Today is the first official day of Autumn. More or less. In that the fall equinox this year arrives in the wee hours of Saturday morning. I always think of September 21 as marking the first day of fall, it's fixed in my mind, but it's a moveable feast, evidently, give or take a day or two. In any event, this has been yet another in a series of lovely days. Mild temperatures and plenty of blue sky, and the occasional rain event. Just perfect for a waning summer and a fall chomping at the bit to enter.

I asked Irving what he'd like to have as a dinner dessert tonight. He thought about it. Hours later he asked if I had decided what I'd be baking. Given his absence of suggestion I had decided on baking coconut cupcakes, a treat we call Madeleines. When we were young, living in Toronto, bakeries in the Jewish district used to produce these cupcakes, and I bake them on occasion since they're one of Irving's many favourites.

I always use cake and pastry flour when I'm baking cupcakes and cakes because soft-wheat flour produces the lightest, airiest of cake batters and when they're baked they're beyond tender. I never did have the recipe used by the bakeries but I think the one I devised comes fairly close to what theirs might have been. Quite simple really, with a minimum of ingredients: 2/3 of a cup each granulated sugar and Becel margarine, 2 large eggs, a tsp vanilla, 1/4 cup sour cream, 1 cup of flour, 1-1/2 tsp. baking powder and a dash of salt. They can be made with or without 2/3 cup of shredded coconut.

They bake at 350F for about 30 minutes, just until they're firm and lightly browned. Once they're cooled I dip each cupcake top in raspberry jam, then in shredded coconut, and they're done!

Irving had had quite an interrupted sleep last night. Jackie wasn't feeling well, he hadn't eaten all day, and he began leaping down off the bed to wander about in the dark. Irving wakes, aware of all of this and he finds it profoundly disturbing. He goes after Jackie, brings him back to bed, speaks to him and strokes him, covers him and they both fall back asleep, but this went on several more times. By morning Jackie looked pretty comfortable and was behaving normally. And he made it clear he was starving. And ready to eat.

We took ourselves out to the ravine in the afternoon under a warm sun at 20C, with no wind. It was cooler but still comfortable under the forest canopy. The hike through the trails was good for Jackie, as it was for all of us and always is. We took a shortcut side-trail we've been avoiding this summer because it's unused and badly overgrown. Vegetation has dried and died down somewhat, leaving more of the trail clear albeit barely, and we wanted to see if some plants we'd noted there last summer had come up again.

The trail was in dreadful condition, unstable and sloping down toward the creek and quite uncomfortable underfoot. And there was no trace of the rogue tomatillos we'd spotted there last summer. But there was a small colony of big, bright-blue-pink asters, a few late-blooming daisies and a sprinkling of black-eyed Susans amongst the greater majority of milkweed, grasses, evening primrose, clover and sumacs.

I thought of preparing broccoli to go along with yesterday's dinner, but decided on asparagus spears instead. Not to feel like 'punishment' served alongside the corned beef that Irving so much enjoys. I try not to make it too often because although it tastes very good I don't consider it to be the healthiest of meals. I had meant to do a little roast for dinner, but Irving suggested corned beef.  We buy it already spiced, and the preparation is simple enough, simmering the roast, covered in water for two to three hours, depending on its size. This was a small one.

We had fingerling potatoes with it, along with the asparagus. And fresh sliced prune plums for dessert. A decent enough meal, one that Jackie and Jillie repeatedly offered to share with us. As usual Irving slips them tidbits under the table. I'm not supposed to notice. Strange, that; Jackie had a bit of an upset stomach this morning, refusing breakfast, and when we went out for our ravine walk, he looked for grass to nibble to settle his stomach.

The temperature went down to 10C last night, fairly cool, but it worked its way back up to 19C by the time we prepared to go out for our toddle through the forest trails. Today's laundry day, so I did all four loads and dried most of them before we set out. On yet another wonderfully fine late summer day. The temperature may be on the cool side, but it's mid-September, after all, and the sun made up for it.

