By two this afternoon it seemed certain that this day would be a repeat of yesterday -- no ravine hike for Jackie and Jilllie, much less for us. Yesterday's rain was torrential at times. And when it wasn't it was just heavy with few breaks in between lasting more than five minutes. It was difficult enough to convince the puppies to come out to the backyard on occasion. To match the weather they were feeling a little low. No appetite for Jackie and a hugely reduced one for Jillie and though the former isn't unusual the latter certainly is.

 

 

We thought if we could get them out for a little tramp through the forest they would feel better. We certainly would. But the opportunity failed to present, and so we were stuck at home. The result of which was that we felt something missing from our day, that something had gone badly awry. The house interior was dark all day, and a general feeling of languid entropy takes hold. 

 

 

We went to bed last night and it was still raining. The rain continued throughout the night. And when we awoke in the morning -- when one of those offshore telephone calls came through for 'duct cleaning' -- it was still raining. It rained throughout breakfast, kitchen clean-up and laundry. When I came downstairs after making up our bed with fresh new linen, Irving said, 'that's it, there's a lull, out we go'!

 

 

And so we did, hurriedly assembling rain jackets for all of us and striding up the street toward the ravine entrance. We didn't mean to be out long, anticipating that the rain at that point, extremely light, would likely pick up again. And again. And again. We were surprised to see an older couple clearing out of the trail leading to the ravine. He, infirm, using a cane and she hanging on to him, trying to minimize her size, hiding behind him. Because Jackie and Jillie were approaching them with their usual curiosity. Quietly.

 

 

We called the puppies away, leaving the cringing woman and her husband to carry on, for they had halted their momentum away from the trail toward the street. The woman hissed at us: 'Some people don't like dogs!'. Irving made a recommendation that they might find it useful in avoiding the inevitable on forest trails by confining themselves to street sidewalks. We began speculating between us later what she might do if one or any of the large dogs that often take a running leap harmlessly at people felt inspired to do just that with her.

 

 

We saw no one else while we were out with the exception of one of our friends walking his three border collies. To him and his wife, who split the hikes between them most often, it is an imperative that their three high-energy dogs be taken out three times daily to he forest trains. They're working dogs, after all. This is a couple who must drive to one of the ravine entrances, not sally up the street to access the ravine, as we do. That's commitment.

 

 

We weren't long on the trails before we came across a tree that had been split by the wind and rain. An Ash, that had already been weakened by the dreaded emerald ash borer; we could see that the two masts that had split from the main trunk were hollow, so it was obviously in a very weak structural condition. Still, it's sad to see it go. 

 

The creek was swollen as high, wide and muddy as we've ever seen it, even at spring run-off, carrying all manner of woody detritus downstream with it, eddying around fallen tree limbs, rushing onward. Sufficiently forceful to carry a small dog along with it, struggling against the onrush. Ours weren't about to attempt the challenge.

 

Just as well that Jackie and Jillie wore raincoats. Their topknots, ears and tails, along with their legs did get wet from the steadily falling rain, some of it managing to penetrate the leaf mass of the canopy, but their bodies were kept snug, warm and dry. 

 How does word get around in the non-human animal kingdom? Obviously some form of communication that would inform of opportunities passes between wild creatures. And most particularly when it comes to food sources of a type that appeal generally. From birds to mammals of all kinds they find the source of food and follow the scent ... or the hints available in watching what others do, we can surmise.

Yesterday there appeared after nightfall on our porch two groups of raccoons; one group of five young and another of six. The group of six's kits are considerably smaller and younger than the group of five. When they were absent there was a lone, large mature raccoon that came by for a visit. And on another occasion a pair of what appeared to be juveniles, given their respectable size. They're a pair we often see together. These are just the appearance we happen to see. Presumably there are others.

So that's quite the congregation. They haven't very far to come from. The neighbouring houses across the street from ours back onto the ravine, the extensive forest that runs through part of this community that is itself part of the greater Ottawa municipality of a million people. This is a geographic location -- the Ottawa Valley -- that is surfeit with forests and lakes and historic towns and villages. Nature is never very far distant.

