On the fourth day of our trip to New Hampshire, a Sunday, the morning dawned without rain, and we were grateful. Instead, a pearl-grey fog enveloped the area and when we exited the cottage we could see the faint outline of the sun struggling to cut through the fog. As the sun rose higher above the mountain peaks in the near distance, it managed to dissipate the fog, though mist kept rising in white sheets from the valleys below the mountainsides. As we prepared for the day, the sun broke through and we knew we'd be enjoying a bright sunny day.

We decided a trip along the Kancamagus Highway for our day's destination. We'd go to Rocky Gorge. One of our favoured places to see all that nature's geology could contrive to astonish we puny humans. As its name implies it is a rocky gorge set at the base of the White Mountains where the Swift River is fed by mountain streams rushing downhill out of the mountains in great swirling gushes over the waterfall and rapids that have been worn through the granite base over time.

Typically, because the huge, wide granite is partially horizontal surrounding the gorge itself, people like to make their way down onto the spectacular flattened areas to peer down at closer range to relish the sight of the water swirling and boiling into the gorge. We had our share of that when we first came to the site, and no longer have any interest in repeating the experience. Not that it's dangerous or forbidden, since neither is true, but we leave it for others to make their own discoveries.

And although it was a Sunday we were surprised to see such relatively few people about to engage with the spectacle. Reason to be grateful, actually. And although the landscape is spectacular, viewing the mountains off in the distance, and the river speeding its way along, the water spurting around and through the boulders lining its course, then spilling boisterously over into the gorge, we didn't spend very much time taking it all in, familiar as it has become to us.

Over the bridge and a brief stop midway to the opposite shore of the river, to take a few photographs and wonder at the might of nature's picturesque geological treasures, and we entered a copse of woods comprised of mostly old hemlock and pine, some quite sizeable in girth. One mighty old tree that grew in a very conspicuous spot where two trails converged and a bench had been set, had collapsed at some time in the past several months -- it had still been intact when we were there in June -- and that struck a sad note.

We were headed to Falls Pond, a small forest-interior lake just a short walk in from the gorge. There's a lookout and a picnic table before the lake surrounded by forest, a place to rest and  to contemplate the landscape. As usual, the lake was rippled by a sharp breeze that seems always to blow across its surface. When the sun is out, blazing across the sky, those ripples turn into flashing diamonds. There are tadpoles swimming about and close to the shoreline, aquatic plants.

Hard to say whether this trail is familiar to Jackie and Jillie, but they're always enthusiastic about setting out on a  hike in the woods. We left the lake area and began to climb the Lovequist Trail that circles the lake, making our way up the ladders of twisted tree roots that typify this trail. There is an area that is always a bit boggy and a bit of a detour is always advisable.

As we make our way along the trail following Jackie and Jillie who lead the way, although we keep them on leash, they're excited and happy to be out, and so are we. Glancing to our left from time to time and stopping, we see the lake's surface glinting in the sun, through the screen of the trees alongside the trail. Dogwood grow in abundance here, as the understory, and their leaves are beginning to turn pink-red, berries dangling in bright red.

Just as we're curious about the lake, viewing it through the trees, so are Jackie and Jillie who also stop occasionally to pose themselves on a fallen tree trunk to gaze downward at the lake below us, from the steadily rising trail. Eventually we come to a swamp area, just perfect for moose, though we've never yet seen any there. At the junction of the swamp the trail turns sharply left again and rises steeply at first, before levelling off, and we continue our trek.

This occasion turned out to be the only one during our trip and the varied forest trails we would take, when we relented, and decided it seemed safe enough, given the lay of the trail, to allow our two puppies to roam the trail alongside us, off leash. It's not that they object to being on leash, just that we felt it might be appropriate on this occasion when we felt sufficiently satisfied they would come to no harm, to allow them free reign to a degree.

It takes us about an hour of leisure hiking to complete the circuit. We have come across several other people taking the trail from the opposite end, but by and large it is deserted other than for our presence. 

Yesterday it appeared that a fair number of dogs succeeded in persuading their people that it was a perfect day to head out for a traipse on forest trails. And assuredly Sunday was just that; balmy to the point of being a tad too warm at 27C, along with high humidity. Everyone seemed glad to discard the cool weather gear we'd had to resort to in the past several weeks that marked a cooler-than-normal first half of September.

Bare arms and hot weather are natural accompaniments. 

Trust the official arrival of fall to trick us all into believing that summer had returned. It was, of course, late summer reacting to the general disappointment that the season had gone so fleetingly, commanding summer to react as though there had been applause, mandating a brief return to the stage for an encore. Muchos gracias!

