Heading out to fill up the hummingbird feeder, who should sail by but Bounce the Hummer!  He had evidently been breakfasting on nectar from the climbing beans.

So many gardening books suggest that the purple coneflower is sure to attract hummingbirds to your garden.  So far,  Bounce hasn’t shown the slightest interest in them.  A hardworking bumblebee is just as well pleased, though, as he has them all to himself!

 Mrs. B brought Pipinka outdoors and set him down on her patio.  From my office window, I enjoyed the antics of the little robin.  With a hop and a flutter, he quickly mounted a six-inch high step, and hopped down again.

“I dug worms for him this morning,” Mrs. B confided.  “So far, Pipinka does not pick up anything from the ground, but waits for me to feed him.”

When Pipinka has the run of the house, Mrs. B puts the Rottweiler outside just in case he might get too excited by the robin’s fast movements.  Mrs. B’s son returns from Czechoslovakia tomorrow.  He has already been introduced to Pipinka by the  magical means of Skype!  He, too, is a lover of all creatures great and small, and I’m sure will slip into his role as guardian of this treasured guest when his mother leaves in a few days for a vacation in Europe.

Mr. McD had a suggestion:

“Why not take Pipinka with you?  Just tell the airlines that Pipinka is a frequent flyer!”  

The morning rain kept me indoors.  After lunch, I went up the knoll and STOPPED, LOOKED and LISTENED beneath the Swiss Chalet.  Not a sound.  However, I got the distinct impression that my presence was not wanted.  Keeping the camera aimed toward the front door of the Swiss Chalet, Lady Wren refused to enter, but flitted from one spot to another.

She began to make a nattering noise, but I didn’t take the hint.  

She went to her favourite places within the walnut tree’s cool canopy.

But this shot takes the cake!

 Lady Wren fastened her gaze on me and clearly said,

“Sorry, Mrs. McD, but you are a real pain in the neck!

Just go back to the swing so I can feed my babies in peace. 

You and that black thing with the big glass eye make me nervous, that’s what!”

The rain came down by the bucketful last night.  In fact, Kitchener received 71 cm of rainfall overnight. 

It’s amazing how flowers can be pummelled, and yet withstand the assault quite well.  The lily on the hosta was probably in bud form during the downpour, so suffered no damage to her star-dusted gown.  Do bend over and enjoy the hosta’s perfume whenever you are near one.  Would you believe that it is similar to lily of the valley?

The rain continued until shortly before noon.  A goldfinch braved it over to her favourite take-out counter, and didn’t bother to bring an umbrella along!  If you look closely, you may be able to see the slant of the rain on the left.    

I put on a hooded jacket in order to fill up the hummingbird feeder, and chatted a moment with my neighbour who was also out and about in rubber boots.  She reported that baby robin was doing well.  He sleeps in his crib in her bedroom.  Hopefully the weather will be warmer tomorrow, and she will let me take a picture of him.  His name is Czechoslovakian:  Pipinka.  

While I was picking the green beans before supper, a pair of goldfinches spent some time around the pond while Mr. McD was taking a break.  He reported that Mrs. Goldfinch perched on the end of a rock,  leaned over so far that Mr. McD was sure she would fall in, and took a couple of drinks next to a lily pad. 

I hope she hasn’t been influenced by all the advertising hype about the big-sized drinks these days.  She could easily have drank from one of the two bird baths, but, no, she had to go to the BIG POND to drink . . . and it wasn’t even hot outside!   Mr. Goldfinch watched her from the top of the shepherd’s crook that holds the hummingbird feeder.   Before they left, Mrs. Goldfinch checked out the yellow daisies towering over the bird house called Cedar Shake on Black Pole Lane.  

Butterball, the Grey Squirrel, cut through Cedar Hollow on his way into the woods.

The sun was out once more by mid afternoon.  A white butterfly that has been flitting around all summer, refusing to alight on anything long enough to click a picture, now tried out about every chair or soft lounge she could find in Cedar Hollow!  Whatever got into her?   Here she is putting her feet up on the blue ageratum:

Next, she tried out the lazyboy in the purple petunia patch.  M-m-m-m.  It felt like velvet!

