Admiration for nature and her endless wonders can be easily enfeebled by something as mundane as the weather when her elements conspire to create a cool, dismally dark and endlessly rainy day. The kind of weather that makes one shrug and comment to oneself; tomorrow's another day. Invariably 'tomorrow' will bring sunshine and warming temperatures. As occurred yesterday. The transition between the two can be abrupt and unexpected. But nature rules and what she designates as the day's atmosphere cannot be debated.

Actually, when waking to a dark overcast and wet morning, it has a feeling of comfort to it. We are, after all, warm and comfortable in our homes, while wind and rain stalk the landscape. Most often the skies clear after a few hours and though clouds may linger they also may have exhausted their burden of moisture, so the opportunity to get out and into nature is still there. Then there are other days like today when the rain refuses to lift and just goes on. 

Helps to be philosophical about it. The rain is as welcome to the vegetation surrounding us, the forest, farmers' fields, our gardens, as is the sun. When one or the other is missing no vegetation can thrive. And the extension to that is that neither can nature's animals, dependent on what the fertile ground brings to bear, feeding the world. If crops fail, so do we. 

So, while taking Jackie and Jillie out to the backyard now and again in the rain so they can evacuate elsewhere than in the house, there's the opportunity to view the denizens of the garden through the lens of a rainy day. Where everything has been inundated for hours and fat,  juicy drops of rain run down tree trunks, fix themselves on foliage, and decorate the tender petals of summer blossoms.

In the muted light of a rainy day everything takes on a different appearance. Colours oddly enough seem to change their hues and sometimes appear more vibrant. Walking among the blossoming plants becomes an exercise in discovery. Some flowers have a tendency to close in the absence of light and sun, while others are carefree and welcome any weather conditions, the rain appearing to perk them up, if anything.

Searing sun on really hot days has an opposite effect, wilting foliage, draining them of their liquid content and 'burning' them with the heat generated by an unforgiving sun without constraints of shade. For vegetation, the best of all possible weather situations is that of moderation; a little breeze, some showers, and a modicum of brilliant sun.

Yesterday it was too cold, too wet, too dark, too miserable to plant the two pots of herbs we had bought that morning. The plan was to place them in the garden in the handiest spot where they would nab lots of sun, and where it would be most convenient to gather them; the sweet basil for salads and pizza, the parsley also for salads and to sprinkle over Friday-night chicken soup. The basil's fragrance is deliciously pungent and was perfect when I tore up the leaves onto the pizza crust spread with tomato paste before adding the cheese and vegetables last night for dinner.

 

 

Today dawned bright, light and sunny. The wild wind and voluminous rain of yesterday and the cold temperature in stark contrast to the warmth of today. The odd thing was that despite all that rain some of the garden beds, particularly toward the very front of the house, seemed bone-dry, badly in need of watering. We told ourselves that could wait, we'd get out into the ravine earlier than usual in the afternoon and look after the garden on our return.

 

 

Jackie and Jillie were in complete agreement, so off we went. Earlier, while Irving was putting out our old wrought-iron ornamental garden table and chairs, a new neighbour walked by with her five-month-old poodle mix. We had seen her and her husband in the ravine a few times. They had just recently moved to the street we live on, a friendly, welcome addition. She and Irving spoke awhile of the pleasures of gardening.  

 

It's the younger people now moving to the street who seem to recognize the lifestyle value of the forest adjacent their homes. Relatively few of the older residents who have lived on the street for decades have ever been interested in setting a foot onto the forest trails. Still, the home ownership on this very quiet street is mostly among retired people at this stage. Not yet ready to move on elsewhere, content to remain in the house where for the most part, they raised their children.

 

Despite yesterday's non-stop rain, the trails weren't steeped in mud, and because of yesterday's rain, green vegetation was given an added growth spur. The sun, so brilliant your eyes automatically avoid glancing in its near regions, made the foliage of the forest trees appear semi-transparent, glowing like jade of a particularly emerald hue, dazzling to look at and incomparably beautiful. 

 

 

Over the second bridge a few people with professional-looking cameras had gathered. Obviously looking to see if they could grab some good photos of the owls. But the owls weren't in the mood to cooperate today. They found somewhere else more attuned to their mood where they could roost and rest without neck-craning humans ooing and awwing them.

 

In the forest interior pools of rainwater persisted, and thanks to their presence mosquito larvae were having the time of their lives. Those in their adult stage were also enjoying themselves. This wave of summer mosquitoes is smaller, dense black and lack the clumsiness of the larger ones that preceded them. The little black monsters strike quickly, discreetly and sharply, and are gone by the time their victims realize they've been hit. The incentive to keep moving is certainly there.

