Was it something they ate? We control what they eat in the house, but when we're out with our two little imps and they wander off momentarily it doesn't take long for them to scoop something up off the forest floor for a little bit of taste-testing fun. They know full well this is forbidden. It's one of the reasons they get chopped-up fresh vegetables as treats twice daily. They love those vegetables.

 And just because they also are given wild berries and apples in season as additional treats when we're hiking through the forest trails and these goodies are all available to share with them, it doesn't mean they should feel free to consider the forest floor their personal buffet. Especially when they're attracted to the disgusting fecal matter that tends to be dropped here and there.

We learned a short while ago that the an who had taken it upon himself to guide dog owners to a sense of responsibility about their dog droppings, to pick them up and discard them in bins he personally set out to receive trash rather than leave bottles, tins, used masks and a whole host of other forms of detritus lying about, won't be doing it any longer. His altruistic volunteer work putting out fresh garbage bags every week, collecting the full ones to the curbside to be picked up on garbage day has gone on for at least a decade.

 

He's a gruff, friendly man in his early 60s with a personal sense of mission. Not a dog owner himself, he began hiking through the forest trails n a bid to improve his health with exercise. A few weeks ago he left a note at each of the street entrances dispersed throughout the wider community leading to the ravine, explaining that he hoped people would carry on with his work. He was diagnosed with advanced cancer and decided to leave a lot of things behind him. 

We had sun in the early part of the day today, but by afternoon clouds had rolled in and darkened the day. Although there was no rain in the forecast, it looked as though rain would be imminent. And we were kind of bushed from last night's constantly interrupted sleep. Jillie kept asking to go out to the backyard. Earlier in the evening it was Jackie who unusually asked repeatedly to be let out.

The first time Jillie needed to go out was around half-past four. I took her out to the backyard and watched her pee, but nothing else. The next time shortly afterward she leaped off the bed, we were both fast asleep and unaware. Until Irving heard her scratching about and then leaped off the bed himself to check. He spent the next half-hour cleaning up messes here and there. The last time I took her out it was three hours later and by then she finished emptying her bowels. The fun part of dog companionship.

This constant up-and-down and loss of sleep explained just why it was that we finally got out of bed to start the morning routine after falling back asleep at a truly unusual hour. We thought for certain neither of them would be inclined to eat, but we were wrong. They had their breakfast thank you very much, and the treat to follow, cubed French toast.

And when later we were out in the ravine they avidly sought doggy cookies. They are clever little beasts, knowing that when other dogs show up to await Irving's reaction in dispensing cookies, they'll be included. So if they detect the presence of other dogs they're familiar with at a distance on another trail, out of eyesight and hearing, but they still somehow detect their presence, Jillie sets up a huge barking session, joined by Jackie.

Other dogs familiar with our hiking routine respond to the racket our two make by heading at speed in our direction to confront us as the source of treats. They're patient and courteous and expectant. This is a deliberate set-up by Jackie and Jillie, to extract more cookies for themselves. Their expectations centre around the fact that the dogs will come running as soon as they hear the barking invitation and then it will be party time, chums! There truly is method to their madness.

And when we finally return home, do our tour of the garden and are finally back in the house they follow me about anxiously to remind me as though I could ever forget, that it's time for their vegetable salad. Usually diced cucumber, bell pepper and grape tomatoes. Their evening salad is comprised of cauliflower, snap peas, bell pepper and tomatoes, although any kind of fresh or cooked vegetable chopped into small pieces is equally welcome.

 

We're back again in what is likely to be the last of this season's hot and humid spells. A full week of extreme heat and humidity to match. According to the weather report today was supposed to be an equal mix of sun and overcast but it's turned out to be fully sunny. When it's this hot, all living things seek relief from the oppressive atmosphere. Perhaps more to the point, organic matter begins to reek as it decays even faster in this heat. Which means that the kitchen waste in our green bin kept in the garage begins to smell despite its lock-tight top.

 

It's either a desperate attempt to escape the ambient heat or an irresistible attraction to the odour that draws big black flies into the garage. There's easy enough entry from the garage to the house interior when doors are opened. It is only on these remaining dog days of summer that flies manage to enter our house. Jackie and Jillie know something is amiss when a fly is in the house. We detest their entry for the simple reason of hygiene. Our pups hate them because of their irritation factor.