And then her afternoon visitation really got daring.  She stopped in to say hello to one of the waterlilies!  Why, I doubt if she even had an invitation, but that didn’t stop her.  

Maybe she is thinking of going water skiing one of these days, and wanted to size up the pond for herself.  It’s hard to measure things when you’re zigzagging past everything and you don’t seem to have a straight gear.

“You know,”  she whispered,“I feel ever so much better now.  Tell the folks that it really does pay to slow down and smell the hostas . . . or the waterlilies.”

Have you ever felt like you were under attack?  I’m sure these golden lilies do.  Look carefully at a leaf between the middle lily and the one on the right.  I think you will see the tiny villain . . . the colour often associated with you know who . . . but you can’t see his pitchfork.  Nonetheless, the lilies are not going down without first bequeathing to the world what they have been preparing all winter:  a perfume of rarest loveliness.

The Treefrog was up to his old tricks of scaring the wits out of me.  Opening the shed door, there he was inside its edge.  He needn’t think I wouldn’t recognize him just because he had changed into his jacket of light grey!  We were on our way to church.  Maybe I should have invited him to come along, seeing as he was all dressed up.

Cedar Hollow had many visitors this afternoon, including a white-throated sparrow! I do hope he sticks around.  He is such a beautiful singer!

Most of the visitors were quite civil.  Most . . . but not all, and I’ll get to that in a minute.

 A pair of cardinals careened in and out of the yard, and a large butterfly wearing a plain orange gown paused to rest on a step near the pond.

Please excuse Father Robin’s back.  His manners are generally impeccable, but this afternoon he is intent on training his youngsters, and simply has no time for the camera.  

His offspring is almost as big as he is, but not half as handsome.  In fact, don’t you think he’s kind of gangly looking?

His messy, speckled vest looks like something he picked up at a flea market!  The poor chap is hungry, and is trying to follow his father’s instructions about how to find tube steaks!

Lord and Lady Wren are practically wearing out the hinges on the front door of the Swiss Chalet these days.  Their youngsters’ appetites are very demanding. 

And then, without warning, it happened!!  Fasten your seatbelts, folks!

A white-breasted nuthatch landed on the branch from which the Swiss Chalet is suspended. 

He had the audacity to poke his face right into the front door of the Swiss Chalet!  Mr. McD and I gasped!! 

Lord Wren revved up the engine of his fighter-jet!

Down ‘round the forsythia, through an opening in the gate’s lattice, out into the big forest Lord Wren chased him!  Who knows how far the feisty Wren tailed the nuthatch who never flew so fast in all his life.  The thin beak of Lord Wren is a fearsome sword.  I dare say the nuthatch is still having nightmares over that blunder.  

One of the routine tasks around Cedar Hollow is making bread – an eight-loaf recipe made with one-third whole wheat flour, plus a heaping cup of ground flax seed.  A dear Polish lady who had fled two invasions in Europe before immigrating to Canada told me a secret about rising the dough:  After it is kneaded, place in into a large, greased bowl, cover it with a damp towel, put into a rocking chair with padded cushions (no other chair will do), and snuggle it round about with a blanket.  It never fails to rise in a short time.  Thank you, dear Linda!

By the way, she is also the lady who gave me some Evening Primrose plants – the ones with yellow flowers that pop open at dusk –  and also a Christmas Rose.   What delight these plants have brought to us and to friends who have received some of their offspring. 

Linda also gave me something else . . . a reminder . . . of how blessed we are to have been born in Canada.  Many times her eyes filled with tears and her voice broke as she would say, “I thank God every day that I am in Canada.”

I wonder how many of us have said those words or something similar?

While Mr. McD and I sat on the lawn swing for our morning break, Bounce the Hummer decided he would take a nectar break, and sat on a leaf in the bee balm patch!