Even the last of the seasonal wildflowers looked perkier than usual, going out of their way, putting on a special show for us and greatly appreciated. We came across the last we could see of the Himalayan orchids in splendid pink flower, this time with a much shorter stem than is usual with this wildflower, hosting a small bouquet of those delightful orchids.

And elsewhere, among the bracken on the forest floor, both Black-eyed Susans and asters comfortably leaning against one another, complementing each other, in an obvious conspiracy of conceit among the fading vegetation which the slighter daylight hours has caused, as the floor of the forest begins to subsume the once-green plants, now turned pale yellow and fast-fading.

And we can't overlook the fungi that so abruptly manifest their presence at this time of year. Toadstools on this occasion, establishing themselves comfortably at the base of tree trunks, the mushrooms large and appealing to the possibility of decorating a dinner plate.

We did see some people we've become acquainted with over the years, out with their companion dogs, amiably trailing after the dogs, just as we do. And we came across a mother and daughter walking their two very small dogs -- none of the quartet being familiar to us at all. Which mitigated against just walking on, demanding the courtesy of a brief conversation.

Which is to say, the four people involved began a discussion about small dogs, and the four small dogs, Jackie and Jillie and the two little dogs that were easily half the size of ours, one a Chihuahua mix, the other a Yorkie-Pomeranian mix, found common ground in a sense related to their diminutive size.

The usual canine introductions were made; intimately rude should humans ever perform such rituals, but customarily mandatory, it would seem, for dogs to introduce themselves to one another.

Saturday, our second day at the cottage in Campton dawned heavily overcast, destined to be a rainy day. Not showers, but full rain. Before the rain began, though, Byron wanted to show us his pumpkin patch so we trotted along after him over to the main house and the gardens where he grows potatoes, cucumbers, tomatoes -- and this year, pumpkins as well. He and Donna are the most enterprising people we have ever known.

Byron, like his father, is an excellent gardener. He's curious about everything. Last year he wanted to grow hops thinking it might turn out to be a profitable side-business. He gave me one to take home last June and though I planted it with high hopes nothing came of it. His, however, seemed to thrive and grew mightily over the props he planted them in front of. They seemed to overwinter badly, though, and today nothing is left of them.

Their two little goats are in fine fettle. They've had a succession of rabbits and the latest one is adorable, white, tiny and with the most beautiful eyes. He's also not frightened of anything, allowing Jackie and Jillie to sniff him, and he returned the compliment with full confidence. The newborn chicks we had seen in June are now juveniles, about half the full size they will eventually grow to, and reputed to be excellent egg layers.

Soon after our little jaunt and heavy conversations about the important things in life, we returned to the cottage to shower, have breakfast, and plan our activities for the day. And then the rain began, the heavy clouds just opened up and it poured incessantly. Clearly, any outdoor activity would be restricted until the rain wore itself out. And we had no intention of remaining indoors, sulking in the cottage, rather than remaining active. So we decided it was as good a day as any to head out to Antique Alley, a long hour-and-a-half drive from where we were situated.

We saw mist rising from the mountains and the valleys below, even in the rain. The rain relented from time to time, going from really heavy to relatively light. We anticipated that the further south in the state we drove, the likelier it would be that the rain would either be lighter or would have stopped by the time we arrived at our destination. And as things turned out, the rain petered out before our arrival, the skies remaining heavily loaded with grey clouds.

We visited several group shops selling all manner of items from curiosities to antiques. We're always curious about what the market holds in old paintings, and over the  years have been able to acquire 19th century oils and watercolours, from still-lifes to landscapes to portraits, all of which we enjoy living with. For the past ten years antique shops have been steadily closing to be replaced with shops selling 'collectibles', and the chance that we'd come across genuinely good offerings has decreased immeasurably. The only really good group shop is more distant than we were willing to go. The quality of the merchandise they sell is matched by the prices they exact.

So we moseyed about, talked at some length with some of the people in the shops, most of whom we got to know over the years. And then left, to return to the cottage. We encountered more rain as we returned, but then the rain began to peter out and we decided that before reaching the cottage we'd make a stop to have a short hike in the surrounding forest. Jackie and Jillie are so patient, so well behaved, so companionable, we feel guilty any time they're deprived by untoward circumstances, of a good, energetic opportunity to enjoy a forest trail.

We always keep our hiking boots in the truck, so on our arrival prepared for an unexpected hike. Dusk was closing in rapidly, as it does in mountainous terrain. And by the time we entered the forest interior it was quite dusky and getting darker by the minute. We chose a trail that was mostly flat, not a hiking challenge, while still offering the opportunity for a good stretch of our legs. It was different, being on a forest trail in looming darkness. By the time we'd gone as far as we meant to under the circumstances and turned back to retrace our steps back to the trailhead, it was really quite dark. We had no problems making our way through the forest, though, and were grateful for the opportunity to do just that. A nice conclusion to a day when weather restricted our choices.