 

So if a fly enters the house the goal is to exit it, if at all possible, else during the night it will follow us up to the bedroom and alarm J&J terribly. They become restless and edgy if a fly buzzes them in bed. Our role is to see this doesn't happen. Irving hates killing anything, so he does his best to thump a fly lightly, so he can pick it up and release it outside, alive. After our ravine walk today, I heard a light thwack where Irving had a fly sequestered in the powder room. Then a long pause and a harder smack, and finally a really massive thwack. Elusive stubbornness; that fly extinguished its opportunity for survival.

But we did get ourselves out to the ravine in the assured knowledge that we would find relief from the heat and the sun's glare under the shield of the forest canopy. Bluejays have returned. Their high-pitched cries are unlike those of any other bird. In southern Ontario we used to see them regularly. In north-eastern Ontario they're occasional visitors; just passing through in spring and fall. Hearing them is like bumping into an old friend.

 

Chickadees and nuthatches were busy today as well, in the forest. We're also hearing choruses of crickets and seeing grasshoppers leaping out of the tall grasses beside the forest creek these days. And now the forest's squirrel population, black, grey and red are suddenly to be seen everywhere already searching for winter-storage of food. Their presence creates an opportunity for Jackie and Jillie to occasionally sprint after them. The squirrels, challenged, scold and swing their tails from perches they attain in easy escapes.

 

Several years back, the forest ashes were attacked by Emerald Ash Borers and we saw the die-off of many mature trees, both those planted on lawns of houses on the street adjacent the forest, and those growing within the forest. The trees had all the appearances of death, but on the bottom quartile of old trunks, tentative small branches soon began to sprout. The trees above those slender new branches were skeletal in death, but the will to survive evident in live roots urging the growth of hopeful new life. 

 

The cycle of life and death of all growing things, something we witness yearly with the seasons. We tend to appreciate the gardens we lovingly cultivate all summer long for their fresh, attractive presence, their form and texture and colour and the multitude of flowers that enhance our properties and greet our appreciative eyes all summer long. But it's at the tail end of summer that our eyes devour the colour in the knowledge that it will all soon fade, the garden cut back and prepared for its winter rest.

 

It's hard to find things to grouch and complain about when your personal life seems so comfortable, but if we try hard enough we can always find issues that irritate and sometimes even infuriate. And usually it has something to do with 'other people'. To put it more accurately on a personal level, peoples' foibles, or their sense of righteousness, or their rigid performance as 'professionals'. There are times when you just have to shake your head in wonder.

On the other hand, why bother? Especially on beautiful days when the sun shines, the ambient temperature is as close to perfect as possible and your close environment offers relaxation, entertainment and recreation at one readily accessible site. Link perfect weather with the perfect location and if there's anyone hesitating to make the most of such opportunities to enjoy nature and relax mind and soul, then they'll never know what they're missing.

 

We took Jackie and Jillie and our two selves out to the ravine for our usual pleasurable spin through the forest trails early this afternoon. And although the sun was fiercely hot on the street, the forest canopy muted the heat, turning the temperature down to 'just there, stop right there', and we ambled off, following our two little pups where fancy would take them and us. And on this most perfect of days we had the length of our perambulation to ourselves.

 

Earlier we had done the usual for a Friday. I decided to bake a strawberry pie for a change. I've baked raspberry pies often enough and blueberry pies, but strawberry, not so much. Once you've prepared and baked the pie crust, let it cool, and spooned the cooled strawberry-sugar-cornstarch-water filling into the shell, it awaits refrigeration until dinnertime and you're done. At serving time whipped cream can be added.

While I was busy in the kitchen and doing some light cleaning elsewhere in the house, Irving went out to run a few errands, among them dropping by at the pharmacy to pick up medication for him and for me. He had called them in a few days earlier and was assured they'd be ready for pick-up today. Trouble was, when he arrived, he was informed that only mine was prepared, his wouldn't be ready until tomorrow. And why would that be? Because he still had, the pharmacist sniffed, 9 days' worth left.

Adhering strictly to instructions that prescriptions are not to be refilled until the user is down to a few days' worth. Thus, despite the assurance it would be ready, it was not. And to satisfy the restriction to the letter of the law, another trip back to the pharmacy to pick up the prescribed medication on the following day, wasting both human and fossil fuel energy satisfying the sanctimony of 'the person behind the counter'. 