The garden looks pleased about it all. When I look out at the garden in the morning through the front door I can hardly tear my eyes away. The combination of form, texture and colour capture my attention and I just enjoy standing there, looking at it. And the thought invariably creeps into my mind that in about a month there'll be nothing left to look at. So I might as well enjoy it while I can...

In the forest the sun enlivens the still-green screen of the forest canopy. Himalayan orchids are still in bloom, and we were somewhat surprised to see that there are thimbleberries still ripening, and ready to be plucked. Bees are everywhere, taking advantage of all the fall asters and pilotweed still fresh and bright. There are even some fresh sprays of fleabane inviting bees to come and visit.

There's no lack of intriguing smells for Jackie and Jillie to investigate as they veer from one side of the trails to the other and make the occasional spurt into the forest after a squirrel, much quicker than they are. The water in the creek is at a peculiarly low level given the rain we'd had in the previous two days, but it has a tendency to ebb and then return to full flow.

There are times you crave something different for a dinner meal.  Your mind flicks through the long-stored files of various meal preparations and eventually something gets dredged up. If not a recipe, then an idea for a combination of ingredients that you feel will work well together. So yesterday we had a savoury pie for dinner on a cool, overcast late summer evening. We'd done the food shopping and all the ingredients required were available. About an hour before dinner the ritual of preparation began.

First off the pie shell, a simple pastry dough that consists of just a few ingredients; flour, salt, vegetable shortening, lemon juice and ice water. I baked the shell just briefly before filling it. The filling was made of equal parts ricotta cheese and finely grated Parmesan. A sprinkling of salt, fresh-ground black pepper, 1/4 tsp. nutmeg, two large eggs beaten well together. And about a quarter-cup of fresh, finely chopped sweet basil. That was poured into the waiting shell and over that I sprinkled a chopped half bell pepper, then arranged sliced ripe tomatoes which I'd briefly blotted on absorbent paper.

That went into a small counter-top toaster oven for 40 minutes. I withdrew it briefly to sprinkle more Parmesan over top, then returned it to the oven until the  filling was firm and beginning to brown slightly. Together with yellow beans and fresh strawberries for dessert, it made a perfect meal.

Today turned out  an even more beautiful day than yesterday. A bit milder, more sun to warm the atmosphere, no prospect of rain, and a hushed breeze. The garden looks happy today. Although some perennials have died back, and some of the annuals have also retreated, for the most part it still looks colourfully presentable, a gift to the eye.

We took ourselves and Jackie and Jillie out for an afternoon ramble through the forest a bit earlier today. Despite that I'd spent some time moving summer clothing to make way for cooler-weather clothing. And at the same time deciding to cull some garments for a trip to the Salvation Army thrift shop for resale. In the process making some room in crowded cupboards.

In the forest bees and other pollen-loving insects were busy, brought out by the sun and perhaps an inbred sense of urgency at the changes taking place in shorter daylight hours and cooler evenings. Last night the temperature dipped to 5C. The sun sent long fingers of brightness shafting through the forest canopy to illuminate areas of the forest still bearing wildflowers. The creek is still fuller than it has been the previous week, thanks to the two recent days of rain.

So far, this season, we've been enjoying a spate of  really lovely days and we hope they'll continue. And then there's the prospect that next month which brings us closer to winter, a brief interlude of warm weather will intercede with fall to give us a few days or even a week of Indian Summer.

I was dismayed when we returned home last week to see that the dipladenia vine we have hanging from the deck in the backyard had languished in our week's absence. It had delighted us immensely, blooming non-stop all summer long, and on our return it looked pathetic, the blooms had fallen off, the foliage looked shrunken in on itself. Clearly it missed being cosseted and since no rain had fallen in our absence it declined alarmingly.

