An irresistibly beautiful morning greeted us, sunlight flooding the front of the house, a cool breeze wafting in from our bedroom window, and an impulse to leap out of bed assailing us. Perfect conditions for an early morning ramble through the forest trails. And Jackie and Jillie just as willing to forge the day by an early outdoor start. When we left the house it was a respectable 20C, with all signs pointing to the realization of another 30C day of full sun.

So off we went. Everything alongside the forest trails has grown immensely this summer. The burdock has grown to enormous size. We passed one leaf that was larger and longer than Jackie. Come another few weeks they'll be sporting their flowers that turn into wicked landmines in fall, traps for furry animals in the winter months.

We weren't out all that long before we came across an old acquaintance again, just as we had yesterday. Walking his Malamute, Maya, considerably more staid now than she was a few years back, as a puppy full of vim and vinegar. And her inbred hunting instinct that propelled her after foxes in the forest. Our friend's wife took to putting an electronic collar on Maya, so that when she ran off a slight press of a button would recall her. In the interim, if she caught up with a squirrel or a fox mayhem would have resulted. She was responsible for the death of at least one fox, that we know of.

Adulthood has cured much of that instinct, as well as constant vigilance, though she's seldom leashed. Jackie and Jillie get on just fine with Maya. And we accompanied one another for a good distance before separating, finally, making off on our separate directions.

We take most of the trails at a leisurely pace, requiring very little energy output. That pace allows us to take note of things happening on the forest floor, though at this time of year there's a density of ferns but not much in the way of flowering plants that need sun, which cannot now penetrate the thicker forest canopy. The continuous ascents and descents of the hills give us a good enough physical workout.

There are trails that connect with other major trails, the minor ones narrower and presenting different landscape views, some with a bowered aspect so that looking ahead into them one has the impression of entering a dark tunnel.

On our way out, as we ascended to the plateau level with the street, we passed a few Himalayan orchids growing among the far more numerous Pilotweed and thimbleberries. One of the plants has had a head-start on flowering, not the tallest, but obviously the more vigorous of them, and the bright pink orchid flowers are slowly emerging from the promising flower buds, bright sparks of colour amongst the dark green, large foliage of the plants.

Jackie and Jillie as usual, amble about the garden walkways, patiently waiting for us to decide to enter the  house and begin breakfast. After breakfast, though the heat of the day was well advanced, we both went out to the backyard and the front gardens to tidy up a bit, cutting back too-vigorous growth, and sweeping up the organic detritus that is forever gathering where trees overhang and spent flowers drop.

While we were busy out front, as often happens someone walked by with their own dog, activating Jackie and Jillie to assert their sovereignty, and us to apologize for the racket our two make. This time it was a young woman with a little girl and their little Shih Tzu, a friendly little dog ensuring that the three got on well together. They obviously live close by though they were strangers to us. But as usual when people pass by and see us in the garden they strike up conversations alluding to the garden, but also remarking on my husband's stained glass windows.

And since my husband is fairly loquacious, he is the one who ends up in long conversations with people while I make my exit and carry on. As far as personalities go, when we were young he was more of an introvert and I an extrovert. Over the years, our personalities have done a switch.

Some culinary habits are predictable. Those are the ones when you always serve a particular dish on a particular day. For us, it's fish of some kind on Thursday. For some reason I've just been doing that for umpteen years. Sometimes it's a half side of baked salmon, others it's breaded halibut, also baked in the oven. My husband isn't fond of salmon but he dutifully eats it. On occasion I'll agree to have him do the salmon on the barbecue. It's messy cleaning up afterward. Yesterday we had halibut, dredged in seasoned breadcrumbs and served with oven-baked chips. Prefaced by a nice big fresh vegetable salad. My husband tolerates the salad, and enjoys the chips.

Last week he suggested that it might be interesting to prepare a sauce to go with the chips, and I was fairly incredulous. But I'm never loathe to try anything he suggests he might like. And so, I made poutine for him. He sprinkled cheddar cheese over his hot potato chips, then drizzled over the beef 'gravy' I had prepared. He thought I had made it a little thin last week, so I repeated it yesterday and made it thicker this time. Too thick by a tad, he said, but he enjoyed it. Oh well, that's how it goes.