 

 

On our return back home again it was time to do some trimming and cleaning up in the garden. Plants that have flowered were cut back, the drooping leaf-laden branches of the weeping trees, Mulberry,flowering pea and ornamental Jade awaited attention. Some pilotweed had gained a presence in a remote part of the garden facing our neighbour and they were made speedy work of.

 

 

The windblown, rain-blasted detritus that came off the gardens onto the walkways were due for a sweep-up. Before we knew it, we had filled a large compost bag with garden waste to be taken by the 'sanitary engineers' next collection day to the municipal compost heap. New roses are emerging, adding form and colour to the garden. And the hostas too are blooming, their floral wands hosting bell-like flowers. In communion with the Canterbury bells also now in flower.

 

By the time we were ready to call the gardening over for the time being, we were hot from exertion. And then I remembered to get myself to the garden in the backyard to plant the two pots of herbs still patiently awaiting attention.

It's been so windy that the gardens have dried out quickly despite all the rain. We said to ourselves yesterday that today we'd spend some time watering everything. Irving had cut the grass in the morning, but yesterday was a busy day and the chance to do anything more than water a few really dried-out garden pots hadn't presented itself. We needn't have bothered worrying that everything would shrivel and die. Overnight the heavens opened up its spouts and did the job for us.

And then stopped long enough by morning so we could slip out of the house early to do the grocery shopping. We're still wearing our masks when we go into places, but increasingly fewer people now, are, since the province lifted its mask mandate. Yet, since it is no longer compulsory to wear masks in indoor crowded places, COVID infections have been on the rise and we're warned that this city is heading toward another wave.

Most supermarket employees are now maskless by choice, since they have the freedom to choose at this juncture. And so are the shoppers. No one notices who wear masks and who doesn't any more, and that's how it should be, everyone following their own discretionary choices. We stopped by Farm Boy after doing the bulk of our shopping at Food Basics. There we picked up melons, oranges, and a growing pot of Sweet Basil and one of parsley for the garden. I'll snip some of the basil for use in making our dinner pizza tonight.

While we were at Food Basics it had showered briefly. And then, after our return home the skies opened up again. And again and again. This time heavy rain, endless rain, and along with it the occasional thunder. Very atmospheric, very dark and very wet. Our gardens were getting a right royal soaking. And so was the forest which, when we were hiking through it yesterday, looked as though it was drying up pretty well.

I spoke with my younger sister and we caught up on our two families, discussed the war in Ukraine, exchanged health confidentials. She has been pretty immobilized by a sciatic nerve, lung obstructions and a few other health conditions. She no longer goes out to do the grocery shopping with my brother-in-law, a Holocaust survivor in far better physical shape than my sister who is also legally blind. 

Jackie and Jillie have been very good sports over missing their ravine hike through the forest trails today. Happy to settle down and cuddle up to Irving while he listens to psychology lectures on his lap computer. I had given myself a badly needed manicure with all that extra time on our hands, and then I realized I had forgotten to give them their customary afternoon vegetable salad. They traipsed after me into the kitchen, waiting until cucumber, bell pepper and tomato were diced up for them on this unusual day.

It is, after all, the first day of summer, the summer solstice, and the longest day of  the year. A little absurd, come to think of it, that on the first day of summer rain has been fiercely steady, shutting us out of our usual ramble in the woods. But it has turned out to be a very restful day, so no complaints. We'll make up for that lapse tomorrow, and the next day and the day following it. In Toronto, my brother-in-law told me, the temperature is 31C. Whereas, here it's so cool and wet and dark we felt compelled to put the fireplace on for comfort.

Another perfectly lovely day heading into calendar summer; on the cool side at 21C, windy gusts and a sparkling-bright sun. The sun so bright in fact, that it can be dangerous to look directly at it for any length of time; say, 5 seconds. A perfect morning to wander about the garden in the backyard and take stock of everything. With the help of Jackie and Jillie, of course.

Irving was busy on the deck, assembling all the pieces that go into two armchairs, a settee and a table, new deck furniture he bought a few weeks back that came complete and flat in a cardboard box, waiting for the purchaser to put it all together. And that's just what he was doing. Shades of Ikea! Instructions for these things are always somewhat lacking. If there's anyone familiar with tools and piecing disparate parts together, it's him. Himself a skilled furniture-maker on occasion. 

But the bolts that came with the bits and pieces were loathe to fit into the places they were meant to be, mostly because the material making up the faux bamboo is not rigid. But he soldiered on and finally completed the job. We were both of us, actually, finished our chores at about the same time. For me, it was bathrooms and kitchen, linen laundry and other sundry things.