There's no reason to be critical about our accommodation at the cottage we normally rent for our week away in the Waterville Valley of New Hampshire. We've a small bedroom with a firm mattress, an adjacent bathroom with shower, a small living room with a giant flat-screen television that we look at only for weather updates, and a functional kitchen alongside it.

There's a nice inground swimming pool right next to the cottage we rent, and the owners of the site also keep a small menagerie of animals on their well-treed lot with a view of the mountains in the distance. They have two miniature goats in a compound and they're about ten years old. There's a sweet little rabbit, in its hutch, and a group of colourful hens that are known as good layers.

When we get up in the morning first off Jackie and Jillie are taken on a little roundabout walk on the property, and then we get down to the business of showering, preparing breakfast, and deciding where we'll go for our first forest walk for the day. Not much of a debate, since we generally go off to the Smarts Brook trail for our introductory walk in the woods, a place fairly familiar by now to Jackie and Jillie.

Often when we are there part of the trail is fairly muddy, but not this time. There is some serious erosion on the trail, and the network of roots and rocks make it somewhat tricky going, but we take our time. As you enter the trailhead the sound of the water rushing over the rocks scattered throughout the bed of the brook becomes louder as you progress into the forest.

From time to time we venture off the trail to approach the brook, to admire the ferocity of the stream's volume and the sound it makes -- thunderous at times -- as the water is being transported downstream toward the Pemigewasset River.

The trail begins to ascend and it becomes not only a forest trail but a fairly typical mountain trail. The brook itself morphs gradually into a bit of a gorge. The higher we climb, the deeper the brook, and the steeper the walls of the gorge. There are erratics perched here and there; sizeable boulders that at one time tumbled off the mountainside.

The streambed itself is heavy with fallen boulders, the raceway becoming an obstacle course of the rushing water as it bubbles, burbles and streams over and around the rocks. When we reach the top where the forest plateaus and turns into the Pine Flats trail, there are no more exertions required to clamber upward. The constant humidity of the forest creates areas that are thickly and heavily mossed, resembling a fairytale setting. Odd, colourful fungi can be noted from time to time.

Hemlock, yellow birch, maple, pine, spruce and fir crowd the forest interior. It hasn't been all that long ago that the area was logged out, less than two decades ago, and though there are tall, thick trunks of pine, yellow birch and hemlock, most of the trees are just beginning to attain some girth. The understory of Moose maple, sumac and dogwood ensure there is no 'spare' room. All the colourful spring wildflowers we enjoy seeing in June are but a memory.

The bracken includes ferns, false Solomon's seal, fall asters and little else. We've never seen the blueberry bushes to bear fruit. The foliage of Ladies Slipper, trilliums and straw lilies, and the presence of silver lichen on the trees comprise a complex and beautiful landscape. One that keeps calling out to us to return, year after year.

Today may be the first official day of fall, but it resembles summer far more than it does autumn. While we've had ample fall-type weather the past two weeks, today we've been melting at 27C with full sun. Jackie and Jillie, though they enjoyed our week away in the White Mountains, exploring forest trails there, are exuberantly happy to be home.

While we were away not once did they indulge in their usual boisterous run-abouts, chasing one another, wrestling, engaging in boxing matches as they often do at home, especially after we've returned from one of our forest traipses. They were, of course, restrained while we were out in the forests on the trails in the White Mountain range. We had them on leash for all of our walks with the exception of the trail at one of the sites.

This morning, in anticipation of a trip to the ravine they were their usual selves, roisterous and boisterous. Leaping happily about, challenging one another to run-offs, really quite amusing. Once they're assured we're really setting off, when they see us making the preparations involved in getting their leashes, harnesses and collars ready, they become expectantly muted.

And off we go! This time we did come across a number of others out enjoying the weather and a stroll through some of the ravine trails. At one point as we approached one of the bridges fording the creek there was a young couple we'd judged to be in their late teens. And when Jackie and Jillie ran toward them, barking, the girl hurried off the bridge and went around behind it, trying to make herself inconspicuous, while the boy stood in front of her, fending off the vicious little beasts.

We explained as we so often must, that they're noisy but harmless, and the boy began to pet them, while the girl slowly came around and relaxed. It's at that point, when people relent and prepare to accommodate the presence of two wild little animals that the puppies decide they're not all that interesting and simply trot off.

There were others walking their own dogs. One group had a Weimaraner and a long-haired German Shepherd with them. We offered the dogs, because they were panting heavily in the heat, some water that we carry for Jackie and Jillie but neither was interested. The German Shepherd was interested, though, in rolling about in the undergrowth, his hair becoming matted with detritus, his humans shrugging, as really what can you do?

