We slept in this morning to an unheard-of 9:30. And awoke only then because Jackie and Jillie were nudging us awake. Small they may be and delicate-featured, but when you're in repose and they inadvertently happen to step on you, there's more than enough physical pressure to influence your lazy eyes to open as you groggily acknowledge their presence.

Which meant that we were late setting off with them this morning on our usual early morning ravine hike. They were pretty cheerful about it, in contrast to our slight ill humour. Truth is, Jackie awoke us at 4:30 a.m. once again, having to be let out to the backyard. Second night in a row. Disturbed sleep doesn't make for the best of bedfellows.

But if we  hadn't set out so late we'd never have come across our old friends Rod and Nova. Nova takes Rod out to the ravine three times a day. He's a bundle of energy, a white German Shepherd who loves people and evidently coyotes, as well. Jackie and Jillie have known Nova since they were all three puppies. Rod was out for his second turn in the ravine this morning. He's taking shorter circuits this past year, finding the ascents and descents a little demanding. Nova, on the other hand, looks for distractions and is off and about here and there in the forest interior.

She plays with the coyotes, they indulge in little chase-abouts, it would seem, and  have for quite a while. Rod told us that because he sets out just after six every morning he frequently sees coyotes. Last week on two occasions he saw and  heard a coyote close to where he stood, yipping. He finally deduced that it was alerting another coyote to the presence of people (him). They were protecting coyote pups in a nearby den.

Hard to say how many coyotes the forest accommodates now, whether there's a full pack, a family group whose territory it has become. But we're agreed that the coyotes pose no threat unless they're challenged by dogs chasing after them. And Nova doesn't chase after them, he chases with them for a frolic. Rod told us he watched recently while they ran after one another, Nova and a coyote, up and down one of the hills, five times in quick succession before Nova rejoined him.

Jackie and Jillie are not socially inclined in that manner. They tend to behave aggressively when confronted by a dog they're not familiar with. And we know their reaction on coming across a coyote would be to challenge it, first by barking furiously, then by harassing it, leaping about and growling. Two very small dogs threatening a species quite close to them on the evolutionary scale. The coyotes, to protect themselves would respond and we'd stand the chance of losing one or both of our rash little companions. Therefore, the leashes.

For part of our circuit there appeared quite a few other ravine hikers we've known over the years, but as we ventured further within the forest, their number declined to the point where the last half of our circuit was serene and quiet, none others around -- man nor beast -- but for ourselves. The forest was drying out nicely from the past several weeks of ongoing rain events; no more puddles on the trails, no more glittering drops on the vegetation.

We ambled on past our last ascent to street level, bypassing it to extend our hike just a little further, wanting to see how the wildflowers that grow in some abundance in a forest clearing had coped with the rain. And were rewarded with the sight of large colourful clumps of goldenrod, a few lagging groups of fleabane, clover in flower, plenty of pilotweed still flowering, a few purple loosestrife, Himalayan orchids, and the creme de la creme, black-eyed Susans.

Evening and overnight rain events have been seemingly ceaseless this summer. Although, truth to tell we've had other summers where we can recall that no weekend was without its overcast, dull and thoroughly drizzled days. And another truth is that we've not only come to accept this steady theatre of rain, but appreciate it as well. At night, in bed, the sound of rain is soothing. And when there's also thunder it 's also dramatic in a pleasing way.

This morning we discovered more poplar leaves had drifted down to the forest floor. In deference to the just-stopped rain, fallen foliage has a habit of holding captured rain, cuplike and if you look closely and carefully enough, you can see the landscape mirrored in that minuscule puddle. The poplars are most definitely stepping up the tempo in turning pleasing colours and releasing those multi-coloured leaves to find new homes under their trunks on the forest floor instead of being perched high on the branches.

Our puppies were hungry this morning, so they were given some extra cheese treats before we made off for the ravine. Jackie had been under the weather and had missed his meals two days back, then his appetite revived and he left no doubt whatever that  he had fully recovered. Their messages can be pretty clear and to the point and it's not hard to figure out when hunger pangs stir.