Then off we went on this beautiful day to the ravine with Jackie and Jillie. Still on the cool side, and gusting winds to 50 mph. Directly in the sun it felt wonderful. Out of the sun, in the forest, still pleasant, since it was about 6 degrees warmer than yesterday's high of 16C. 

Before we completed our circuit we decided to go by a short, open trail in a bit of a glade alongside the creek toward the pollinating meadow we visit on occasion. There, we saw plenty of maturing milkweed, great for butterflies, but also stands of wild parsnip, not so great for those who cannot recognize the noxious plant and who may come away with skin badly irritated.  

There was also daisies dancing in the wind, and fleabane that had grown as tall as I am. Scads of thimbleberry shrubs with their bright pink flowers, and astonishingly, blackberry canes whose flowers had already begun to transform into berries. 

Irving had offered to do something on the barbecue and we agreed that 'something' could be sausages. So when we arrived back home after I cut up J&J's afternoon salad, I began making several salads for us. A desert salad comprised of strawberries, clementines and kiwis. And a cauliflower salad that had sliced green onions, chopped tomato and red bell pepper in it, to accompany the sausages. Sausages really cry out for wine sauerkraut, and that'll be on hand, as well.

I can hardly believe I wore an air-light summer top when we toddled through the ravine yesterday on a humid-cloistered hot day with a barely perceptible breeze filtering through the forest. After our return from our hike in mid-afternoon the sky became dark with rain clouds and the house interior even darker before a series of tempestuous outbursts of rain relieved the intense humidity of yesterday.

 The temperature began steadily falling and though it took the house a while to cool off, the outside did so in a hurry. The wind had picked up and came hurtling through the house and that did the trick. Before long we had to close the sliding glass doors to the deck because by then we were feeling downright cold.

By the time we went up to bed the temperature had plunged to 9C, with a really aggressive windforce. It did make for comfortable sleeping, though I regretted having put really cool cotton sheets on the bed to help with the sweltering heat, the day before. As though it wasn't yet windy enough, it became even more so through the night as more rain fell and we reluctantly closed the windows.

This morning it was downright cold, like a return back to winter. The trees in the backyard were almost horizontal at times with the force of the wind, matching the temperature which still hadn't managed its way back beyond 7C. Hard to tell whether the vegetation, shrubs, trees and flowers appreciated that sudden turn of weather, but it does seem to have spurred greater growth, the grass calling out to be mown.

Jackie and Jillie wore light little sweaters and we wore medium-weight jackets, into the ravine in the afternoon, taking along gloves 'just in case'. Irving had stuffed his little bag with cookies as usual in case we'd come across other dogs besides our two in the ravine. It soon became evident that people who had evaded going into the forest in heat and humidity so beloved by mosquitoes leaped at the opportunity to return today. The cookie store was soon cleaned out.

No sign of the owls; could be they're cowering in hiding against the wind shattering the peace of the forest and the cold freezing their feathers. Of course they're nocturnal animals and they could just be snoozing away last night's fulsome feast.

We thought about putting the fireplace on soon as we returned home, then decided we'd wait for evening. Since the sun's rays penetrating the house windows was doing a rather efficient job of warming the interior in compensation over being unable to do the same with the outdoors.

It was a refreshing hike through the forest, after all. And an absolute absence of mosquitoes which is quite the feat. And then, cold or not, ending the outing with a tour through the garden, which always warms us.

 

Finally, a clear blue sky adorned with a herd of fleecy white clouds. And windy, both in the heavens above, moving those adorable fluffy clouds and below, whipping the trees and shrubbery in the backyard to a frenzy, but welcome on a very warm day. The kind of day you enjoy meandering about outside, the puppies at our heels until they sense the near presence of a squirrel or a rabbit and go berserk, destroying the morning silence.

We decided for large-flaked oatmeal simmered gently while we showered, to enjoy along with our cantaloupe, banana and tea/coffee. Jackie and Jillie settled for their kibble sprinkled with cooked chicken and cantaloupe and topped off with a scrambled egg shared between them. All of which made us all feel comfortable and satiated. Leading the puppies to a morning snooze, and Irving and me to our usual Friday-morning pursuits.

For him, a quick house vacuuming. For me kneading up a bread dough for use later in the week to make a dinner pizza. And then I set about baking a blueberry pie. Blueberries are now available in abundance, and they're inexpensive relatively speaking to what we paid a month ago. So I simmered them with sugar, cornstarch and water until thickened, added butter and almond flavouring and so, had the filling for a pie.