John came over after work to help trim some of the hedging in Cedar Hollow that is more difficult to reach, requiring someone steady on a ladder on uneven ground. (Mr. McD’s knee replacement was only four months ago.)  Who should John spy on top of a shepherd’s crook but Mrs. Tree Frog!  Her jacket isn’t as lumpy-bumpy as the one that Mr. Tree Frog wears, and she isn’t quite as large.  I do believe she was trying to get a tan on her pale legs.

As we were eying the side of the cedar hedge up and down to make sure it was vertically straight, our neighbour came out with a cardboard box in her hands.  Inside, snuggled on soft paper towelling, was her newest charge.  “What do you think it is?” she asked. 

“A robin,” was my reply.  My neighbour said that after she rescued the cold wee bird, so weak it had only one eye open, a call to the Humane Society assured her that, yes, she should go ahead and try to save the little songbird.  Having successfully nurtured an orphaned chickadee when her son was a little boy, she cooked up some scrambled eggs for it. 

“Come now.  Open up,” she coaxed, touching its large beak.  We watched.  The beak opened WIDE . . . and she put in a bit of scrambled egg. 

“Oh, he needs a diaper,” she  apologized, as whitish excrement popped out.  “In and out”, she laughed.  And so it was.

My neighbour told me that her Rottweiler was interested in the household’s tiniest member.  She carefully let him sniff it.  He gave his approval immediately. Don’t you wonder how the friendship will develop between the pin-feathered mite and the powerful mutt?  Stay tuned.

What will you be aware of when you come down the walk by the sidewalk gardens?  Yes, that you have entered Cedar Hollow!  Welcome!  Welcome, indeed!

Interestingly, a lady at the K-W Woodworking Shop which routed the letters for us thought that the slab of driftwood was cedar!   How long it floated in the sea before I picked it out of a pile of driftwood on Bonaire’s eastern shore, I have no idea, but I can tell you it’s been 30 years since it arrived in Canada . . . treasured . . . but waiting until now to give you this joyful announcement:  Cedar Hollow 

Across from the sign, beans are climbing up a trellis in a determined fashion.  Who would think that such pretty blossoms will soon stre-t-ch out into edibles?  We won’t have to stand on our head to pick them either!

Some time ago, I showed you a photo of the springtime leaves of the fall crocus – long, healthy green leaves similar in shape to that of the tulip.  All of the energy from the robust leaves has now been transferred to the bulbs sleeping below.  You won’t believe how beautiful the lilac-coloured double flowers will be on their snow-white stems come October (but I’ll show you ).  And if you should ask them where their leaves are, they’ll just say, Been there.  Done that.

A few times today we saw both of the wrens busy around the Swiss Chalet at the same time.  One might have gone into their house, while the other sang from somewhere.  Why, here she is on the fence, of all places!

Bounce, the hummingbird, divided his time between the bee balm flowers  . . .

. . . and the feeder. 

“Aw,”  he hums, as he leans back in his chair, looking totally satisfied, “The beverage of the day is always served fresh at the McDs’.”

Living at Cedar Hollow makes certain demands.  The cedar hedges have responded to generous summer rains with new growth.  Lloyd and I trimmed most of the front hedging, but there is lots more aromatic cedar scheduled for a haircut next week.

The K-W Woodworking Shop phoned to say that they had routed the lettering into the slab of driftwood.  It was ready for pickup!

                                                       Cedar Hollow

What a beautiful job Steve did!  Hopefully, we will have the finish applied by next week, and you will see where its pulpit is located.

While taking a break on the lawn swing, I was delighted to see Lady Wren alight on the trellis near Swiss Chalet.  Her choir gown was bathed in morning sunshine as she sang several songs before tending to her young brood.

Did you know that Cedar Hollow is one of the robins’ favourite spas?  First Mr. Redbreast tried out the upper bird bath.

Well, he thought it was rather confining.

He had bigger things in mind.  He hopped through the flowerbed . . . and you could just see his wheels turning . . .