So we're now officially entering the Autumn Equinox. We've enjoyed a long series of exceptionally beautiful late summer days and nights. Departing summer has left a message for incoming fall; don't forget to bring in a lot of irrigating events, and today is giving us an example of just what the discussion is about. All day, heavy rain. Mind, it's also mild out at 19C, so though the rain pouring into the landscape is inconvenient for anyone wanting to take two little dogs out for an extensive tramp through the ravine's forest leaving us out of luck, it isn't a weather disaster. We always need rain.

But it isn't the kind of rain that one voluntarily ventures out into. Just ask Jackie and Jillie; completely averse at the best of times to getting wet, but when the air is saturated and the volume of rain is such that sightlines are interrupted, as far as they're concerned it's sheer madness to venture out into it.

I decided on a 'comfort meal' for tonight to dispel the dark gloom surrounding us. I cubed a piece of brisket to marinate it in vinegar, oil and mixed herbs. Then I prepared a broccoli/green onion/dried cranberry salad and refrigerated it. And cut up some new pears with scarcely any taste and made a cinnamon-compote with them. And finally chopped garlic and onion, and seared the beef cubes in olive oil, adding cumin seed, pepper, masala, tomato paste, a beef cube, flour and water, sliced carrot and potato, and set the stew to simmer until dinnertime. I kept the vegetables to a basic minimum because I plan on serving the stew over a bed of kasha. So that should stick to our ribs, I would think.

Compensation and comfort for a dreary, wet housebound day. Jackie and Jillie don't really mind being at home today, snoozing. Something didn't agree with them last night. We found little pools of vomit, two downstairs two upstairs and intuit that they both had upset stomachs. If it's not one thing, it's another... Despite which, they go after me time and again for a little shared romp.

Irving's a picky eater, but he knows what he likes and yesterday evening we had chicken livers, mashed potatoes, fried onions and green beans for dinner. I'd done an Italian plum compote because the plums had no taste at all, big disappointment. As a compote, he enjoyed them. He ate almost everything, shared a bit of liver with Jackie and Jillie, left some mashed potatoes (cooked with onion and garlic mashed together) and then groaned under the weight of over-indulgence. 

That resulted this morning in his suggestion that we eat light tonight. What's light? I had originally planned to do a quiche for dinner tonight. Then I realized since breakfast included soft-boiled eggs, that was enough eggs for one day. So I switched over to an old standby that I hadn't made in years, but did do a few weeks back, a savoury onion-tomato tart. I've no idea why it fell off our menu, but it did, for quite a long time. Today, then, it's an onion-tomato tart. 

It has other ingredients, of course; integrally, old Cheddar. I also added finely sliced bell peppers with the tomatoes, savoury herbs and snipped bits of anchovies. He'll likely leave over much of the pastry dough, but that's all right. I used half whole-wheat, half white hard-wheat flour for the dough. And won't serve anything else with the tart, other than dessert.  Since we did our food shopping today, we'll have fresh raspberries and I hope they'll be better than the ones we had last week.

Turned out to be yet another superb day. We had morning sun, but that was it. Clouds moved in as soon as afternoon did, but it was still a beautiful day, warm at 21C with a light breeze. Jackie and Jillie and I puttered about the back garden a bit in the morning. It looks better than it usually does at this time of year even though there are plenty of tired plants, exhausted from a season of hard work.

Early afternoon saw us sauntering up the street to reach the ravine under an increasingly cloudy sky with a few patches of blue still remaining. Overhead, the sound of a passenger jet moving through the clouds and seeming to head straight for the sun blazing through a patch of blue. The roar of its jet engines vibrated through the air, then faded as it continued its journey leaving us earth-bound people to enjoy terra firma, not regretting the last bit that we haven't flown anywhere in years.