Once we were on the forest outskirts among the soft-fruit-bearing shrubs, Jackie and Jillie hesitate before going on to descend into the ravine, given the routine that developed a month or so earlier, when they know my husband will begin plucking ripe berries for their delectation, and they await those treats with great expectation. Now, there are far fewer thimbleberries to be had, and the blackberries have taken over production.

It's always intriguing walking along a trail, looking right, left, ahead to ground level because you never know what you'll come across. Something unusual may be just beyond the trail but you hadn't spotted it before, and suddenly you do. Like the fallen  log that was playing host to a beautifully scalloped colony of fungi laid out over the decaying bark and hastening its decomposition.

Today turned out to be a busy morning. We left soon after cleaning up from breakfast to leave our puppies at the groomer's. Thanks to the warm and welcoming attitude of the experienced young women who work there at the spa attached to the veterinary hospital where we take our puppies, the stress they experience in separating from us appears manageable. They were left for an hour and a half, and we took that time to do our food shopping.

When we returned to pick them up we could hear their distinctive (to us) barks as we exited the vehicle, and as we walked alongside the little building housing the spa and passed one of the floor-to-ceiling windows  of what used to be a small examining room before conversion to a spa when a larger hospital was built beside it, there they were, excitedly watching us approach, barking welcome, and let's go home!

We did just that, ambling about the garden on our return, admiring the svelte appearance of two little black rascals, glad to be home again on a beautiful day, actually a Goldilocks type of day, not too hot, just comfortable, with a cooling breeze, absolutely perfect. And in consulting with the muse of the garden there was complete agreement, pointing us in the direction of one of the hibiscus shrubs that was blooming in full glory, a perfect metaphor for the day itself.

What a night! We thought we were experiencing one of the wettest summers we can recall, but last night's rainfall was truly spectacular. And somewhat excessive. And we're glad that Jackie and Jillie are two little dogs that aren't intimidated by thunder. After an initial bark from each of them at the first peal of thunder they tend to settle down. And that was asking a lot of them yesterday evening when one thunderstorm after another came rolling through.

The rolling thunder was continuous, insistent and nearby. Accompanying it was a torrential downpour. Not a quick thunderstorm and it was over as often happens and then the sun appears. Mind, that did happen once when the first storm struck. But soon afterward the sun went sulking back into its corner surrendering the sky to the ragged dark clouds taking precedence, and then came the endless series of thunderstorms.

During the night, more loud claps and more rain. We're becoming quite accustomed to it as it happens, but this was one very energetic night of sound and light. This morning when we were out in the ravine trekking the trails with Jackie and Jillie, one of the ravine regulars told us that his little dog dove for the nearest cupboard and refused to exit it throughout the tumult of the storms.

All the rain left visible indications of its recent presence. There were mushrooms popping up large enough to serve as dinner plates, but lacking in any other distinguishing features, like shape or colour. There were scud marks on the trails going uphill where the force of the rain gathered detritus and dropped it again in neat lines. There were standing puddles of rainwater as testament that the forest floor refused to accommodate any more moisture. 

And there was the distinct message that fall is marching steadily forward, intruding on summer, where foliage is decidedly surrendering to the inevitable. Not just the random leaf we see here and there fallen on the forest floor sporting bright fall colours, but patches of foliage still firmly attached to their branches. And throughout the trails, overhanging branches shed accumulated rainwater in great fat drops on our heads. The sun had emerged and its growing heat no doubt influenced the forest canopy to release its burden of rain, as well.

When we arrived back home and meandered about looking at the garden, we were delighted to note that finally one of our hibiscus shrubs had bloomed. The buds that had fattened for so long, and opened just enough to allow us to see the soft pink petals within simply refused to come to bloom. Despite an abundance of water and several trances of fertilizer. The large flower, finally opened was so heavy with rain the stem it was on bent almost to the ground.

The garden indeed looked positively drenched. The hosta garden never does; it simply seems to absorb whatever nature throws at it; the plants are hardy, demand little attention, and repay us handsomely for any tending we do of them, in their graceful appearance, the beauty of their foliage, the flowering stems simply the icing on a cake that had no need of them for command of presence.

