Suffer the weary souls, Gaia!
Picture this: 22 degrees celcius, low cloud cover. After several months of hot, sunny 30-degree-plus days, what could we possibly plan for this day? Eureka! Celebrate with a late morning hike in Gatineau...yeah! Laundry day be damned. Got the three loads washed, the first dried, fresh linen on our bed, breakfast out of the way, nothing to hold us here. Packed a little lunch for Angelyne, lots of water for the dogs, and off we went.
Plenty to see even on the drive up, it's a perfectly lovely drive to be sure. Purple loosestrife in the open fields driving up the parkway. A sobering moment passing the eastern Parkway bridge where there are always tributes present and updated in memory of Ardeth Woods, that poor young woman. Even though she was murdered over a year ago, I'ts certain that what befell her and the fact that her murderer has never been apprehended causes more than a slight twitch of nervousness to bicyclists meandering along the NCC network of pathways.
Past the RCMP equine enclosures where there is always certain to be at least a few, often more, dark and muscularly beautiful thoroughbreds grazing their pasture land. Occasionally we experience the pleasure of seeing one or more of these horses frolicking with the sheer delight of being. Perhaps they imagine in their horsey way that they know what freedom is.
The grenadier-clad guards of the Governor-General's horseguard are on duty outside the gates and Angie wants to know why there are so many people standing about there, gawking. Good question. The gardens sundering the roads look wonderfully colourful. Our dogs are restless, trampling all over me to get to the side window, up toward the windshield to peer over as best they can, then they settle down quietly for a whole two seconds before the restless routine recommences. It's obvious they know something is up, it's fairly clear they know our destination.
Angie delights in the brief spectacle of the fountain set in the centre of the old quarry, close by the casino, and then, whoosh! it's well behind us to her disappointment. Reaching old Chelsea we pass the many colourful, truly delightful little bistros, bicycle shops and those which showcase the work of local artists and handicrafters. Invariably their gardens bursting forth with perennials in bloom turn my head.
Turning off the road to the Champlain Lookout in Gatineau Park, we note that there are still pale purple drifts of thyme, here and there small stands of loosestrife and goldenrod and as we approach the exit we're looking for, we catch sight of an animal. At first I think it's a fox, it's so red looking and I've caught only a glimpse, then realize as we approach that it's a deer. Irving pulls to the side of the road and the doe continues browsing despite our near presence, heedless it seems, hardly oblivious. We take a surfeit of photographs, then continue on, as she continues to make her way slowly into the bush.
Parked and the dogs' leashes on, my backpack in place, and a surly little girl, resentfully putting her jean jacket on, the dogs are ecstaticly running hither and yon as far as their retractable leashes permit them. Pees in abundance. What joy. We approach the trailhead, make our way up the hill, then Irving calls out to Angie not to get so far ahead. Never mind, I tell him loudly, if she gets kidnapped someone else can put up with her miserable behaviour. Angie slows appreciably and we soon approach to see voila! a smiling visage eager to face the trail as an amicable group.
The two little dogs are everywhere at once, now happily unleashed, casually picking up small nasty green 'torpedos' which will take us time and patience to pull out of their silky coats once we're off the trail and heading home. Time-of-year nuisance, can't constrain them, they're having too good a time. Angie clambers on the huge boulder which always beckons to her, then discovers a much larger one off the trail, an ice-age erratic, so large there's no way she can clamber onto it, but we can and do admire it, including the various types of clustered lichens, like tiny down-hanging ornaments on its sides.
We've barely started and already Angie wants a snack, so a red gala apple it is. Always has to have something in her mouth for complete enjoyment of living. Soon it's nibbled to the core and ready to be tossed and she asks permission. Glad to be finished because I'd told her she could have a red ball of bubblegum when she finished. Button and Riley wonder where their bubblegum is. Life is so unfair. Angie bends down to dabble in the creek, looking for a just-so stone, finds a few frogs instead, and straightens up in a hurry when she notices a small black and green snake across the creek, partially hidden by a rock. Time to go, she declares firmly.
We've taken lots of photographs of her. Sitting, standing on one or another of the rocks, holding her partial broomstick which she has become very attached to. Too short for a walking stick but perfect size for a baton and that's how she's been treating it. Usually I'm supposed to count the colossal number of times she's able to catch it in succession. "I'm good", she tells me proudly those times when her catches exceed twenty. On the trail it mostly just gets hurled and retrieved, but at the creek it's useful to pull stones over for closer inspection.
We really enjoy the ambience. It's a nice change from our daily ravine walks. This is slightly longer than our usual hike through the ravine. I huff and puff my share on the last long slope uphill toward Mooreside, but we turn off before the final chug up to the estates. We draw in long fragrant breaths, and while Irv claims he smells, of all things, coffee, I'm able to detect a delightful fresh-fruit fragrance, and even, at times, the earthy odour of potatoes.
Back in the car, Angiee wipes her hands on an (ugh) baby-wipe and pulls her shoes off, her socks. Total comfort, such a hedonist. Then she extracts tiny slices of her small pizza and fends off Button's loving attention as Irving drives us back the way we'd come, feeling well satisfied with our little outing. He stops at the turn-off to the highway at the makeshift stand, to price the various-sized baskets of wild blueberries as I'd asked, and comes back with a small basket. As we pass Angie's favourite ice cream shop (the only one in fact) in Chelsea, Angie is asked (unnecessarily) whether she'd like a cone. On come the shoes and off they go. They're soon back with Angie hefting an enormous mocha ice cream cone. Oh dear, she exclaims, hardly disappointed to discover that Button has eaten one of her pizza slices. Having seven dogs of her own at home she knows very well what happens to unprotected food.
As we're driving, we discuss dinner's menu. We'll have a corn chowder. Corn, red pepper, potato, onion, garlic, jalapeno pepper, fresh basil, celery, green onions - not necessarily in that order, but all together extremely tasty. And a Fochachia bread. Different than the one I baked yesterday when Randy and Andrea were with us for dinner driving back from Truro (to a friend's cottage overnight in New Brunswick, then to the Charlebois region of Quebec where they camped overnight, thence to Ottawa) to Toronto. They'd arrived at four yesterday, we had dinner at six, and they decamped for Toronto at half-past seven, a long drive.
Yesterday's Fochacia had a mashed potato in the bread dough and was topped with chopped garlic, sweet basil and cherry tomatoes, all from the garden. We'd had a fresh vegetable salad, barbequed salmon and the bread, with a nice warm peach crisp and vanilla ice cream for dessert. Today's bread was part whole wheat, brushed with olive oil, scattered with feta cheese, olives and sweet basil, a nice counterpart to the corn chowder. Finished by wild blueberries in a bed of Baltic-type yoghurt. Stuffed, utterly stuffed.
posted by Pieface @ Friday, August 19, 2005
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