We were caught by surprise, as we traversed one trail after another, at the number of people that were out and about on the trails along with their dogs. It's Tuesday, not the weekend, and it's puzzling where all the people are coming from, throughout the community. Could it be that the tense atmosphere surrounding a federal election has been lifted now that the election is over? The results certainly not particularly pleasing, irritating and frustrating to many, including ourselves; actually outrageous that a man more suited to the stage than head of government has returned despite his constant demonstrations of inadequacy as a prime minister and his penchant for unethical behaviour.

In any event, we kept coming across a lot of cheerful people and playful dogs. We even saw a year-old Vizsla, the first of its breed we'd ever seen here, a beautifully proportioned, graceful and mannered dog. Who sat quietly while Irving fumbled for his cookie bag. And there would be more to follow as we made our way through the trails on our circuit. Jackie and Jillie accommodating themselves generously to cookies being doled out to all and sundry.

At some points where we found ourselves in conjunctions between trails, an assemblage of dogs would congregate, circling one another, sniffing, making acquaintance of each other, a little circus of dogs of various sizes, breeds and temperaments all sharing the same language. I could feel a grin from ear to ear freezing my face, watching them in motion and interacting.

Their presence and their antics even brought smiles to the faces of the few people passing by without their own companion dogs. That's the kind of effect they have on most people. Somewhat like seeing adorable young children in innocent play; irresistible. There were even some young mothers pushing infant strollers up on the plateau of the ravine, though if they entered with the thought of quiet and peaceful, the motion of the stroller putting their child to sleep, it would hardly work with the issues of excited barking erupting now and again.

We hadn't seen any snakes emerging from their dens earlier in the spring as we often do. Particularly nests of young ones, released from winter's cruel grip, coming out to warming days and searching out the warmth of the spring sun. Now, however, we've seen three garter snakes in the space of a week. Today it was a larger fellow than the previous two we came across. This one was stretched across the forest path seemingly disinclined to move, until I approached a little too close for its comfort.

Last night we had a succession of visitors. Their appearances never fail to generate a bit of excitement in this house. We whisper their presence to one another, lest Jackie and Jillie become aware and rush over to express their opinion at the sight of wildlife making themselves at home on the porch. Quietly, armed with my camera, I literally creep up to the door and watch awhile, then take a few photographs. Sending a mental instruction to one or another creature on the other side of the door to just edge over a little more this way ... please ... and thank you.

First it was Monsieur Pepe le Peu, and that was in fact, surprisingly early, before nine. He arrives in formal attire; nothing casual about his gentlemanly costume. Nature has drawn a precise white divided stripe on the little fellow's back. His head is small and sleek, and the white 'Y' comes to a point like a jaunty cap atop his head. But it is his wonderful tail with its flowing streak of black-and-white delicate hairs that represent Pepe's exquisite taste in flamboyant dress. Impressively graceful, delicately beautiful.

When he has had his fill for the evening, not even a few minutes pass before Baby Raccoon appears, to take his place. Alone, as usual and looking very small, therefore vulnerable. He settles himself down first under the wrought-iron bench, then clears from the bench and splays himself out over a pile of broken biscuits. His supreme self-confidence as he stretches an arm to select a choice piece, and his busy-nibbling jaws speak to the good manners he was taught; chew your food well, before swallowing. Unlike Jackie and Jillie, with few exceptions.

He stays awhile, then takes his leave. And almost immediately he has vacated the porch, up comes one of the raccoon families; this one with five kits that have grown to juvenile size. The Mama is big, and her kits are obviously aspiring to become like her. Baby Raccoon, not with them, though sometimes he is, has a much longer way to go. Something alarms them (me, perhaps?} and they vanish through the porch rails. Two minutes later, they're back and soon ensconced in the serious business of eating again.

This morning, Irving informed me when he came back into the house following breakfast after watering the flower pots, that work is soon to commence on our street in the installing of new fibre-optic cables. The sound from the street behind ours where installation started a week ago, is continuous. Little red flags have been poked into lawns where they will be trenched, including crossing through driveways. On some lawns the trenches are closer to the house, on others closer to the road. It will be noisy and dirty for at least a three-week period once the crews begin digging.

