Overnight Storms of the Weather Variety
Environment Canada warned that we would "enjoy" significant storm activity overnight, that in fact there would be a considerable rainfall, along with fireworks galore. And weren't they right on the money!?! When the rain started, it was serious business, thunderous night sky, beautifully lit to ensure we had full opportunity to witness nature's best. Now this was not just a single instance of a thunderstorm rolling through, but a series of such storms, one following another, with complete and total majesty. What could be more awesome than a full-fledged thunderstorm with all its attendant full-throated clappings, lightning streaks, sheet lightning, heavy downpours? It is an exciting event the heavens offer from time to time, and we relish those events as long as we are safely ensconced in our protective shells of homes.
Mind, our daughter's electrical grid was affected by ten in the evening, so they decided, wisely, to retire to bed early, having all risen rather early that morning, at five-thirty to tend to the business of their day. Good thing our little dogs don't mind all that heavenly display, the sound and the fury. Too bad one of our daughter's many dogs loves the storms and barks lustily with each clap, waking them all from fitful sleeps, the other dogs helpfully joining in. That particular dog was banished to another area of the house for the remainder of the night to allow weary heads to once more meet pillows and embrace sleep.
A day earlier the Montreal area had been hit by a similar series of storms. Our immoderately hot, humid weather, colliding with cold fronts entering the weather system has created these series of thunderstorms, accompanied by high winds, some actually tornado-like in nature. Electricity was knocked out in a wide swath the day before in the Montreal area, with service finally being restored days later in some instances. In Ontario, the Opeongo road near Algonquin Park was hit by a tornado, as was a point in the Madawaska River, closer to the Ottawa area, with related damage. We learn later, through the news, that nearby residents have racked up thousands of dollars in damages resulting from flooded basements.
We woke to a fully drenched landscape. Surprisingly, the gardens at the front of the house looked just fine. Only the purple loosestrife needed to be hiked back up tall and straight, everything else came through with flying summer colours. Until, that is, we ventured into the back gardens and saw, to our dismay, that the main bough of our plum tree had broken off from its joining place on the tree's trunk. Full of unripe plums, it hung there, disconsolately, and we empathized, completely. Our own fault, really, since it is a fruit tree and when it hangs ripe with fruit it becomes heavy, very heavy. We should really have trimmed the main branches in anticipation of just such an event. Live and learn.
We left the mess, went off to the ravine wanting to plunge into the cool greenery before the day's heat totally overtook opportunity. The mosquitoes are taking a rest. Because we've had so many violent storms the mosquito larvae have been nicely washed out of their breeding places, despite ample opportunity to grow in the many low-lying areas unable to absorb any more rainwater. As well as the creek, at seasonal low points, sitting reasonably still, more breeding opportunities. Soon as we began our descent into the ravine the sound of the creek become audible, and we knew we'd see a torrent of water washing down its hallowed pathway.
And so we did, muddy water reaching well over the usual bank limits, washing down detritus which had, until then, found homes on the banks, all swooshing hurriedly, noisily down the waterway. The trail itself was well hydrated with standing pools on the clay base, most of the sharp-cut gravel having long washed out with successive storms. As we climb the opposing hillside the shrill shrieks of the sharpshinned hawks rise above us, floating on the wind. To our surprise, we see four hawks; the parents and their juveniles, swooping over the trees, coming to rest on the spire of a tall old fir. We enjoy their presence, just don't like to think too deeply about the fact that they are raptors by nature, since we also enjoy the presence of the goldfinches and chick-a-dees that also make their home here.
Plenty of colour along the pathways of the ravine, lots of early fall asters, Queen Anne's lace, goldenrod, cinquefoil, mullein, chicory, cowvetch and bugloss in their white, yellow, blue, purple colours against the various green shades of the background trees. Button and Riley trot heedlessly through the slick muck on the trail, through the little lakes gracing the trail as well; it's not for nothing that we have the habit of washing their feet in the laundry sink on our return from such jaunts. I'd given them both haircuts and baths the day before, but that's life, too.
Back out on the street post-walk, one of our neighbouts shouts me over and off we trot, Riley and I, to see what's up. Wendy has a bag of tricks! how nice. It was always her wont, her passion, to order things on E-bay, and items of auctioned jewellery are particularly enticing to her. Along with two other neighbours, Susan and Bonnie, I ohh, and ahh, at the offerings; pendants of various sizes and shapes, in sterling silver mountings, with lacy bales. Represented are striped agates, jasper, apatite, Canadian jade, rose quartz, and other such polished stones, and we're all taken with them. Their cost is a relative pittance, and we all make our individual selections, to Wendy's delight; she won't be left with these items which have no value to her, other than the thrill of the hunt.
We sit around in the relative comfort of Wendy's front, nicely shaded by her large old maple tree, her three cats sprawled about the grass, Riley taking no notice whatever of them. Thanks to Wendy with her great physical presence, her compassionate soul and happy heart, we are four women admiring one another's newfound splendour, our recently-acquired jewels setting off our individual offerings of the three ages of womankind, myself being by far the oldest, yet the least ample; the others oozing a gaily self-acknowledged feminine allure.
Then we catch up on what's happening on the street, how everyone's family members are doing, what the latest information is about local businesses recently opened to widen the shopping choices of the residents, a far, far cry from the lack of such opportunities when each of us moved in to this area, fifteen years ago. I speak of the new family with five children who moved here from Nova Scotia a scant two weeks ago. I've met the mother of this blended family; the four youngest are hers, and these are the most delightfully happy, intelligent and well adjusted children I've seen in a long time, ages 5 to 12. She's a busy lady, teleworking for an NGO, her husband a member of the Canadian Armed Forces. It's a good street for young children, very quiet, with scant vehicular traffic.
Then it's time to go home, tackle the gardening chores of the day, radically extended by the need to "do something" about our poor plum tree. My husband is already working on it, sawing through the main bough where it meets the trunk, and I help him haul the huge unwieldy leaf-and-plum-laden bough to a central point on the lawn. He has decided to temporarily straighten and shore up the large old trunk with a two-by-four until he can think of a more permanent solution. The sodden earth makes possible the straightening up of the trunk and the two-by-four holds it nicely. Then it's time to employ all of the heavy-duty gardening tools at our disposal to cut up the poor broken branches. We save the unripe plums for our composter, and the balance is cut into handling-size pieces and placed into a number of compostable paper bags. They'll be hauled away by the city workers at our regular bi-weekly collection of compost. Sad, sad.
We go out briefly to a local building supply to look there and at a Canadian Tire store for items we're fairly certain we won't find there, in any event. They have nothing resembling a quality tool my husband is searching out; a microgauge, but he does find a handy plastic box with a set of drawers and separators which will be perfect to store small clock parts in his new venture he plans to undertake; the repair of antique clocks. He's been ingesting all manner of arcane information to become familiar with various types of antique clocks, their manufacture and types of trains and movements, and the availability of parts through various venues.
It's almost time to begin preparing dinner by the time we return home, and we've kind of had it. There's lots more to the day, and this has been a rather interesting day. I set about preparing dinner for Button and Riley, then their salads. And a salad for us as well, and an onion-potato stir-fry to be accompanied by barbecued steelhead salmon. But where is he? I don't even know how to start the barbecue, that's his province, and he's out at the front of the house, talking, talking, talking with neighbours, obviously having forgotten the time, but having a good time, since he does enjoy talking. He does eventually come home and gets the barbecue going.
It's nice, after dinner, to read the papers, go upstairs to have a look at the day's emails.
Pity the plum tree.
posted by Pieface @ Thursday, August 03, 2006
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