This morning our bedside telephone rang before seven. It's on my husband's side, and he's always quick to pick up. I barely woke. It was a robo call, those stupid recorded calls that are so infuriating, asking how you are, thanking you for being such a good customer for products or a company you're completely unaware of, but offering to give you a really good deal on something before you slam the receiver down, turn over and go back to sleep.

Only we didn't, though Jackie and Jillie were quiet, not agitating for a change for us to get up instanter and start the day. So up we got anyway, took them out to the backyard, and it was clear this would be one of those rare non-rain days. The sun was up, the air was cool, a good breeze treated us, and we decided we'd get out with the puppies as has become our norm; before breakfast. They've become accustomed to our going out pre-breakfast, but they're quick to remind me that they expect their usual treat of cheese tidbits before we set out.

A crow perched high on a dead tree spoke to us as we approached the ravine entrance. We do like crows, though they're despised by so many people. It's a mystery to me why that should be so, they are so intelligent, and though their call is loud and raw, it's also nostalgic. When I used to put out peanuts regularly for the squirrels as we meandered along the forest trails years ago, sometimes crows would follow us. They became familiar with all the places where I'd leave peanuts, and sometimes beat the squirrels to them. They'd pick up the peanut in their beaks, then smash it against a hard surface to release the peanuts within. They would recognize us as we walked up the street toward the ravine, and follow us.

Squirrels don't really need to be 'fed' by people, though we do tend to do that in the winter months. We've seen piles of carefully pulled-apart spruce cones littering the trail under spruce trees, and little piles on the top rail of the bridges as well, informing us that squirrels are very fond of the seeds they extract from the cones at this time of year. We know they, along with birds have been eating the dogwood berries. And this year, strangely enough, there's been a real paucity of red baneberry berries. They're toxic to humans and I'd had no idea that birds and mammals eat them.

Getting out this early in the day means that we find ourselves hiking through the trails in a dusky atmosphere, more than is usual in the afternoon. It's as though the sun hasn't yet had the opportunity to fully penetrate the forest canopy to light up the inner forest. The contrast between the shaded areas of the forest -- which is the majority -- and the areas where sunlight penetrates is eye-dazzling.

The soft fruit on the shrubs is ripening at an ever-increasing rate. Which means that Jackie and Jillie are offered plenty of treats as we make our way through the forest. Mostly raspberries but thimbleberries too are now joining the handfuls of treats they enjoy, sweet and juicy and ever so rewarding for good little dogs who behave themselves. They're trying to live up to a reputation they don't deserve.

Back home again, and the usual brief ramble through the garden. There too, at the front of the house, the contrast between tree-shielded shade and full sun exposure differentiates the plants that we long since selected for the sunny beds and borders and the shaded ones. Something within celebrates joyfully at the sight of bright, colourful flowerheads. It's as though your eyes record camera-like what you see to enable you to dreamily conjure up those bright and beautiful mini-landscapes during the long monochromatic winters.

In the backyard, there is infinitely more sun than in the front. The back has always had a distinct micro climate of its own, and it is unfailingly hotter there than at the front of the house. It's interesting that Discobolus can now be fully realized once again, now that my husband cut back the cedars flanking the statue. I mourn the sacrifice on the one hand, and appreciate the need to free the heroic statue from its prison of green. And we both hope that the cedars will recover the shock of cut-back after enjoying so many years of unrestrained growth.

When we went up to bed last night at midnight it was dark out, and it was raining heavily. The extreme heat conditions had relented, giving  us a comfortable night with bedroom windows flung wide open, and the hint of a breeze of cool air entering from time to time. Augmenting the floor fans' frenetic activity.

In the morning, when we awakened well before eight, it was still raining and the atmosphere was still dark. Oh, not as dark as it had been the night before, but dark enough to know we'd be lucky to see the sun today. That impression was soon validated when the weather forecast that caps the news informed us that this would be another humid, rainy day; more rain expected for the afternoon hours. And likely into the night again.

