Another season has come and gone. Apart from some thinning and a lot of work on the banks of the ditch, I did little. I took a walk out to the Five Thousand this week, and it was a solid sea of red osier. The little pine seedlings were buried under the masses of dogwood; I hardly had the energy to curse when I saw that a four-wheeler had driven in and rammed its way through the plantation. While I was taking all this in, I lost track of the dogs, who had run into the bushes after something large, judging by the sounds. When I realized that Milo, the beagle-Alsatian pup, was missing, I started back, calling as I went. The crows circled above us, crying so raucously that I began to imagine they were feeding on poor Milo and jeering at our cries. By the time I reached the camp, I was quite worried; we pressed on to the Grove, and in my mind I was already organizing a search party, but at last we reached the house, and there was Milo, trembling on the deck. He had walked the kilometer-and-a-half back to the house alone--not bad for his first walk in the woodlot! He was trembling and filthy, and took a long time to settle down. I wonder if the dogs found a bear?
Closer to home, the trees are doing better. Some trees in the new lines around the house have died, but on the whole they look good. The larch in the grove continue their steady decline. I think it badly needs draining as well as replanting. I did manage (finally) to dig out the ditch along the trail for quite a piece; the trail has dried up nicely, and it's been piled high with clay and mud.
