As mountain streams go, the Waterville Valley's Smarts Brook would have no trouble fitting in among its spectacular peers in North America. It is a varied landscape, a truly beautiful spot for a ramble up a mountain stream. It lacks nothing in dramatic appeal, from the clear water rushing downstream from the mountains above, splashing and roaring over the boulder-strewn raceway, to the red-and-black-striped granite outcroppings and the granite wall opposite the trail.

There are two entrances, since the trail forms a loop; entry to the left-hand side brings one directly to a gradual ascent alongside the stream. The right-hand entry represents an initially steeper ascent away from the stream and eventually to a wide bridle path that begins to move closer to the stream.

Of the two, the left-hand side wins the vote for beauty. It leads directly to a trail called the "Pine Flats", and it's just that, a logged-out, but returning flat portion of the trail full of pines, hemlocks, maples and dogwood. By then you're far from the stream, and headed down eventually into a continuation of the trail into the inner forest, that will eventually loop back around to the stream, and bring you over a bridge onto the bridle path.

The thunder of the stream where it pounds over drops in the stream bed represents a real roar of aqua-power; below those drops there are placidly lovely pools inviting a cool dip on a hot summer day. And it was hot when we were there, this year, over a month later than we usually make the trip.

And, as a result, we missed seeing the usual fabulous spring-time display of wildflowers, chief among them the glowing, perfect Ladies Slipper orchids that abound there.

Most people, going on vacation, our granddaughter observed as she helped unload our car on our arrival at the cottage we rent for a week each year in the Waterville Valley, simply pack clothing for the occasion. We, on the other hand, concentrate on utility and creature comforts.

Although the cottage comes fully equipped with linens, fresh towels provided daily, the kitchen with cleaning and paper products, dishes, pots and pans and other utensils, we prefer to bring along our own, used for that specific purpose, once or twice yearly as the mood takes us to get away. We bring our own dishes, tumblers, utility knives and flatware, cooking pans and food grater, cutting board, bakeware, and sleeping pillows.

Oh yes, the necessary clothing as well, needless to say. I did manage to forbear mentioning to her that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, given that she had packed for her use, hiking boots (as instructed), casual runners, and at least eight pair of showy sandals, along with a large suitcase full of clothing that would, we knew, be supplemented by new clothing, and new sandals, as soon as the opportunity presented to do some fashion shopping.

On the positive side of the ledger, the most popular destination for her shopping pleasure when we weren't out hiking on some mountain trail, was a well-stocked independent bookstore where she discovered the titles and authors she was hoping to find, and came away with heavy bags-full of new reading material, vital to her well-being.

We decided, the night before departure - having checked on the Internet to discover that work on the Champlain bridge through Montreal was interfering with the free flow of traffic as a result of repairs, which left drivers with two-hour transit waits - to bypass Montreal in favour of going the Cornwall-to-New York route instead. Knowing that it was not our preferred route, and would end up costing us at least an hour and a half more time in travel, we felt we had little choice.

So we drove into Cornwall, took the bridge over the St.Lawrence river over to Akwasasne, then on toward the border where we were subjected to the usual queries by a U.S. border agent, and allowed through on the New York side. We noted the passage of a bulk carrier under the bridge as we passed.

It was a hot, humid day with more heat and humidity promised for the coming days when we would be away on our week's holiday in New Hampshire.

In New York state, the sight of wind farms, with those giant arms rotating to produce energy, despite the merest whisper of a wind, struck us as bizarre, really quite fascinating. The windmills standing like great sentries marching against the landscape make for a challenging view of the area. They haven't, after all, turned out to be a great energy source, though they still remain a viable (inadequate) alternative. But their destruction of bird life is dreadful.

The drive was otherwise uneventful, and longer than it should have been since we were not on expressways throughout the drive, given the route taken. When we turned in to take advantage of a state tourism rest stop to eat a brunch we had brought along with us, we happened to strike up a conversation with two women who had driven there from Montreal. Who informed us that they had taken the Champlain bridge, and it had been wide open.

Sometimes, using resources available to find out the latest information turns out not to be such a good idea; had we spurned using the Internet for a traffic update for Montreal, we would have chanced upon a clear passage through the bridge, thus shortening our travel time considerably.

She's come a long way from the innocent babe-in-the-woods she once was. She's firmly in her teen years, standing a head and a half taller than her grandmother, taller even than her grandfather. She has a secure sense of humour, well-entrenched on the ironic side.

And she's a chatterbox. As are her close friends. With whom she is in constant contact. They speak on a continual basis, in fact, engaging in long, convoluted and often hilarious conversations. They do this remotely as far as physical presence is concerned, but not emotional attachment.

While she's devotedly speaking with me about any number of things that take her attention, she also continues an ongoing conversation with one of her girlfriends whose birthday is today. Her girlfriend is bemoaning the fact that she is all alone, and it's her birthday. Her parents are busy working and while her grandmother has promised to take her out for an ice cream treat, somehow she feels abandoned.

She isn't, of course, she lives on a farm and her parents are busy doing farm chores.

And her little sister, twelve years of age, is at home, with her. That doesn't count, she is definitely not thrilled with her sister's constant presence. Her sister is a troublesome pest. Not so, my granddaughter tells me in an aside; she likes the little sister, she's adorable and good fun.

But according to our granddaughter's texting companion, her sister, who knowing perfectly well this is her birthday, insists that it is also her stuffed bear's birthday, an auspicious event that deserves celebration.