It's a repetitive pattern. But in fact we don't mind the rain, since we're also getting more than ample sun and wind to dry out the landscape. Enabling us to make a dash for the ravine and wind our way through the forest trails with Jackie and Jillie.

Today was interesting for the drenched appearance of the forest, wetter than we often see it, and darker as well. Glancing into the forest interior from the outside the impression is one of dark mystery; what lies beyond and within? Nothing, of course, that doesn't appear on every other day whether overcast or sunny. Yet the darkness has its mystical side, perhaps a subconscious reminder of early human habitation in forests when competitor species lurked about, some of them regarding humans as prey.

Once the interior is entered, the dusky appearance is lifted somewhat, although the impression of darkness prevails, as becomes evident with photographs reflecting a night-time, not a morning landscape. Foliage has been broad-brushed with green luminosity, drawing light from some source to emphasize a deeper green heavily lacquered with rain.

My ever-ready camera proves unready under these conditions, loathe to allow me to hear that satisfying 'click'. It wants more ambient light than the conditions allow. Still, it would be hard to miss details and to note elements of interest along the way. Such as the surprising proliferation this year of young sumac saplings springing up here and there under the tutelage of mature sumacs. Some of them are placed vulnerably, too close to foot traffic on the trails. Some will survive to maturity, some will not.

Eventually we pass another stripling of meagre height, this time a little oak whose leaves belie the insignificant height and absent breadth of its trunk. At one time a mature oak tree grew there. It's been gone for many years. But a stripling has been making an effort for years to establish itself, close to the trail, adjacent where the original mature one grew. In the spring it asserts its presence, that it has survived the harsh cold and heavy mantle of snow and ice. Foliage emerges, and it thrives in miniature, never growing in height or width.

Another break in the successive heat waves that have been giving us hot, sticky days, unusual in their frequency. We had the option of sleeping in a little longer as we did yesterday morning, or getting up and having breakfast then taking our time before heading out to the ravine with Jackie and Jillie -- which we also did yesterday, or getting up before the threat of afternoon rain and making directly for the forest trails.

The thought of staying in bed a little longer won out -- but just for a minute, before we decided we'd make a break for the ravine and an early morning ramble. We're never sorry about those decisions. It almost seems that foregoing breakfast for a later morning hour and slogging through the trails unfed we've got more energy than when we embark for an afternoon trail hike. Admittedly, that happens after we've done whatever work has to be done in and around the house. Jackie and Jillie don't leave the house before a cheese snack to get them through first-thing-in-the-morning tummy rumbles.

And they can also now count on occasional treats of ripe berries as we make our way through the various trails burgeoning with wild berry stalks. Berries are ripening fast now, and they'll continue to do so for months to come.

In the brief clearing before descending the first long hill onto the ravine we could see that the first of the Himalayan orchids had set its buds, preparing to bloom. Oddly, though we've had a wet spring and a wet summer, the masses of jewelweed that tend to grow not only alongside the creek but in great numbers on an upper portion of the forest that tends to be damp, haven't seemed to take off at all this year. Their growth looks stunted, though as moisture-loving plants they should be fairly robust by now.

We wondered when or whether we would begin to note the appearance of fungi, given the damp conditions, prevailing humidity and extremely warm temperatures of late. Years ago we used to see mushrooms far more often than we now do, and in amazing colours of bright yellow, dark orange, pinks and browns, and even pallid blues. Finally we passed a small grouping of pink-passing-for-red mushrooms, as though in answer to our question.

The proliferation of thistles and pilotweed have been in bloom for some time, and now we're seeing the much larger, taller bull thistles begin their bloom with beautiful pink or purple blossoms. We enjoy their appearance now, but when fall and winter arrive their dried state is to be avoided, if at all possible.

Then back home again, to begin the rest of the day, the garden welcoming us with its warm, rich colours and textures. At the very front of the property we own, modest in size, the garden bed is in full sunshine.

