 

 

Typically, it's a plant from Asia where some of our most exotic and beautiful flowering annuals are derived from; perennials in their native habitat, but annuals in colder climates like ours. I just couldn't resist those beautiful blooms, just as I can't the hibiscus plants that I always buy in the hope they can carry over to the following summer, and never do. 

 

 

We decided to interrupt the gardening and take Jackie and Jillie out to the ravine for their daily trot through the forest trails, gauging we might be able to manage a hike without a sudden rain squall. But it was still warm enough that if they did become soaked it would be just an inconvenience. As it  happened, there was no rain while we were out, although the forest floor and the canopy were drenched from the thunderstorm's effect. There's an odd twilight that hovers in the forest on such heavily overcast, moist days that while the light is greatly reduced, colours tend to be intensified.

 

 

The all-encompassing, fresh verdancy was dazzling. It looked as though the forest was reaching out to embrace us all. And it happened so suddenly, a mere week or slightly more from the initial appearance of new foliage, to that point where the forest canopy was almost fully restored. Jackie and Jillie discover other minor miracles, mostly concerning the release of new smells that fascinate and draw their attention. Even while our very presence drew the attention of those hated denizens of a summer forest; blood-hungry mosquitoes.

 

 

The lilting, happy trills of cardinals and robins and song sparrows resounding through the woods is a conciliatory gesture by nature for us to overlook the prevalence of stinging, biting insects at this time of year. So our hiking venture was the usual pleasure and the serenity of our surroundings as always soothed us and refreshed us. So that Irving decided to take out the wheelbarrow to mix up garden soil, sheep manure and peat moss to begin filling up our numerous garden pots and urns.

 

I noticed, while I was adding bone meal to the mix, that suddenly mosquitoes began appearing. Peering a little closer I realized that mosquitoes which we normally don't come across around the house, were attracted to the bone meal, and rushing into the pots to sample the fertilizer I was mixing into the soil. Could have been some blood meal mixed in with the bone meal. So their presence was an unappreciated addition. Which didn't stop me from beginning to fill the pots with some of the annuals we had in preparation, from million bells to lobelias and wave petunias as stuffers along with the star performers, the begonias that thrive in our garden landscape that has a deficit of sun. 

 

We managed to get half of the pots and urns filled and planted and decided we'd had enough work done for the remainder of the day. I had earlier, after our ravine hike, decided to make a big bowl of Cole Slaw, because Irving said he planned to do ribs on the barbecue for dinner. And we'd have corn-on-the-cob on the side. So I grated cabbage, onion, carrot and an apple, and made a dressing of salt, pepper, cider vinegar, olive oil and mayonnaise to refrigerate it for several hours before dinner

 

Despite the rain -- which turned out to be helpful in its own way after all, since I didn't have to water the newly-planted annuals because the soil was already wet, and later in the evening more rain came down -- the cooler temperature of 22C, the humidity and breezes gave us a splendid opportunity to begin our annual planting. Before light failed with evening's approach I took another photograph of the garden and was pleased with the colour brought to our personal landscape with the addition of this year's annuals to complement the form and colour of emerging perennials, like our hostas, peonies, roses, lilies and irises.