. . . and then he was on the foundation of the lighthouse.  He seemed to say, “It’s hot out here, Mrs. McD.  I hope you don’t mind, but I’m rather fond of the big spa at Cedar Hollow.”

Before he doffed his stately dinner jacket, he posed by the edge of the pond for me.

Then, before I knew it, he was standing on a big lily pad.  He bent over, and had a drink.  I was surprised that it held his weight.  The next moment, he was splashing about at the edge of the pond, having a high old time in his favourite spa, flicking water in every direction!  He flew up into the walnut tree.  Perched on the big branch from which the Swiss Chalet hung, he began to dry off, stretching out his wings and preening his soggy feathers.  That ritual had to be tended to before he could  put his dinner jacket back on.  He certainly wasn’t going to pose without it, and besides, his feathers were a sight for sore eyes!  No respectable robin would appear in any blog looking like that!  No way!

It was time to pull the rhubarb again and put it into the freezer.  When the snow swirls about the eaves this winter, it will be mighty nice to put some rhubarb into a custard pie, or stew it . . so yummy with a slice of buttered, homemade bread! 

Opening the shed to put the pile of rhubarb leaves into the green bin, who should I see but Jumpy the Frog ‘glued’ to the inside edge of the door.  Yikes!  I managed not to scream, but left the doors ajar and skidaddled into the house for the camera.  Jumpy obliged, waiting patiently for his photo op.  By the time I checked on the computer to see if the shots turned out, he had taken off for dear knows where.  But it was good to have the little scamp back at Cedar Hollow!  I guess he has forgiven me for the times I opened the shed doors too quickly and he landed kerplop on the hard patio!  Not exactly his favourite way of saying Good morning! 

See folks?  There’s nothing to it, declared Lady Wren, as she stepped gingerly onto the gangplank leading into the Swiss Chalet.  She is certainly taking good care of her babies, let me assure you.

If I thought Bounce the Hummer was slighting my patches of bee balm, I had misjudged him.  First off this morning, though, he had a quick draft of hosta lily nectar.  Just look at all of the jugs preparing sweet things for him in the coming days.

Then Bounce was off to one of the bee balm patches.  He seemed as happy as a kid in a candy store!  Each petal is part of the juice fountain, and holds its lid up high, offering self-serve, fresh strawberry punch from exquisite goblets!  Talk about afternoon tea in the garden, folks . . . it doesn’t get any better than this!

Morning sunlight has climbed over the forest’s tree tops! 

Summer weather of all sorts and all in one day!  How lovely to have cottony clouds scuttling across the freshly washed blue sky, and to be rid of the  humidity! 

After the vigorous downpour this afternoon, the walnut tree’s branches waved to and fro, gently rocking Swiss Chalet’s inhabitants.  Busy breezes revealed some of the walnut tree’s secrets previously hidden among her boughs, all in leathery wraps.  Did you know that English Black Walnuts such as these are much more delicious than California walnuts?   

The songs of the wrens are as varied as the weather lately, and I’m sure Lord and Lady Wren understand exactly what they are saying to each other.  Frequently, it is now bits of song, and often subdued in tone.  After all, you musn’t disturb the babies once Lady Wren has gotten their tummies full and they are off to sleep. 

    Now, it’s time for me to forage for myself, Lady Wren sighed as she stepped onto her front porch, seemingly listening a moment to make sure all was quiet.  She certainly doesn’t seem to be losing weight, though, with all of this activity, does she?

Whatever happened to Bounce the Hummer?  Why, he can actually sit a spell and sip at the feeder!  Maybe he’s out of the crazy teenage stage, and is now an adult hummer.

Strange how Bounce is not paying much attention to the scarlet bee balm, touted in gardening books as one of his favourite soda bars.  It must be that he can draw a king-sized sip from the feeder, and can’t be bothered hovering from petal to petal.  Doesn’t he know that I planted the bee balm just for him?  And in fact, I planted two patches; one up the knoll, and one just a few yards from the feeder.  Give me a break!

I wonder where he goes to when he zips around the corner?  Maybe he fancies the speckled lilies.  I know they’d be delighted to have him pay a visit.

