Another Day's Adventures - Part I
It's Saturday, another Saturday. Odd, how fossilized we become in our ways, taking comfort from the sameness of things, becoming true creatures of habit. Although we have been retired from an active work life for almost a decade, we have never considered retiring from life and all its multitude of activities open to us, intellectual and physical, yet we remain mired in the mindset of a working-day week, a recreational week-end. This, when life itself has become an exercise in recreational opportunities of every description at any time. And yes, we take advantage of all of these opportunities which appeal to us, revelling in this enticing still-newfound ability to act on impulse, the need to plan ahead no longer dictating our modus operandi.
We woke to greet a clear sunny sky and going downstairs to let Button and Riley out to the back garden for their morning deposit, saw on our way there the only sour note of the day, some feline having left her/his evil calling card on our porch. While I prepared a repaste suitable for a Saturday morning, the master of this abode cleaned up the wretched mess. Disgusting as it was, it didn't set the tone for the day. The neighbourhood cats will go on to contest and dispute right to consider our property their territory by night. We would like to mediate by setting up an official-looking sign denoting status to the cat next door.
It's fast becoming hot and muggy, with an Environment Canada forecast for possible rain in the afternoon or early evening. The garden looks glorious, viewed from indoors. We discuss, after breakfast, the day's itinerary and I get my messages mixed and crossed and later understand the suggestion that we forego a Gatineau hike this day; too hot. On our way up the street headed toward the ravine, we greet a near neighbour with her new puppy, an adorable smooth-coated cross between a beagle and a terrier, tugging unhappily at the collar-and-leash he is being introduced to.
The walk up the street is hot, directly in the sun, but as soon as we enter the trailhead to the ravine, a breeze and the shade from overhead trees soothe us very nicely, as we let Button and Riley off their leashes. Already, the sumach candles have turned red, just amazing. Everything seems early this year, mostly because everything is earlier-than-usual this year, given the hot, wet weather thus far this spring and summer. Button trots eagerly ahead as is her wont, while Riley radiates disinterest, straggling behind despite our urging to come along little guy, keep apace slow-poke, hurry up Fatty Rascoon; he's immune to all blandishments.
Underfoot, the ground is still wet. Although we haven't had rain the last few days, the ground is completely saturated and hasn't yet been able to successfully absorb the abnormal rainfalls we've been gifted with, of late. A pair of bluejays flit above us through the trees, calling to one another. As we ascend the first long hill the regular, high-pitched call of the hawk bounces back at us. It's just amazing how the Queen Anne's lace has proliferated, there are large sweeping drifts of it everywhere we look.
The globe thistles are also now in bloom, some daisies still, lots of purple and yellow loosestrife. Goldenrod and fleabane are everywhere, as is pink clover, held aloft by its larger neighbours. Already, fall asters are beginning to open their little flower heads. Thimbleweed is blooming nicely, promising nice ripe berries in the fall. Milkweed too is beginning to bloom, much to the delight of the black Admiral we see alighting on one. And there is the occasional tiny splat of brilliant orange, or yellow, or white mucilage on the damp ground, or cropping up on the carcass of an dead fallen tree.
We decide this day to go a little further, take a different trail for a change and immediately Riley's boredom is alleviated, as he and Button rush before us down the long slope leading to a differentiated set of trails. We turn a sharp left, can scarcely recognize an old, disused trail clothed in grown-up undergrowth, which leads directly to a large sewer output into another arm of Bilberry Creek, and continue on, hoping that the faint trail will have been continued by neighbourhood kids, and it has been, it leads directly to a large flat area which has obviously been operating as Party Central for some time. We're disgusted at all the trash, want to turn back, but we've come so far, we decide to forge on.
Then discover we can go no further, the creek intrudes, the landspace has disappeared. Before us to the right is a faint, truly perpendicular trail we recognize, and we groan in anticipation, yet scramble up it, in a determined motion to just get it over with, and eventually ascend to a bit of a plateau we're familiar with. No problem for Button and Riley; they've got twice our leg-power, and they're impressed anyway, at the new adventure, their daily old routine is truly passe. Once we've gained the upper trail again we're back on familiar, albeit not recently-taken territory and our hike continues.
Taking us on a meandering trail through juvenile pines and spruce, some overlapped with grape vines (native fox grape), sans grapes that we can see, old cherry trees, venerable apple trees hosting small, mean little apples which, come fall, we'll try out anyway, tossing the sour ones, revelling in the sweet ones. We dip into another descent taking us to a stand of really old cedars, with another arm of the creek just below, lined with limestone overtop the clay bottom, and now running with water, a phenomena not normally seen at this time of year.
As we ascend once again from this low point in the landscape, a group of four bright yellow goldfinches course and dip above and beyond us, and through the trees. We rise to the flattest most open portion of this adventure, to where of old we've picked raspberries galore with our grandchild hoisted on our backs, but it seems the neighbourhood children have been there well before us, and there are scant berries to be seen. We eventually double back on the trail, rising once again to the familiarity of the trails most commonly taken in our daily hikes and Button and Riley slow down, ennui setting in once again, and the heat demanding that they pant ceaselessly.
Eventually, back up on the street again, heading home, we see someone walking with determination and a middling-size black terrier toward the ravine. The dog is eager to enter the ravine, he carries a longish black stick in his mouth and walks lightly, gently on his long legs.
Riley barks his outrage at the dog's presumption, entering his very own space, the ravine.
posted by Pieface @ Saturday, July 29, 2006
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