Another lovely day as we head toward calendar-validating autumn. A still atmosphere without wind, but dry, and sunny. This morning the grass on the lawn in the backyard was wet with a heavy dew. We set off for the ravine a little later than usual, since house-cleaning takes place on Monday. It's voting day in Canada, and a lot of people will have headed for polling stations. We're relieved to have escaped crowds by having voted two weeks earlier. By early evening we should have an initial idea whether the country can celebrate a badly-needed new administration.

Our leisurely stroll through the forest trails comes to an end when we meet up with one of our hiking friends who wants to walk together, but at a slightly swifter pace than is our wont. So we accommodate. He's a genial fellow, very knowledgeable, and personable. His dog is his alter-ego. There's always a whole spectrum of subjects that can be discussed with him, and so we do fairly frequently. 

I leave a lot of the conversationing to Irving; men-to-men, enabling me to break off from time to time to notice things of interest to me. The bright red berries of the colony of partridgeberry vegetation, a new outcrop of masses of fungi on an old decaying branch lying on the forest floor. Eventually we part company; his route to reach home lies in a different direction than ours; without our common interest in the ravine we would likely never have met in the larger space of the fairly spread-out community.

I tried to snap a hurried picture, approaching the front door. Irving had informed me that a

rarely-sighted bluejay was on the porch pecking at peanuts. We see and hear them only for a limited time in the spring and fall in the forest before they move on. They were more commonly seen when we lived in Toronto many years ago. But they're flighty, and I failed to succeed. Then I tried for a chipmunk that was having a bit of an altercation with a red squirrel, and that didn't work out either. Blink, and they're gone.

 

It is kind of ironic, though, that we see more wildlife, more frequently on our front porch, given our proximity to the forest, than we ever do in the forest itself. Never was like that, years ago. Fewer houses close by various angles of the ravine were built decades ago to impinge on wildlife corridors. When partridge and grouse were often seen, heard, and come across. Not to mention foxes and raccoons. They're scarcer in numbers and more careful not to appear when people are about. Food is the irresistible draw for all creatures, and so they come to visit us from the forest, just as we leave our house for daily visits to their habitat.

 

Which we did of course today as usual, on yet another spectacularly beautiful, sunny day. No humidity, not even any breezes, actually, and no rain in the near prospect. Just a carefree weather day urging all who care to submit to their spontaneous urge to enjoy nature's beauty at this and any other time of the year. 

In the backyard it actually felt hot, reflecting its particular micro-climate environment. It was 19C when we set out with Jackie and Jillie for our saunter through the trails, but it felt much, much warmer, thanks to the still, dry air and the warmth of the afternoon sun.

 

Jackie and Jillie came across two companion dogs they hadn't before seen, and they behaved -- as usual -- quite badly. The dogs, both standard-sized poodles, were demonstrations of exemplary behaviour. They were likely puzzled by the obstreperous behaviour of our two small imps. Who absolutely refuse to listen when we ask them to stop being so annoying with their constant barking. At two relatives who happened to tower over them.

 

The poodle with the black coat was the older of the two. The Harlequin-coated poodle was only eight months old, and both had beautiful, laid-back temperaments. Both politely awaited notice that they were interested in the attractive odour emanating from Irving's pouch, which their human gave permission to dole out to them. In response we had the pleasure of watching those large and beautiful creatures move about with graceful ease, ignoring the two dwarfs milling about and expressing suspicion of their presence. We sigh in frustration.

Catching up on correspondence used to mean responding to a letter from a family member, a friend, keeping in touch through the mail, making certain there's always postage stamps and envelopes on hand, and waiting for the reply. Now any days that pass between receipt of an email 'letter' from anyone you care about causes itchy conscience; shouldn't I respond right away rather than let days, a week even pass before writing in return? After all, I've had to wait a week before I heard from them after sending them a letter...