 

Irritation/disbelief number two for the day: Irving had brought my attention to a sales pamphlet for a nearby shop advertising a new shipment of fall clothing, specifically women's sweaters and pants and they looked promising. So though I really tend not to shop anywhere of late, whimsy took me there  and try as I might I could not find very much in sizes smaller than medium or large. Any small sizes I found looked no different than the large.

The design, fabrics, and workmanship were dreary beyond belief. What was more unbelievable, however, is the availability of large-size and extra-large-size garments, and virtually no small sizes. For that matter, 'small' now barely resembles what at one time such sizes  represented; whatever the size, they're uniformly huge. And shapeless. I walked into the store without any packages and walked out with no packages. Utterly dismal choices mean no choices.

 

No matter, as soon as we rolled up the driveway, the world turned brighter again, and the garden glowed. And as long as this is all I can find to complain about, I'm beyond fortunate.

In the sense that Britain today along with the wider Commonwealth nations lost a long-reigning monarch, the day is extraordinary in marking the end of an epoch. Queen Elizabeth, at 96 was a British treasure, the Queen whose iconic reign saw history unfold for close to 71 years. A lifetime on the throne, inheriting a vast empire from the United Kingdom's colonial days, she committed to represent every corner of her empire, through active interest in their welfare and occasional personal state visits. Bit by bit some of those nations of which Queen Elizabeth was recognized as their constitutional monarch saw fit to break away as autonomous republics. 

The British empire may have been reduced but the Queen who once presided over their affairs retained an affection for them all. None could ever criticize her firm conviction that she was born to apply herself each and every day to her duty as Queen of all she surveyed. Hers was a magnanimous spirit, with a fondness for 'her people' that manifested itself in her constant attention not only to the affairs of state but concern for the welfare of all residing in those states that formed a part of the Commonwealth of Nations.

A familiar and much-admired figure, her public/private life was intermingled for nothing could be kept from the eyes and candid opinion of all who surveyed the inner sanctum of a woman whose close family members were in the public eye. Some of those family members; children and grandchildren, met her expectations as committed members of a family whose attention to the public weal never wavered but occasionally wobbled.

Critical eyes from the outside looking in and toward the lapses in judgement as one family member after another negotiated their way through the storms of intimate relationships, and found them wanting. They were a far cry from the mutual admiration and respect that the Queen and her consort, Prince Philip evinced through their lengthy private personal relationship. Their discreet and loving life together celebrated the nature of a time seemingly passed when mutual regard, respect and  admiration one for the other was viewed as normally traditional.

When Irving and I set out on our afternoon hike through the forest trails on a warm, sunny afternoon, it was with the very recent knowledge that the world was shorn of the presence of an extraordinary woman. Whose oldest son, in the tradition of succession is prepared to step into the newly-created breach. Protocol will demand a period of deep mourning, before any formal transition with the pomp and ceremony that marks such an occasion takes place.

 

We have our memories of Elizabeth's long reign. Memories that take us back to our childhood. As of now going forward, Britain and those who still regard their nations as part of the Commonwealth and treasure their link to the British throne, its parliamentary system and traditions of justice will welcome King Charles III to the throne of the English realm. 

Our wandering about in the ravine through the forest trails was replete with reminiscences and discussions between ourselves of our impressions over the years and our thoughts for the present, much less the future. Queen Elizabeth was a popular, well-loved head of state. Her son may be somewhat less so; the world has been exposed to much more of Charles, his interests and his passions than they were  of his mother before she assumed royal duties on her father's untimely death. Elizabeth promised her total attention and focus to her home audience and she met those self-imposed obligations with grace and dispatch.

What her son and heir to the throne may deliver to a skeptical public may be another thing altogether. But then, there are issues associated with his background and lifestyle, focus and public utterances that are uniquely his own and not necessarily shared by those whose fealty he now commands.