Jackie and Jillie, always eager to lend a hand, did their own inspection tour of the garden to ensure that all was well, and no plants were in distress. The start of another day of late summer pleasure on its way to becoming quite overheated, the alternative to what winters are like in the Ottawa Valley

 

Yet another one of those mornings when the overnight rain has just stopped and though the sun hasn't yet pierced the grey cloud cover, it promises that it will before long. Unless, that is, rain decides it has first choice of reappearance and sets the sun's agenda intentions back somewhat. A cool morning, with an underlying message that by afternoon the atmosphere will be heated back to its usual dog-days-of-summer temperature.

August, in any event, excels at being unpredictable. Cool enough the past week to pull on a blanket in the wee hours of the night, as night-time air wafts through the bedroom window. Warm enough by mid-afternoon to feel exhausted, working out in the garden, even in the shade. As we did yesterday afternoon. Jackie and Jillie love wandering through the forest trails with us, but they're none too keen to be out in the backyard other than for official business.

Yesterday they tolerated the heat because we were for the most part at the front of the house, working on the gardens there. They prefer being there to the backyard since it's on the street in front of the house that action, if any materializes, takes place with people sauntering by or children riding bicycles, or people walking their dogs up or down the street, eliciting their attention.

It amazes us that last year at this time in the forest we were confronted with the sight of two Himalayan orchids, their flowers radiantly glowing in the sun. This year it's not merely two of the plants that decorate the forest confines before plunging deep into the interior, for the fast-replicating plants have managed in one season  to colonize an entire hillside leading into the forest, their bright pink flowers capturing the sunlight like little beacons of light.

They're late bloomers and still have plenty of time to continue showing off. But in the same token it's become abundantly clear that fall has sent its initial emissaries to stealthily initiate the process of shutting down summer for another year. All the signs are there; random fallen foliage, mostly poplar and maples, standing out for the brilliant hues they've taken on.

And mushrooms which normally appear in fall have begun to pop up here and there. The forest squirrel population has been busy acquiring and storing food to take them over the sere winter months. We've been discovering lots of spruce cones fully or partially taken apart, their seeds either eaten or taken away for winter storage. Similarly, we see the same with acorns, that in fact squirrels nip them off the oak branches not waiting for them to fall, then chew them apart to extract the oaknut.

There were others out and about on the trails, but only a few, compared to yesterday, and with them their companion dogs. So Jackie and Jillie did enjoy some socializing, everyone behaving themselves for a change (which is to say, Jackie and Jillie did; other dogs tend to be better behaved than our two little rascals).

And then, after taking our time lollygagging about we completed the morning's circuit and returned home. In the interim between when we'd set out and returned the atmosphere had turned decidedly warmer, the humidity level had risen, and now that our morning walk was concluded we were prepared to welcome afternoon rain whether thunderstorms of just plain rain. All the vegetation surrounding us love it. A far cry from what is happening in China where monsoon type rains have been unstoppable for months, resulting in massive floods in the central part of the country. To the extent that there are fears the Three Gorges Dam could conceivably fail.

Evidently, according to local news stories, residents of this great city have gone overboard in their sudden enthusiasm for the great outdoors. And we have plenty of great outdoors in our close vicinity. A half-hour drive will take one to our next-door province of Quebec, for example, to enter the wilderness area of Gatineau Park, replete with hundreds of trails, short and long, easy, medium and difficult for the enterprising outdoors person.

But other parts of Ontario, an hour's drive from the nation's capital lead to other, smaller provincial parks, lakes and forests -- and outdoor equipment retailers are basking in the fact that all of a sudden their wares are in high popular demand. Everyone is fed up with isolation, with the care required to ensure they're at minimal risk for contamination by the novel coronavirus, and looking for some relief.

We found ours, as usual early this morning when we made off with Jackie and Jillie for our nearby ravine. No need to drive anywhere, so how fortunate can we possibly be, other than with what is so close at hand, a forested ravine that runs through a community of tens of thousands of people with relatively easy access. Some drive over, others walk through a series of connecting streets to reach one with access to the ravine, and the most fortunate, like ourselves, merely walk up the street to gain entrance to the forest.

