These mornings, as the rim of the sun rises over the water it is a shining crimson ball.

It remains this brilliant colour of red for an hour, slowly shifting to orange before rising high enough to take on its regular white-yellow brightness.

Ten days ago, the colour was not quite so bright, but I knew that the orange and red came from wildfire smoke.

Now, it may simply be mist rising off the water, humidity in the air, but I don’t know. Wildfires are still raging. So many people have been forced from their homes.

Then, I heard that Edson, a town in Alberta, west of Edmonton on the highway to Jasper, which had been evacuated twice because of fire, is now facing floods. Downpours of rain. I guess the rains doused the rest of the hot spots, but what is next for these poor people, that suffering landscape?

It feels like people are taking this historic wildfire season seriously, beginning to absorb the effects of climate change. The question becomes, does the new alertness stimulate action or numbing fear?

I have been watching ash trees this spring waiting for them to leaf out. I told myself to postpone worrying because ash do sprout their leaves later than maples, and even the maples were slow this year. Finally, all the trees on our property produced leaves. Most of them seem quite healthy still, though a couple have bare patches that hint at trouble to come. I will watch them carefully next spring.

Then, I heard about a fungus that is attacking oak trees in Ontario. We have only one oak here that I planted, so very young, but there are patches of oak forest along the road and up the escarpment. Are they going to be in danger?

Many gardeners I know are working toward growing more native plants. The argument is that native pollinators evolved beside native plants so these plants are more nourishing, healthier.

I am still trying to absorb the news that dandelion pollen has little protein, like drinking pop instead of milk. I am beginning to understand the hesitation about No-Mow May at least in our climate where dandelions proliferate.

Down by the shore, I have wild sunflowers and goldenrod. I pulled out a few of the sunflowers growing among the rocks until I realized how valuable they are. They haven’t shown their leaves yet, but they are a late season plant, so I am not too worried. I have native coneflowers in a couple spots and lots of wild strawberries.

I ordered a few native plants online. The bee balm has not broken the surface yet, so I may have to try another source for it. I ordered some woodland strawberries, Joe Pye weed and bunch berries from an online native plant supplier.

Then, I heard that Zehrs had a table of native plants. I made a trip there.

They have a sign at the entrance to the garden centre talking about why native plants are essential. And they had an interesting supply. I got some to fill in gaps.

It always stimulates hope in me when mainstream stores have a supply of fair trade and organic things – feels like the mainstream is starting to listen.

This has been a perfect haying week. Dry and sunny. Given how little rain we have gotten, I worried how much hay there would be. But the fields that have been baled have produced well. Lots of big bales dot the fields.

I do worry for those who are growing crops. Corn is tiny. There is no way it will be knee high by the fourth of July.

The prediction for two days of rain next week will help. As long as it comes. Some rains have stayed south of us.

As you can tell, I’m not sure whether to be hopeful or worried as I watch us march into early summer.

Cathy Hird lives on the traditional territory of the Saugeen Ojibway Nation.

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