Queen Elizabeth II crowns her son Charles, Prince of Wales during his investiture ceremony on July 1, 1969, at Caernafon Castle in Wales, as Britain's Home Secretary James Callaghan looks on. (AP Photo, File)

 

Seems I was a little precipitate congratulating myself that my back had fully recovered and was no longer under duress as a result of the episode weeks ago at the dentist's when the reclining chair was tilted much too far in the wrong direction, leaving my head lower than my feet to an instantly uncomfortable degree that seemed to stretch my spine; a warning I failed to heed because it passed so quickly. Usually the dentist asks, once she adjusts the chair, whether I'm comfortable, but I don't recall hearing that this time. I would likely have said that I was perfectly comfortable since at that point the discomfort had swiftly disappeared.

 

Only when she was finished replacing a filling that had inconveniently failed a week earlier, and when the chair was adjusted to a normal seated position was I struck with the most painful reaction to my efforts to exit the chair. I was immediately arrested with the pain and was unable to move. She was alarmed and I wasn't much able to allay her concern since I was frozen with inaction, the overwhelming pain unlike anything I'd experienced before, kept me frozen. I said, I'd be all right in a minute.

 

 

Quite a few minutes passed, the pain eased and I was able to carefully begin moving to extricate myself from the chair and stand upright. With difficulty. But I was ambulatory, she walked me to the front desk, I paid my portion of the invoice, and left. Full mobility with a minimum of discomfort wasn't long in coming, but since that time I've had episodes of extreme lower back discomfort. Then I thought, a few days ago, aha! I hadn't even noticed, I've overcome it entirely.

 

 

But that night in the middle of our sleeping hours I awoke to excruciating pain and was unable to effect a position that would ease the pain. Eventually it subsided to a point where I was able to fall back to sleep, exhausted. In the morning after limbering up, assuming my usual daily routine I was fine. And then it was repeated the following night. Well, damn! 

 

 

I feel perfectly fine, able to do everything with no problem, that I usually do. Just a reminder here and there with these episodes that circumstances such as less elasticity with age and unforeseen stressors can play havoc. Then you wait, hoping it will be temporary, and usually it is. Yesterday I hauled about heavy containers of groceries as usual. I did some planting in the garden. We had our usual hour-and-a-half hike through the ravine. I prepared bread dough for a pizza we made together for dinner. All's well, she said unconvincingly to herself.

 

And today, another beautiful day. The dog days of summer are long gone. There's still some heat to be shared when the sun's fully high in the sky. The rains have stopped for the time being, and we've had moderate winds, making for quite lovely days. At night the temperature dips giving us cooling night-time breezes to waft through the bedroom window.

 

 

So we had a lovely amble with Jackie and Jillie through the forest trails today, just as we do every day. And just as generally happens each time we take ourselves out to the forest, familiar dogs present themselves for recognition as fans of the Cookie Man. Jackie and Jillie come back from our daily forays excited and more energetic than when we left, racing after one another, their little legs thundering through the upstairs in anticipation of their fresh vegetable salad, their very special afternoon treat.

 

And Irving and I settle down to read the newspapers, look through the mail, discuss dinner and have a peek at what's going on online. 

 

 

Sadly, many of the flowers in the garden are on the wane. They've been outstanding performers all summer long. But as they begin to fade and present a wan bit of imagery, there are always other elements of a garden to pick up the slack. We can no longer depend on the fall-flowering Japanese anemones; alas, after so many years, they've finally given up the ghost. But an equally old Ligularia plant that usually bloom in early fall, has been faithful to its task, finally putting out the first of its nondescript flowers. It's the foliage that is most attractive, somewhat how we feel about hostas.

And now that shorter daylight hours and cooler temperatures are prevailing the old Veronica patch in the back garden is beginning to flower. And don't bees love it. It hosts multiple bell-like pink flowers on long spikes and bees are busy entering every one of the flowers. It's just begun to bloom this fall, so they'll have ample pollen and nectar available for a while yet. It's good to see old friends.

And we're appreciative of the seldom-fail efforts of begonias which just seem to bloom and go on forever. Potted, and placed here and there in the garden they can always be relied upon to blaze with rich colour, attract with showy layers of petals, and be fairly tolerant of a forgetful few days of no-watering. The colours are vibrant, the architecture of each flower a lesson in nature's divine powers to beautify the world around us.