Bright splashes of colour greeted us here and there, from the colourfully intense haws of Hawthorn trees, to the pink-red of turning dogwood foliage. And of course, the everpresent fall asters. We did see two snakes, which was rather unusual. We generally see them, harmless Garter snakes, only in the spring, warming themselves in the sun. The first one we encountered was a mature snake, and for a change Jillie actually noticed it; we've always found that dogs simply seem unaware of the presence of snakes.

On the second occasion a bit later on in our walk, there was another snake, this one the tiniest we'd ever seen, a slender and frantic-to-escape-our-notice little juvenile. And I just couldn't resist the opportunity to grab a little video of it as it made its way over, under, around and through detritus on the forest floor....

We woke a little early last Thursday, the 12th of September. Knowing we had a lot of work left before we could leave. Even though the packing had been done the day before, and the back of the truck under its cap loaded up with all the paraphernalia we tend to take along with us for a week away from home. Not that the cottage we've been renting for the past several decades that allows us to bring Jackie and Jillie with us, isn't functional enough. The kitchen has a full-size refrigerator and stove, and all the basic essentials for meal preparation are there. But there are so many things we tend to take with anyway for me to feel 'comfortable' in the kitchen preparing meals that I find indispensable. We keep a fair-sized box fully loaded and ready-to-go for just such occasions.

There's clothing for us and for the puppies, meant to fit the bill regardless of the weather conditions. And the ten-day weather forecast for the Waterville Valley was dismal; rain, rain, overcast skies, and one day of sunshine. Cooler temperatures as well, since we'd be in the mountain landscape we so admire. That all needed packing.

That morning we showered, fed the puppies, took them out, prepared a brunch for all of us that we'd share once we crossed the border into Vermont from Quebec, closed up the house, took a long last, lingering look at the garden and off we went on a cool, overcast and windy day, knowing that the forecast for home and for our destination were both calling for showers. No showers; the rain had stopped at the cottage in the morning and by the time we arrived it was well over.

The drive was non-eventful and pleasant. We chatted together and discussed events in the news, with a focus on the upcoming federal election later in the month. So time passed quickly When we got to the border four hours later there was an unaccustomed wait. Only one border line was open for business and things went quite slowly. It took us a half-hour before we could cross. And the Vermont welcome and rest centre is located just five minutes from the border and it's where we headed directly toward.

We walked the puppies on the newly-mown grass, which was in fact more thyme than grass, and the thyme was in flower and redolent with its herb fragrance as we walked upon it. It's as tough as any grass and a lot prettier as well. There are a number of specimen oaks, a lovely old elm, a few crabapple trees on the property, and adjacent the rest centre is a milking farm of Holsteins, Guernseys and Jerseys, overlooking the Green Mountain range of Vermont.

We brought our coffee, tea and brunch over to the only picnic table directly warmed by the sun; all the others under trees and well shaded. We needed the sun to warm us up given the height and the cool temperature. We split a boiled egg between Jackie and Jillie; he prefers the yolk, she will eat anything. The cattle, intrigued by our presence, left their position on a lower, distant pasture, and came trickling over in bunches.

They're curious creatures and wanted to know what and who we were and what we were doing, although the whys of it all undoubtedly eluded them. Jackie and Jillie responded to the presence of the cows by barking furiously at their presence. Jackie was a little interested in approaching the fence and the large bovines standing there.

Finally, we said goodbye to the cows, to the rest stop, and continued on our way. For a change, when we reached the Franconia Notch the sky was semi-clear; so often we drive through the Notch in rain or under low-slung, dark skies. When we arrived at our destination, Jackie and Jillie recognized where we were. When Donna, our hostess approached us as we parked in front of the cottage the puppies ran gleefully toward her, insisting on being greeted like the little princelings they think they are. Donna kindly obliged.

They entered the familiar cottage, and as we unpacked and put things in order, they relaxed after the arduous hours they spent fast asleep beside us in the truck, Jackie mostly on my lap, Jillie resting her head on my husband's lap as he drove. They're little troopers and they're excellent companions whose company we truly appreciate.

And then it was time to leave the cottage and do the food shopping at the local Hannaford's supermarket, to stock up the refrigerator with all the ingredients needed for meals for the next week for all of us. We were informed years ago that no one would mind our taking the puppies in with us. They sit quietly on the kiddie seat of the shopping trolley in their carry bags while we select foodstuffs off the shelves and do our best to accommodate all the people whom the puppies attract, from excited children to elderly men and women -- all who want to see them up close and personal.