So it might be a good idea to set aside a day when you've got less than usual to accomplish within the space of that 16-hour period, and look after paying bills and responding to emails at length. Because after all, if they're proper letters they take time to compose. You want to make certain you're addressing all the issues brought up by your correspondent... Isn't life complicated!

Nothing complicated about the leisure feeling that Saturdays evoke, however. A holdover from days when working nine-to-five, five days a week made Saturday a celebration of doing what you wanted -- after you did what was needed. Breakfast in your own good time. Sleep in if you feel like it. Mosey about, there's no hurry about anything. Catch up on whatever it was you missed during the week. 

But the reality is we've been 'retired' from the active work force for a quarter-century; 25 years, if you prefer, though the term quarter-century sounds that much more impressive. So time's our own, right? Could be. But then if you've got lots to do throughout the course of every day even though time's your own you're still busy, reflecting the life-style you have chosen.

The highlight of the day for us is always gathering Jackie and Jillie and sloping off to the forest where true relaxation sets in. Something about the landscape, the restful greens of the forest, the blue of the sky above, the sweet breezes, the warmth of the sun -- all reminds us of the important part that nature plays in our lives. Exposure to nature, to things natural.

And since today is Saturday we're not the only ones taking advantage of a community's close communion with nature. A forested ravine simply does not conform to the requirements of home-builders, contractors who are looking for tracts of land where municipal services can be linked up and straight streets can be paved and houses crammed into the narrow plots to service a growing number of urban inhabitants. That being so evidently reality, this community safeguarded its close proximity to a natural setting.  

Today there were a lot of people out hiking through the trails; some evidently had never been in the forest before; the novel coronavirus has led to that kind of discovery for a lot of people for whom access to forms of recreation were denied during lockdown periods. Jackie and Jillie met a lot of new dog acquaintances today, too. From large and calm-tempered dogs to small and courteous dogs, young and old, all of whom they could take lessons from, but won't. They're their selves and that's that.

The last stop for us before emerging from the forest was the meadow, and it's rare to see anyone there poking about other than young boys looking to net a few goldfish for themselves. It appears they've been all too successful, since we haven't seen any fish for the past week gliding through the pools created by rocks and logs fallen into the creek, and that's a disappointment. What the boys won't scoop up, the Great Blue Heron will, however.

I hadn't meant to spend any time in the garden today, thinking I'd take a complete rest from everything And truth to tell the backyard looks good enough that it isn't calling out for me to do any tidying there. Ah, but the front of the house...well, lots to be done. Clearing out unwanted weeds from the interstices of the bricks on the walkways, cutting back wayward branches on the crabapple trees. Reducing some of the hydrangeas that have become too leggy and intrusive. Sweeping up fallen leaves and other detritus gathering on the porch from our day- and night-time visitors cleaning up on peanuts and biscuits.

So I was out awhile, filling up a compost bag for pick-up on Monday. And while I was out there, a young man came by, introducing himself as a representative of Bell Canada, to inform that work will begin on laying new optic-fibre cable shortly, and it will take about three weeks to complete. During which time our lawn and driveway will be dug up in a rough three- to four-foot-width, and everything will be done to ensure we are not too discommoded as the work progresses. Sigh. Our lawn has never recovered from the last two times Bell contractors came by to 'fix' our connectivity and that of our neighbours.

It's always a treat when Irving tells me of the presence of some of our visitors. He checks several times once night falls to see who has come along and whether the offerings on the porch need topping up. Peanuts during the day for the squirrels, chipmunks and the little brown rat and the birds. Broken biscuits in the evening are preferred by the raccoons, though they'll eat the peanuts, too. The skunks prefer cubed bread or biscuits. So the offerings are more or less tailored to the audience. During the winter months Irving used to put out dog kibble, and that was agreeable to our night-time visitors.

This morning I wasn't sure who I was looking at. I thought it was a song sparrow with something orange in its beak. Wrong, it was a very small female cardinal; drab colouration unlike her male counterpart, but that might be a factor of age. Usually the females are larger than the one I saw -- though on closer inspection she had a red crest as well -- and usually there's a red tinge to their feathers, just not as bright and clear as male cardinal wings. 