This was a shopping morning. We thought it wouldn't be amiss setting out a bit later than usual, even though this was a holiday weekend and we knew that people who weren't able to shop on the days supermarkets were closed for Labour Day, would be out in force on Tuesday, making up for Monday. So it was far busier than usual, and many people seem now to be comfortable unmasked; mothers with children, the elderly and the unattached. People do with what makes them comfortable.

When we finished off our shopping drawing on the fresher, wider choices for fruits and vegetables at Farm Boy, I realized we were selecting more fresh items from that source now than from the supermarket. Somehow, we both feel like children in a candy shop when we wander the aisles there and make our choices.

It was a cool day, heavily overcast, though the temperature managed to nudge up to 21C by the time we headed out to the ravine with Jackie and Jillie. Couldn't have been more perfect for a September, early fall day. Oddly mosquitoes appear to have returned where they've been absent most of the hot summer days. The air was brisk and so was our walk, except for Jackie and Jillie meandering here and there off the beaten path drawn by curiosity over smells they detect and we cannnot.

When we returned home I remained outside, planning to plant three potted chrysanthemums we'd bought to fill some gaps in the garden at the very front. Where over time a few annuals gave up the ghost and those spaces needed plugging for optimum colour, texture and sheer presence. And chrysanthemums love fall and cooler weather. 

And while I was out there I thought it was the perfect time to do some other garden chores, tidying up, cleaning up, dead-heading and other trivial things the gardener's eye lights upon and lectures her mind to have a go at.

That old familiar phrase of nostalgia: 'it seems like only yesterday'... Well, it was only yesterday or the day before, or the day before that when we were panting in the heat and humidity, basking under an overheated sun, enjoying light cooling breezes. As though overnight it has all changed. Well  I did forget to throw in the almost-daily rain events -- the thunderstorms that interrupted the sun in its diurnal sweep across the sky.

August, our region's wettest on record since 1898 or thereabouts, has given way to September. I know the shorter days have been happening for a while, but it seems as though in tandem with the calendar the weather turned cooler, the sun is more in evidence, balancing out the cooler atmosphere in daylight hours. When night falls, however, the full impact of the cold hits when the night time low is 10C. With that, wind and overnight thunderstorms.

The garden has rolled with these transitions, sudden as they seem to us. We realize that we're missing some old floral standbys, they've departed when we weren't looking. We need a warm comforter at night when the breeze coming through the bedroom window is brisk and cold. And we need to be fortified by a different menu, one lighter on summer salads and more geared to cool-weather repasts.

We decided on a roast for yesterday, and when Irving was given the choice between new potatoes and Yorkshire pudding, he grinned, and didn't have to articulate his choice. My revenge as it were? Why broccoli of course, not his very favourite vegetable by any means, but part of the menu. Augmented by fresh sliced peaches for dessert.

We spoke with our son Jordan last night. He returned to Vancouver from another kayak-camping trip to a few islands beyond Tofino. In his email and with photos he sent he casually mentioned the presence of a wolf. Wolf tracks on the beach where he had set up his camp, that is. Last night he expanded on the experience. While he was cooking dinner one evening he looked up to see a wolf emerge from the forest behind the beach and stride over toward his tent.

He ordered it in no uncertain terms to decamp, but it looked fairly unconcerned, looked at him, looked around, then retreated back to the woods. The next morning was when he saw the wolf prints, all along the edge of the beach, beside the water's edge. Wolves in the area are accustomed to the presence of people evidently, and they keep a regular lookout for anything edible washed up on shore from the ocean tides. He did see the wolf again, another day, and watched as it 'trap-lined', as he explained it.

Today was cool and sunny for us. The wildflowers in the ravine in their seasonal presence continue to offer some appreciated colour; lots of Himalayan orchids still blooming. The area where we used to see the late-blooming, large pink-mauve asters to our surprise no longer hosts them. They were the sole area in the forest where we were accustomed to seeing them year after year. Kind of disappearing since they're the largest and prettiest of the fall asters. But then, we suddenly noticed in an entirely, far-removed spot where we'd never seen them before, a sole patch of those beautiful asters.

Even the garden looked happier today, when we returned from our afternoon hike in the ravine. Many plants appreciate cooler weather, and certainly they do enjoy having more sun warm and tickle them to ongoing growth and bloom. Irving was out early in the day with the new lawn mower tiding up the lawn and even it looked happier.