Checking whether the baby wrens were doing any chattering yet . . . or more like it . . . yelling for more food, I climbed the knoll and listened beneath Swiss Chalet.  All was quiet.  I know what baby chickadees sound like in a nest, but have never heard baby wrens, have you? 

It’s plain to see how much Lord and Lady Wren love their babies.  They’ve added more fortifications to the barricade at their front door!

This plaque hangs on the fence between two wall pots of white-throated purple petunias near our picnic table. 

The big trend these days is for outdoor living.  Folks are expanding their decks, buying bigger and fancier BBQ’s, getting outdoor sofas, firepits, screened in rooms, you name it.  Provided they can leave their electronic tablets and Smart phones indoors, they will discover something awesome!  That birds sing the most heavenly songs, that bees drone while they work, and that breezes whisper.

Maybe they’ll take time to inhale the exquisite perfume of the lilies that have been working underground all year to now put in their appearance, brightening the garden.

I can tell you one thing.  Lord Wren will look you straight in the eye and tell you you’re doing the right thing by spending more time in God’s good outdoors . . . time to observe butterflies zig-zagging, gold finches and chickadees dip-diving . . . wrens zip-zipping!  Time to attune your ears to cheerful melodies from songsters who have come from distant southern climes to sing-g-g-g just for you!  And they don’t act like tourists.  Why, some will pitch right in and help with the gardening, eating destructive insects . . . chomping ones, sucking ones, disgusting ones!

You might have thought we were quite old fashioned folks, but you may have underestimated us.  Early this morning, our very own drone did a secret photo shoot of the pond and the entire subdivision at Cedar Hollow.  There was no sound emanating from the drone whatsoever, so our neighbours would have been none the wiser. 

Today’s Record showed a photo of a drone made in Waterloo by Aeryon Labs Inc., a young company begun by three University of Waterloo graduates.  They sell drones to the military in many countries of the Middle East, and to markets on every continent except Antarctica.  They’re doing a booming business!

The drone we employed was considerably smaller than those produced by Aeryon:

  (Water beetle)

 Noon hour was spent at a lecture in the Homer Watson Art Gallery in our neighbourhood where I once took watercolour lessons.  We sat in the gallery shown on the right with its skylight windows all around it, letting the natural light in.

Jean Haalboom lives in Old Doon, and enlightened us on the flax and grain mills, twine, cordage and fabric companies, cooperage and brick makers that once flourished here. 

When Jean began her efforts in the 1980s to preserve special old sites in Doon, our next-door neighbour, Milena, was the seamstress who created  this period outfit for her to wear during presentations to local councils, setting the mood.

Above is one of Homer Watson’s paintings. 

A large road is named after the artist, Homer Watson, which we refer to every time we give directions to our home.  He is buried in a cemetery within walking distance.  His landscape paintings are in galleries all across Canada.

Back at cedar Hollow, the changeable weather provided sunshine during the supper hour, and we were able to eat outside.  Our son had cut and trimmed the lawns, and enjoyed hearing and seeing the wrens of Swiss Chalet and Bounce the hummingbird.  At one point, it sounded to me as though Lord Wren was singing a lullaby to his babes, keeping the volume of his song quite low.

And a very Good Morning to you!  These two are first cousins to the ones who greeted me a few mornings ago.

 Do you see the powerful 4-pronged thingamajig in their centres?  Its fancy name is stigma, and it stirs the pot, so to speak, determinedly pushing the petals OPEN as you watch!  It thrives on the gasps and “I can’t believe this” that it hears coming from observers and admirers.  And who can’t use a little bit of admiration now and then?

Ever played Third Base on a ball team?  Third Base probably consisted of a bald patch in the grass or a sand bag marking its location.  Well, this post serves as third base for Lord and Lady Wren.  They often land here briefly (emphasis on briefly) before flying to “home base” in the Swiss Chalet. 

Lady Wren looks a bit ruffled, don’t you think?  But who wouldn’t after squeezing through the barricades at the front door of Swiss Chalet.