"She's only doing that", she texts my granddaughter, "because she knows she's irritating me. And she knows perfectly well also that her stuffed bear's real birthday is in May! She never lets us forget that fact. Now, all of a sudden, because it's my birthday, it's her stuffed bear's as well. I'm getting really annoyed!"

After reading the texted conversation to me, we look at one another and burst with laughter.

The atmosphere yesterday was like being in a blast furnace. It was extraordinarily hot, humid at 34-degrees-Celsius and with a UV index standing at 10. The saving grace, we felt, was the wind, which gusted nicely at times, offering some relief.

Despite the sizzling heat, we went into the ravine for our usual walk in the afternoon. And it wasn't bad at all, in there. The canopy provided excellent shade, as expected, and the wind managed to gust through the woodland very nicely indeed. So it was a pleasant walk, one we didn't cut especially short, although our little dogs were feeling the heat so we proceeded slowly.

The weather was forecasted by Environment Canada to result in a thunderstorm or two by night time. With a 30% chance of pop-up storms, none of which actually transpired. That is, until dinnertime. When the sky did its change-over from mostly clear with the sun bubbling brightly, to a fairly rapid overcast condition, with dark clouds finally turning the house interior dark.

We were seated at the table, having our dinner, relaxing and enjoying the stillness of late Sunday, when we suddenly - and I mean suddenly - became aware that something had changed dramatically. The wind had come up in a way we seldom see. It was straining against the canopy that covers our deck, and we could see the trees beyond leaning perilously.

We hurried over to the front of the house to exit onto the porch and watch as the rain came tumbling down. But it was the action of the wind, bending the trees to its will, that fascinated us. Later, we were to learn that the wind that grasped a left-open garden umbrella one neighbour had forgotten, and floated it over the trees and into the ravine.

A maple tree and an ash on another two neighbours' lawns came to grief when main limbs, severing the trunk, were felled, the trees left wounded with great white gashes instead of the healthy specimens they represented just moments before. Anything that was not secured went flying about in the wind. Ornamental shrubs were flattened.

And at LeBreton Flats, downtown Ottawa, Bluesfest was summarily interrupted by a sudden, unexpected wind followed by lighting and thunder. The wind managed to collapse the huge stage which performers had only moments before exited, having from their height on the stage, viewed the oncoming storm heading down the Ottawa River. Three people sent to hospital, with broken leg, spinal injury, cuts - nothing life-threatening.

Thousands panicked and sought shelter within the nearby War Museum. Electricity was cut to tens of thousands of households in the Ottawa Valley. Throughout the night sheet electricity lit up the sky as thunder rolled and rain continued pelting the area.

I fear it will take more than the newly-acquired digital camera with the very large viewing screen to help me distinguish the subject of my photographs from the surrounding landscape. When we embark on one of our daily jaunts into the woodland of the ravine adjacent our home, I'm on the lookout for anything unusual and if I'm able to, like to snap a photo of whatever it happens to be.

Yesterday I took out, for the first time, the new Kodak camera that my husband bought for me, a Kodak-reconditioned camera that came at an affordable price. Alas, while I'm able to enjoy the larger screen and can see as a result a larger landscape in its view, it still cannot enable me to distinguish details. So I point and shoot, hoping that what I'm aiming at will be in the near vicinity of the shot.

As it happened, I spotted a hare, and it was nicely posed. It simply stayed where it was, on the trail adjacent to the one we happened to be on. Our little dogs are securely harnessed and leashed and they didn't alarm the little beast. Their odour no doubt did, still it stayed its ground, patiently awaiting our departure for whatever reason. I hauled out my new little camera to give it its initiation into usefulness. And took what I hoped would be usable photos.

I did use the zoom function, but I'll certainly have to become far more familiar with the new camera to enable me to use it for its ultimate technical value. And the sad truth is, if I really want to get the most out of the camera, I'll have to carry along with me a pair of eyeglasses, and this is something I hadn't bargained on, just yet.

There is deliberate built-in obsolescence in all manufactured goods today, almost without exception. Nothing is manufactured to last the presumed length of its constituent parts made of quality materials. Quality has been abandoned for cheap quantity and quick turn-over. In the field of electronics and ever-evolving technologies this can be understood to a degree.

But consumers are led down the garden path by unscrupulous corporations who specialize in unveiling the very latest in the always-competitive, always-emerging field of cutting-edge technology, with cut-throat tactics to ensure that one always has a leg up on competitors anxious to shove the leaders off the top ledge of 'superior products', beloved by a consuming public.

Little wonder we've become such mindless consumers. We should demand more and better, however; not more products, but higher expectations of what we take to be durable products, which turn out to be nothing but. Take, for example, standards in house construction. While in some ways these have advanced, in many others they have turned a retrograde step.

People seem to think there is nothing amiss when a relatively new house presents with the problem of deteriorating window frames. Window frames now passing muster - and have done so for a generation - meeting required standards made not from solid, aged wood, but finger-jointed wood. Which may sound all right, but isn't. Because finger-jointed frames are vulnerable to deterioration; they haven't the fundamental characteristics of sold wood which can withstand moisture infiltration.

Which explains why so many of our neighbours have, over the past ten years, been paying tens of thousands of dollars to have their windows replaced by companies cheerily accomplishing that for them, in recognition of the inadequacy of building code standards for new housing. Old homes whose window frames were built of solid wood, are not decomposing at the rate the new homes are.

Which explains why, despite looking after the windows of our twenty-year-old house, by regular inspections, cleaning and painting, we have discovered yet another window where the wood has turned to pulp and requires replacing.