After putting a chicken soup on to simmer, and preparing deboned, skinned thighs for ungedempte chicken (chicken in onion/garlic/mushroom gravy) which Irving favours to have with rice, we decided it was time to head off to the ravine for our daily ramble. 

With mosquitoes in mind we dressed in light colours, confident that in any event, the wind would keep the pests at bay. And it did, as long as we were on the street, which wasn't long. The wind, however, decided it would have nothing to do with the forest today, and barely ventured to enter, so we were on our defensive own as regards mosquitoes. Good thing we're fairly inured to them. Once we arrive back home, mosquito bites that annoyed us fresh in the ravine, disappear completely.

We had crossed the second bridge fording the ravine's creek when we heard a series of long, expressive owl calls. So at the spot we've been seeing an owl lately we looked and craned our necks for the source. And then we realized that we were hearing owls from two distinct areas, about 20 yards apart, high in the surrounding forest. We saw one own to our left, and finally another to our right. 

They were speaking to one another; male and female. And their messages were completely unalike. From one side the calls seemed urgent, from the other far less so. A female scolding a male? A male warning a female of impending problems? We asked, but they ignored us.

For a Friday, when the trails are often deserted, there appeared to be a larger number than none about today. A young woman came along as we were gaping at the owls, and she was of course curious about what we were doing. So Irving carefully directed her to the presence of what we assumed was the male owl, then explained its mate was on the opposite side. It's an exciting discovery, and everyone is glad to be part of nature and its surprises. 

Oh, and we did have a downpour some time after returning home...

For days we've been seeing online warnings for our area of an approaching heat wave. Even without temperatures in the 30C-range, this region's high humidity tends to make days feel even hotter than they are. The really hot weather failed to materialize, however, until today. So when we heard on the news that we could expect a humid 29C, with afternoon thunderstorms, Jackie and Jillie persuaded us that it would be a good idea to get out before breakfast, before the thunderstorms, before the extreme heat hit, for our daily ramble through the woods.

It had, actually, already rained, but the sun peeked around the corner of some clouds and we felt confident enough that further rain would hold off for the next hour or so, to get ourselves into the ravine, guided by our intrepid puppies. Breakfast could wait. And on our return we would refresh ourselves with a nice, long shower.

Jackie and Jillie must have mysteriously telegraphed our intention abroad, because we weren't venturing through forest trails with no other trekkers around. The usual suspects showed up, their intentions mirroring ours. And so, Irving's preparations before leaving the house to ensure that he had enough doggy treats to satisfy the demands of his fans, turned out to be well planned.

As for me, I knew I should have charged my Canon Elph's battery but hadn't bothered. So, as it turned out the exhausted battery was good for three photos before it pooped out entirely. Somehow, making our way through the woodlands without the prospect of taking photographs of landscapes that grip my fancy left much to be desired in total satisfaction. My almost automatic reach for the camera as we progress through the trails was foiled.

But luck was with us, no rain came down and we even were graced with occasional sunbeams before that golden orb retreated once again behind assertive grey skies. For a change I had worn half-length (we used to call them pedal-pushers) pants of a light tan colour. They were soon decorated with paw prints as happy-go-lucky familiar dogs, large and small, were delighted to greet us; cookie free-for-alls has that effect on spontaneous-minded creatures. 

After breakfast, the rumbling of thunderclouds alerted us to two thunderstorms passing, drowning the atmosphere in reams of rain. And each time that happened there was a brief and brilliant appearance of the sun. If the gardens don't appreciate these optimal-growth and flowering conditions, then nothing ever will. Walking through the gardens in dry breaks from the rain, it was obvious that everything was thriving.

Most spectacular of all at  his particular blooming time are the peonies and the roses whose blooms so closely resemble one another with their layers of petals and exquisite bright shades of pink and red. Strangely, our two tree peonies this year haven't produced blooms, though I'm always careful in how I cut them back for winter, ensuring that incipient buds are not touched. They're quite unlike the shrub peonies growing right up from the ground year after year.

As well, several of our clematis vines, though the foliage has grown vigorously, have failed to put out buds. I regret one in particular won't be producing any of its gorgeous double-blue-layered flowers and hope it will recover for next spring's production.

In deference to the heat of summer days we've been eating a bit lighter lately. Light meals are perfectly expressed in summer salads. And last night we had a fresh vegetable and bean salad along with tiny Riga (Latvia) 'gold' sprats (smoked sardines) served separately. They make a good combination, each dish complementing the other, we've found. J&J are neutral about it.