Now it's back to its normal, healthy appearance, and once again blooming. I don't think the chipmunks, rabbits and squirrels mourned our absence. There were no little dogs present for a week to chase after them in the backyard. Now, when we let Jackie and Jillie out to the backyard they go storming out to the deck, down the stairs and head directly toward the places where they think the other little critturs are most likely to be found. Usually around one of the garden sheds, where they quickly duck for cover. I don't think the pups would ever do them any harm, but I'm glad they're swifter in escape than Jackie and Jillie are, in pursuit.

It  had rained heavily at some point during the night and was still raining when we came down for breakfast. So we're receiving some much-needed rain, after all. The rain finally stopped mid-morning and by the time we decided to get out for our afternoon tramp through the woods, it was already early afternoon. the sun hadn't yet penetrated the dense cloud cover, and in fact there were both billowing white clouds and streaked dark clouds overhead when we set off. So we imagined the chance of another rain event could be imminent.

As it happens, none fell while we were out. A cool, breezy day, all the more so in the shade of the forest canopy.  But forging briskly ahead tends to warm us and we enjoyed another pleasant circuit, just as we do all our forays out in the ravine. There's a definite feeling of fall, a smell of fall, an impression of fall, even though there is not yet any overall colour signal that fall has arrived. 

The creek was full and running imperiously downstream, splashing over rock impediments and the buildup of fallen branches here and there along its trajectory, in contrast to the dry conditions that left the water level low and sullen all week to the present. 

On our return home, we left the puppies sulking in the full knowledge they were being abandoned while we went off to do the grocery shopping. We've noticed over time that more and more shelf space is being devoted to imported vegetables, and fruit as well, that are completely unknown to us. Yucca leaves, breadfruit, and all manner of food that must be common fare for people from south-east Asia and Africa but completely new to us.

It's not only fresh agricultural food that has continued to make a larger appearance on grocery shelves but also pre-prepared 'convenience' foods of all types. And who knew that there were so many types of rice? I did try red and black rice once, but neither pleased our palates, so that put an end to that particular food experimentation.

The odd thing is that we don't see all that many people of varied ethnic and cultural backgrounds when we're shopping. Obviously there are enough and more than enough present to induce food conglomerates to see the practicality of stocking foodstuffs geared to a culinary tradition we're totally unfamiliar with. And it does speak to the reality that Canada as a country of immigrant stock from all over the world is a hugely variegated community.

 

It's not necessarily that we deliberately put off returning to our normal house-cleaning schedule since our return from a week away in New Hampshire's wonderful natural mountain preserve in the White Mountain National Forest, it just didn't happen. In that there were so many other things to do. I didn't neglect the bathrooms or the kitchen, they ended up being cleaned as a regular routine. And Irving gave the house a thorough vacuuming at one midway point. And then we kind of left resuming that house cleaning schedule for another time.

 

That other time dawned this morning. So it was time to give the house a good cleaning, we agreed. Which means dry-dusting everything, and we've got a lot of things that line up to be dusted. Including the wood floors. Irving looked after the rugs and the vacuuming. And when all those things were done, it was the turn of all the other floors. In the laundry/mud room, the powder room, the breakfast room, the foyer and the kitchen. They're all tile floors, and scheduled to be washed.

 

Washing floors on hands and knees seems to take no time at all in comparison to the dusting. All that bric- a-brac including picture frames on the wall, ornamental clocks, porcelain pieces, bronze animalia, all of which we so enjoy having, takes forever, it seems, to dust. Perhaps it's because I've a tendency to linger at each one, seeing them each as though for the first time, while relieving them of imaginary dust motes.

 

Finally, though, we were finished and it was time to enjoy what was left of the day. A timely romp through the forest with Jackie and Jillie was in order ... back by popular demand ... which is to say our puppies' expectations. We were surprised when we came down for breakfast to see that we'd had rain at some point in the early morning hours. The deck was drenched with rain and so was the backyard. But it was also a mild day in the low-to-mid 20s, with sun to dry the landscape, so it wasn't wet for long.