We saw Bounce the Hummingbird several times today.  To watch him, you would think he had ants in his pants!  He just CAN’T sit still.  As I tried to describe his antics before, it’s . . .

     Sip

          Fly up in the air six inches

               Back to the feeder for another sip

                    Up in the air again . . .

But Bounce doesn’t have ants in his pants.  Mr. McD made sure of that.  He applied thick grease to the bottom section of the pole that holds the feeder, and nary an ant can climb up to pester the hummingbirds!  No way!

Let me know if you have any pills to slow bouncy hummingbirds down.  Maybe the scarlet bee balm that is just beginning to bloom will calm him.

Gone!  Cleared out!  No tree frog in the shed this morning.  Do hope he hasn’t packed his bags and left Cedar Hollow for good. I’ve been looking forward to hearing his unusual musical calls once he’s out of the awkward teenage stage. With all of the rain today, perhaps Jumpy will be cold.  Maybe he will do another B&E, sneak back into the shed tonight, and climb up into his familiar little bed between the doors. 

Mr. McD and I headed over to the K-W Woodworking and Craft Centre in Waterloo with our treasured flat slab of driftwood.  I lugged it home from Bonaire some 30 years ago.  How long had it been cast ashore before I claimed it?  Ocean currents from as far away as Africa toss up all kinds of wood onto the tiny island’s east coast.  Who knows what vessel or lodging it might once have been part of? 

 What a well lit and well equipped shop we stepped into with senior men working on projects, some transforming rough burls into handsome bowls.  The gentleman who will turn the slab into a sign for the garden, routing the words “Cedar Hollow” into its surface, sported a full, old-fashioned beard, and loves working with wood.   I wonder if he will be able to tell what kind of a tree the wood came from?  Perhaps he has never seen this type of wood before.

 In between pop-up showers today, we took our breaks on the lawn swing. 

Let me ask you:  When you had little ones (or your parents) how long was it between feeding times?  Three hours? four?  Remember how bleary-eyed we became?  But baby comes first, and fed he must be.

It seemed that Lord and Lady Wren entered the nursery at Swiss Chalet roughly every ten minutes.  Now, that’s some schedule!

The varied menu for baby wrens consists of fresh, organic delicasies from the garden and woods:

• Insects
• Spiders
• Beetles
• Caterpillars  (Who’s smacking their lips?)
• Earwigs
• Daddy longlegs
• Flies
• Leafhoppers and springtails 

And last, but not least, snail shells for the calcium they contain, which provide grit for digestion.  They don’t have teeth, you know.  That’s why you’ve never heard of birds going to the dentist! 

Opening the shed doors carefully the second day after the tree frog had committed a Break and Enter, I was aghast!  He had donned a brand new jacket!  Well, you’ll have to forgive me for thinking that he was wearing pyjamas the first time I met him.  After all, this is where Jumpy the Tree Frog sleeps at Cedar Hollow . . . between the shed doors.  But no longer was he just a plain, pale  green tree frog.  He was now attired in a fashionable dinner jacket featuring the latest charcoal-coloured pattern.  Fetching the camera, I guess I got too close for comfort, and he JUMPED!!  Where was he???  Ah, at the bottom of the garbage can, sprawled out on a soft plastic bag!   Checking on him a few times, I worried needlessly, as his suction-pad toes had enabled him to get up and out.  Where he went to, I have no idea.

This morning, gingerly but slowly opening the doors to the shed again, I spied him.  He evidently has had enough of the black camera coming his way, and immediately jumped out of sight!  Carefully I scanned the ceiling and doors, having that eerie feeling that I would freak out if he plopped down  on my head!

If you back up a few blogs, you will see the handsome jacket his ancestor wore.  It’s tradition!

Occasionally, mourning doves come to the front yard, hoping to find some discarded sunflower seeds. 

You will remember . . . . on its second mission from the ark . . . that it was a dove – some four millenniums ago – that returned to Noah in the evening with an olive leaf in its beak. 