We've noted that the small chubby black squirrels are being bullied by a larger red-tailed black squirrel. Who will actually physically attack them when they're on the porch. The red-tailed one has taken as well to just sitting on a branch of the magnolia nearby the porch, swinging its tail like a jerky metronome and daring the little black ones to approach... We should consider putting up a sign warning that peaceable behaviour is a requisite to be enabled to extract goodies from the porch floor.

The crows are no longer as nervous when they land on the porch to take their share of whatever's out. The song sparrows are never nervous about our presence or that of Jackie and Jillie. Like the squirrels they've become accustomed to our two little guardians' barking offensives when they see wildlife on the porch. Sometimes when we see a family of raccoons out we're pleased to be able to offer them something in addition to their browsing diet.

But when, like last night, the littlest of the raccoons usually on his own comes around, a tinge of sadness enters the picture. He's half the size of the other kits and differently coloured. When we first saw him he was in the company of the mother raccoon with her five kits, leading to a lot of speculation on our part. Now he no longer accompanies them, but comes along on his own, and we think how lonely he must be, that little creature, the size of a cat.

Later in the evening along came a skunk; I hesitate to say 'the skunk', since there may be more than one. The one we saw on the porch last night was small, but  another visit last week was by a skunk that seemed quite a bit larger. So far there's been nothing to allow us to distinguish one from another and it may very well be that there is only one. They may be more territorial than the raccoons who seem not to be; sometimes juveniles come along in pairs, sometimes singly.

I did some baking this morning. Decided to put together a cheesecake, and since I had a pint of fresh blueberries, thought I'd glaze the cheesecake with the berries which haven't been too sweet lately. I like deciding on the spur of the moment, as it were, what I'll be baking for dessert for Friday night dinner. It's always a special dinner for us. What is unchanging is chicken soup with rice. And chicken featured as the main dish. Tonight it will be accompanied again by a potato pudding and roasted cauliflower. Mushrooms done to a crisp with the chicken breasts.

When I was finished with everything we went out with Jackie and Jillie for a pleasant saunter through the forest trails in the ravine. Granted, we don't 'saunter' up the hills, more like haul ourselves up. But then there's always the spine of the ravine, nice and flat, and the choices of off-trails leading to other parts of the forest, and more hills. What goes up must also come down and the entire circuit though taken at a pace much slower than in previous years, offers ample exercise for all of us.

Irving was in popular demand today, as is proving increasingly expected. Dogs appearing as though out of nowhere -- struggling off-trail up the hills to reach him -- by other hikers' companions who have become familiar with his query: 'Want a cookie?'  Jackie isn't eating any cookies today. He's a little under-the-weather with an upset stomach. He's had a difficult gastro-intestinal adventure as a chronic condition since he was a puppy. These stomach-upset occurrences are far less frequent than they used to be. We're thinking he is outgrowing the tendency for stomach upset; hoping, at least.

A beautiful day, warm and sunny, albeit humid and close, as well. More like a mid-summer than a late-summer day. Yesterday there had been some mosquito activity; bothersome little pests. Today, when we expected high humidity to result in more mosquitoes being present, that actually didn't occur. It has been a strange summer insofar as the usual mosquito presence is concerned. We've gone months, not days, with no mosquitoes pestering us this year.

When we were  almost finished with our circuit Irving stopped me briefly. There was a very small garter snake sunning itself on the trail. For the first time in our memory both Jackie and Jillie saw the little snake; usually they don't notice them. And Jackie approached tentatively, cautiously, wanting to discover what this strange creature was. The snake removed itself speedily from its vulnerable position, streaking into the underbrush, a beautifully yellow-striped little fellow.

It wasn't the only time we witnessed nature's perfection on this circuit. The bottom portion of an extremely tall old oak completely covered with layered shelf fungus; a meticulous display of nature's artistic creativity. There was a single mushroom growing alongside the shelf fungus, an odd pairing, and a strangely beautiful example of the degenerative process of renewal.