 

Out in the forest it could hardly be detected that rain had fallen. The clay-based forest floor still sported wide cracks, indicative of a surprising lack of rain for September, after August's daily rain events. It was a perfect day for a circuit through the forest trails, and we took it at leisure. Jillie took to barking at one point as we reached an elevated portion of the trail, and I assumed she had become aware through her robust sense of smell that some of her friends were nearby.

 

And sure enough, peering through the dense lower story of the forest I could make out another, further trail, and just glimpsed some pale golden hair moving along. Which led me to make the assumption that before long a pair of familiar dogs would gallup over, bushwhacking to greet us in the expectation that Jillie's invitation to come right over would result in cookie handouts. And that's just what happened.

 

 

 

Not a very auspicious start to the day this Sunday morning. Irving had suggested that it would be less trouble for me to just make pancakes for breakfast rather than the waffles we've been enjoying. It's true doing pancakes is far easier, but we both like waffles better, and I had already mixed up the batter meant for waffles, though the batter can be used for both. But I decided to go ahead with the waffles. Our old waffle iron has been misbehaving badly lately. The heat control is unreliable, and on occasion the batter becomes stuck hard on to the waffle plates, making detaching them quite difficult.

 

Piddling about with the waffle iron is also a delicate matter, since it tends to get very hot, and it's easy enough to sustain a skin burn. Sometimes it's the first waffle that presents as a problem, the rest baking very well. This morning the device went completely haywire, the batter clung to the waffle plates and absolutely refused to detach. I finally gave up, and resorted to using the remaining batter for pancakes, after all. No harm done, but time-wasting and a bit of aggravation. 

 

Minor irritations are easy to shrug off. It's when you're really and truly 'inconvenienced' that stress ensues. Like what happened while we were away a week ago in New Hampshire. On our arrival at the cottage, we hugged our hosts whom we've known for so many years and with whom a mutual fondness had ensued. We always greet one another warmly. We know from previous years with the pandemic that they were as scrupulous as us in keeping up with their vaccines. But two days after our arrival, Byron tested positive for COVID, while Donna was in the all-clear. They wanted us to know ... just in case.

 

Now, that did indeed cause some uncertainty and the stress of concern, since at our age and with both of us being in the group percentile of high vulnerability with poor outcomes with infection, we dreaded the possibility of having contracted the coronavirus. Happily, we did not, but in the interim until we were certain, we felt quite vulnerable.

Today is yet another beautiful early fall day. So far this month we've been in a paucity of rainfall, after August's all-too-generous rainfall events. There haven't really been many rainy days yet in September and we may be moving into drought territory. We can see the Leda-clay base on the forest floor being affected by a lack of rainfall. There are cracks appearing everywhere. 

 

Meanwhile, we take advantage of yet another lovely day of warm, but not hot temperature, slight wind and alternating sun and shade. In the shade of the forest canopy it always seems cooler than out at street level, understandably, but moving along briskly creates its own inner warmth in energy expended. The dry atmosphere is reflected as well in leaves beginning to fall from the crowns of trees despite fall colour not having yet set in. 

 

Back home again, doing our usual turn in the garden to assess the state of the vegetation there, a few mysteries have presented. One of our oldest rose shrubs has oddly enough lost most of its leaves, which is unusual, The Annabelle hydrangeas look positively pathetic in a droopy condition. The garden annuals, while still blooming, aren't as bright and fresh in appearance. Everything is beginning to slow down and fade...

 

Irving and I have gained the impression, born over the many years of our regular travels to Vermont and New Hampshire -- the two New England States whose mountain landscapes call out to us to keep returning to enjoy mountain hikes, first with our children, then on our own -- that the people who live there are almost without exception, kindly, friendly and outgoing. Interacting with such people makes life infinitely more enjoyable. The natural spontaneity of their engagement with strangers is both refreshing and reassuring.