The mourning dove wasn’t a carrier pigeon, but she delivered a green email . . . telling Noah that the waters which covered the whole earth had now receded.  That wasn’t junk email, no, indeed.  It was EXCITING good news!!!  Very soon afterward,  Noah and his family and ALL OF THE ANIMALS whose lives were preserved in the ark were able to walk outside in the cleansed earth!

Some people find the mourning dove’s song sad.  I don’t.  Growing up on the farm, I often wakened to the soft cooing of mourning doves high up in the spruce trees that lined the laneway.

Two days after Lloyd cleaned out Cedar Shake on Black Pole Lane, Lord Wren indignantly stuffed twigs into its front door again.  No, Sir, other birds were not welcome in his territory, and he jolly well let them know!

 By the pond,  Mr. McD spied something on top of the boy’s fishing pole. From the droop of his  gauze wings, it looks like he just needed a rest on this muggy afternoon, don’t you think?

With more frequent visits from Lord and Lady Wren, I’d say the activity is definitely picking up around Swiss Chalet.  I’m straining my eyes, trying to see if they are carrying anything in their beaks.  The appetites of young wrens definitely make their parents a gardener’s best friend!  More on their menu next time.

Going out to fill the hummingbird feeder, two evening primroses said Good Morning!  They had opened at dusk the previous evening, unfolding from a bud to a full flower within a minute or so.  Because I was up with the birds, their frocks were still as lovely as when they unfurled in the moonlight.  In a few short hours, however, they will shrivel into unsightly blobs.  The speed of their deterioration is as surprising as the speed at which they open! 

The tree frog was lurking between the shed doors again this morning, but I opened them very carefully . . . stealthily would be more like it . . .  so as not to disturb him. 

Shortly afterward, a stately butterfly came by to see what was so special about this shed and its doors.  I doubt very much if she would ever consider spending the night between its doors!  I forgot to ask her which  newspaper she was doing an editorial for, but she looked like a very precise journalist, if you ask me, and believed in first-hand observations, the hands-on type, you know.

What a day for hanging out the sheets!  No humidity.  Blue sky.  Zephyr breezes.  Even the worst old grump in Waterloo County wouldn’t be able to come up with a complaint about the weather if you paid him a fortune!  The miracle of it all is that in spite of all the pollution in our modern age, sheets on the line smell so sweet when you bring them inside.  Our Maker has some amazing secrets!  

A couple near Princeton graciously let us come out this afternoon so Mr. McD could take photos of their American Black and Tan Coonhound. Mr. McD is working on a sculpture of a barefoot back-woods hunter who is slumped against a tree stump, sleeping, rifle on a rock nearby, and his faithful hunting dog at his side. 

What a patient model Molly was (I think that was her name).  Pictures from all angles were taken.  These hounds have amazing noses, and during competitions, they must follow very precise rules.  A bunch of coonhounds are released at the same time, and must run without yapping.  As soon as one of them picks up the scent of a coon, he gives one bark.  When he gets to the tree where the racoon is located, then another set of commands takes over, and he howls incessantly, standing on his hind legs with his front paws on the tree trunk as high as possible. 

There is no shooting in this sport – just keen competition to see which dog has superior scent- identifying ability.  The coonhound can move his long silky ears in such a way that they funnel scent toward his nose.  The owner showed us the pedigrees, and many award certificates in varying categories won in Canada and the States by his coonhounds.

Best of all, these short-haired, just-the-right size dogs, though not so well known, make wonderful house pets!  When Molly looked at me, her golden eyes beamed love and acceptance.  Know how good that feels?

Lady Wren assured us that everything was OK at Cedar Hollow while we were away this afternoon.  She reported that a black spotted dragonfly spent a bit of time sunning himself on the gate, and that a blue darning needle zipped by, checking out the pond.  The Grand River is beyond the woods a good piece.  Is it possible that the darning needle has a good nose, too, and that’s how it found our pond?  There’s one thing sure . . . it doesn’t have long ears that help pick up scent!