As we did, as usual, on a cool and sunny morning. We've become so accustomed to our early morning trail hikes that we can't imagine simply going downstairs out of bed, into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. It's the meal that tastes so much better after a lengthy ramble through the woods. And, for the most part, it's a ramble that we have pretty much to ourselves. But not this morning.

Even for a Saturday there was a surprising number of people out. We must have come across at least a dozen, perhaps more; singly, in pairs, with and without accompanying pets, doing precisely what we were doing; enjoying the great out-of-doors, a landscape green and clean where we breathe fresh air, exercise our limbs and muscles and feel that much better for it. It's also a bit of a social exposure where people get to know one another and often stop briefly for chats.

After breakfast and cleanup we had other matters to attend to outside. This time not very far from our front door, when the garden called out for a little tidying up, long overdue. Snipping and cutting back wayward and too ambitious tree branches, shrubs and overgrown perennials. Placing the garden landscape into a more pleasing shape.

And in the process taking stock of the health of various plants even while enjoying their appearance for aesthetical perfection. Standing back and taking note of the number of bees and hoverflies around the perfumed flowering hydrangeas. Spotting weeds here and there that we know of as wildflowers when they appear in the ravine, and dispatching them from the garden environs. Though truth to tell, there are many garden residents that began life as wildflowers taken from the ravine and transplanted to the garden.

They're a matter of pride in the way they flourished and adapted to the rich soil of the garden, even in competition with cultivated plants where both over time learned to live companionably together; the Jack-in-the-Pulpit, the foamflower, the trout lily, the trillium, the wild ginger; all valued members of our garden community. And Jackie and Jillie thoroughly approve.

We really are addicted to routine. It's comforting and it's comfortable. And it doesn't take much thought. That's why it's referred to as routine. Something you do over and over again, a regular part of your day, so anticipated that it can take over your life. There are some routines that don't need to be changed. They're useful, predictable and pleasurable. As such with our daily treks up the street and into our nearby ravine with Jackie and Jillie. Though of course there are times when routine is upended.

Weather, for example, can make a difference if your destination is out-of-doors. And this morning when we brought Jackie and Jillie back into the house from the backyard they needed a good rubbing down to dry them off. It was raining. But by the time we had finished setting the table for breakfast, and making pre-breakfast preparations, rain had turned to drizzle.

Yes, it remained overcast and dark, but that's what raincoats are for, and out they came, one for each of us. And off we went, not really minding the drizzle at all. The air was cool and washed clean. The interior of the forest was still and dusky, and we conjectured it could be the calm before another storm. But no other storm materialized while we were out on the trails this morning. Which was rather fortuitous.

An email from our younger son this morning tells the tale of being camped at 7,000 feet several days back in perfect alpine camping weather, not far from Lilooet, British Columbia, when in the wee hours of the morning thunder began rolling across the sky. By counting the time lapses between each clap he estimated the storm could be about ten miles distant. And as luck had it, didn't move his way. But he did see some lightning in the distance. The lightning that lit the spark to become one of two wildfires a day later.

We, on the other hand, were simply moving in a drizzle, not too heavy, under a thick forest canopy that pretty well sheltered us, even while the vegetation surrounding us was well drenched from overnight rain events. And mushrooms were making their appearance on the forest floor. And we're beginning to see more indications of impending fall in colourful poplar leaves detaching and falling to the ground.

Down below us on the lower trail, we could see blooming colonies of jewelweed, bright orange orchid-like flowers on spidery, slim stalks bushing out over the creek, growing blissfully in perfect habitat beside the modest waterway winding its way through the forest. Back up at street level again, exiting after our morning circuit we saw a tiny woolly caterpillar on a thimbleberry leaf.

One of the large and stately bull thistles was in full flower, not just one of its bulbous buds in flower, but all of them, nicely synchronized for an emphatic statement of colourful pride. Challenging, as it were, the nearby Himalayan orchids to a beauty duel. Both win.

As does the landscape of our garden, moist and lacquered from the rain, lush from the copious hours of sun they preen under. Two different gardens; one nature's wildflower garden with its many little surprises, where an abundance of bees, butterflies and hoverflies gather to pollinate and take their due in nectar, the other a collaboration between a gardener and the master gardener represented by nature herself; each beautiful in their own way, each equally appreciated.