 

We've noted, over the years, that service people in particular, employees of supermarkets, gas stations, all manner of commercial shops are unfailingly polite, deferential and helpful. That can only partly be explained by the fact that most of our encounters have been in rural areas, areas highly dependent on tourism. And because we are attracted to these natural wilderness regions that also draw visitors from the adjoining state of Massachusetts we can quite clearly differentiate the manners of the latter from the former. 

 

In comparison to Vermont and New Hampshire operating a series of official rest spots for travellers, complete with tourism information buildings and restrooms set in manicured micro-parks with picnic tables and benches for the use of people driving through, Montreal, the Canadian province adjoining Vermont which also used to operate similar rest stops, closed theirs years ago, and now offer no comfort stations at all for the use of people travelling through the province, much less bilingual signage as a sign of courtesy.

 

While we were away last week driving around New Hampshire visiting our old haunts, the 'check engine' light and another engine warning light came on. This of course, concerned Irving. Before we left he had taken the truck in for regular maintenance and checks and it was given a clean bill of health. The truck is a Nissan, and we've had it for ten years, a really excellent vehicle. Our friend Byron, the proprietor of the cottage complex where we were staying suggested we stop in at O'Reilly Auto Parts at Plymouth.

 

We did that, and the mechanic who came out with diagnostic equipment to check things out under the hood, verified that the signal lights were alarming us for no good reason, since everything checked out perfectly fine. Her opinion was that excess oil sprayed under the truck chassis in preparation for winter protection from rusting had triggered the warning lights, nothing else. Irving thanked her, and wanted to pay for the service, but was informed that the establishment doesn't charge for that service. He thanked them profusely. Then he drove on to WalMart and came out with a large layered chocolate cake. We drove back to the auto shop, and he expressed his appreciation once again, with the cake.

 

That was then, this is now, a beautiful warm 20C day of full sun and light breezes. Night temperatures now plunge between 6C and 10C. Our meals have changed completely from an emphasis on light meals mostly salads of one type or another, or barbecued meals with corn, to more substantial comfort-preparation meals. And we're back once again to having Friday night meals in the dining room. Last night we had chicken-noodle soup, Cornish game hen with roasted mushrooms and cauliflower along with a potato pudding, for dinner. 

After breakfast this morning I baked simple sugar cookies, a rolled-out cookie dough that Irving prefers to all other types of cookies. He'll have a large baked apple stuffed with raisins and honey-cinnamon with his much lighter dinner tonight.

 

Our circuit in the ravine with Jackie and Jillie was beyond pleasant. Because the temperature is cooler now, they ask to be let out on the deck to enjoy the warmth of the sun these mornings. In the ravine, along the forest trails, it's impossible not to notice random shrubs beginning to turn colour.  And although fall colours haven't yet decorated the forest trees, there's plenty of fallen leaves of a dun colour crisping on the forest floor.

 

Change is in the very air. This is the time of year when wild fall asters rule the wildflower roost. They're now even more numerous and fresher than the Himalayan orchids still in bloom, but in only select colonies on the forest hillsides. We also noticed that discrete colonies of Partridgeberry spread on the forest floor are flaunting their red, ripe berries for fall.

 

When we returned home, I decided to remain outdoors for a while, to sweep up the walkway of fallen leaves and above all, tons of tiny red, ripe crabapples fallen from the trees above. It's obvious that our neighbouring squirrel and chipmunk populations have been enjoying the apples. They carry them from the ground to elevated areas like the garden infrastructure that Irving built so many years ago, to nibble at them. Jackie and Jillie, back from their walk, enjoy a few of the apples as well.

 

I also cut back branches of our overgrown spirea encroaching into the areas claimed by one of our yews and a sunshine maple alongside the driveway. It always feels so good to be out in the garden, doing these little chores, looking about, appreciating the form, texture and colour still ornamenting the garden. By next month the chores will take on a different character, for then it will be a much more difficult and quite sad engagement, when the garden has to be disassembled. So we enjoy it while yet we can...