We've so many mature trees now around the gardens that sun has difficulty penetrating in the beds and borders closer to the house, so a focus on shade-loving plants is a must, and that's where plants like hostas come into the picture, and we have plenty of them in all sizes and textures and colours. The foliage is so ornamental it hardly needs the flower stalks they tend to send up in mid-summer, though they tend to flower at different times.

For the most part, Jackie and Jillie follow us about as we peer around at our little bit of heaven, but it's clear enough that this can be a tedious exercise for them, when they'd prefer to conclude the morning adventure with a filling breakfast to satiate a grumbling stomach. So, in we go, and after we shower it's breakfast time for everyone. Utter, sublime relaxation.

In honour of a rare cool morning, we lingered in bed longer than usual, Jackie and Jillie behaving as though our bodies in horizontal rest are a playground, pummeling us and licking us to death until we finally roused ourselves to meet the day. No hurry this morning to get out into the ravine for our daily tramp-about, for today dawned cool and with a decided lack of humidity, so we tarried. A leisurely breakfast, a bit of tidying up, and off we went.

We'd decided between us, (failing to ask the opinion much less seek the permission of our two little co-trampers) that we'd extend our hike today, given the pleasant weather; no rain in the forecast, a high of 24C, and a sustaining breeze. When we first began our daily tramps through the ravined forest decades ago, we would venture far on many occasions from where our start was, accessed from our street entrance to the ravine.

Thirty years ago we had more energy and stamina to work off a longer circuit that took us a good distance from our home. But occasionally we venture further -- not nearly as far as once we did, but further than our usual hour-and-a-half circuit. Some of the old trails we were back then so familiar with don't exist any longer; they've slumped into the ravine. Others have become too crowded with dense spreading shrubbery. And others are still usable but don't appeal to us now, given their steep gradients.

But over on that side where a much further part of the community we live in can be accessed once out of the forest, there is also a spread-out flat portion, a meadow of modest-sized trees, shrubs and a proliferation of wildflowers and vines that need sun to thrive. So the vegetation there can be quite different than what we generally see in 'our part' of the forest, where the sun is shielded by the forest canopy.

As we swerved away from our usual circuit, a half-hour or more into our ramble this morning to descend a hill and approach an old bridge fording a low gaping fold in the forest floor, Jillie balked at crossing the bridge; she just refused to set her little paws on it. Jackie seemed  little suspicious at the unfamiliarity of this new route; obviously neither recall that they've been there before, not often but they have had the experience.

Usually they're bright and cheerful when they're introduced to different areas than what they're accustomed to, but it took them awhile today to appreciate being in a landscape their memory eluded.
Finally, they began looking about with more interest, and so did we. The greater sun exposure there results in a greater appearance of wildflowers and fruit-bearing trees with riper produce. So there was ample colour amidst the predominating green.

There were patches of yarrow, crabapples beginning to ripen. We saw chicory, Queen Anne's Lace in abundance, cowvetch, and flowering milkweed. And we also saw sunflowers robust and tall in flower whereas those in the part of the forest that we're familiar with, are nowhere as well advanced. We came across chokecherry shrubs dripping with clusters of bright red fruit.

And further along, as we made our way through the area, we came across the expected sight of large old grapevines. They've spread quite a bit from the first time we saw them so many years ago. Now, vines are stretched over a much larger area, draped over trees at the forest edge, and dangling from them unripe clusters of wild grape (vitis labrusca). There was wild raspberry in abundance everywhere, giving us the opportunity to pluck some for our greedy little pups.

After we doubled back and were once again in more familiar surroundings, we came across a young man whom we know as a dog walker. He enters the ravine regularly with his charges, all very well behaved dogs. We don't see him all that often. There is another dog walker whom  we've known for far longer and no longer see but on the rare occasion, who walks dogs that on occasion behave badly; one of whom attacked someone else's small dog necessitating costly veterinarian services.

This young man was walking, among dogs we've seen with him before, a massive Newfoundland, a mild-mannered but somewhat overwhelming presence. We passed each other several times and on the second occasion I asked whether the large-breed collar that someone had picked up off the trail and attached to a tree branch belonged to him. It did. Evidently it became lost on a stroll he took with the dogs yesterday, so he was glad to recover it.