The Mid-Summer Ravine

After a full week of hot, humid weather flirting with the 30s and plenty of sun, in the wake of last week-end's drenching 70ml of rain, we're back into heavily overcast skies with threat of rain events for the next few days. In all of this hot sun interspersed with plenteous rain, nature has brought her ineffable, exquisite creatures of the garden into full blowsy bloom, delighting gardeners no end.

And she's done the same with her coterie of wild blooming things, for which the bees, butterflies and birds are eternally grateful.

This was a heavily overcast morning, setting the stage for the next few days. When we embarked upon our morning ravine walk there was a light rain falling, with more promised. It was so warm, so humid, our concession to the rain was the donning of light canvas hats. And in memory of the past week's hordes of mosquitoes, long-legged, long-sleeved white cotton gear - the better to fend off those ravenous beasts.

Not even a breeze to stir the stagnant moist air, muffling us as we proceeded into the ravine. Button and Riley followed behind, her closer to us, he lagging much further behind, neither in any great hurry and that's just fine with us. They stop now and again to closely inhale dog-intriguing odours - don't ask. For us too, with our far less gifted (and more discriminating) sense of smell, there are special odours hanging heavily on the air.

Ranging from the sharp stink of a decomposing animal deep in the woods, composting gently back into the soil, to the unpleasantly pungent smell of dirty old socks. Or, from time to time, the mildly pleasant smell of potatoes, moist in their growing medium. Certainly not least, the divinely fragrant smell of ripe, sweet raspberries, where none exist in the immediate area.

The atmosphere is rent by the exquisite trill of a Whitethroat sparrow, reminding us of the many times we've heard that song, on so many trails, or coming down off summits in New Hampshire, often late in the afternoon, as though the throat of a tiny bird could summon up for us the triumph of joining with nature, however temporarily; our subliminal shelter in a roisterous world.

The Whitethroat trills again, then is still, and the only sound now heard is an overall patter of the rain, now turned to serious drizzle, falling on the multitudinous leaves that form the canopy above us tenderly conspiring among them to keep us dry and comfortable. As we pass the creek, we see the frenzied activity of water striders in the now-turgid water lazily flowing past us. And damselflies, so much in evidence yesterday, now taking shelter from the rain.

There is a plenitude of shy and alternately, brash colour beside the trail, out where the woods temporarily excuse their near presence. The vibrant red of dogwood berries, of red baneberry and false Solomon's seal berries, the orange of bittersweet. And the upright candles of Sumach; the ripe red raspberries waiting to be plucked and popped into a greedily salivating mouth.

Goldenrod is now beginning to flame alongside the slender ragweed offerings. Queen Anne's lace is everywhere, large panicles of tiny white blooms. The bright blue of cornflowers, pale yarrow, accented by purple thistle flowers, yellow goat's beard, purple-flowering raspberries, (thimbleberries!), alongside errant daisies and buttercups (what, still here?). And clover; white, pink and mauve - beloved of resident rabbits.

The dampness has encouraged Indian pipe, and cream- and sulphur-coloured mushrooms, some of which have been nibbled by squirrels. There is, strangely enough, scant squirrel activity this day. The light has diminished even more, it has become quite dark, and the rain has increased. But we remain comfortably dry, and presently arrive back at the trailhead.

When the rain, quite mysteriously, comes to a sudden end.