These have been days of late as perfect as can be fantasized about for spring. Let's start with the weather; days of sunshine, even those days when it has also rained. April gave us ample rain and May entered continuing the formula of rain and sun, the most appealing combination to convince all green growing things to manifest themselves, leave their winter underground abode for the opportunity to thrill the gardener or the wildflower enthusiast.

 

The appeal of yesterday's just-perfect weather saw us out good and early, catering both to Jackie and Jillie, and to our own need of communing with nature. Nature reciprocated as generously as ever she does. An abundance of coltsfoot are still in evidence, although the earliest blooming ones are now going to seed, just as dandelions do, changing their head-dress from a bright yellow halo, centred with orange, to a fluffy-white nimbus.

 

There are ferns popping up everywhere on the hillsides and the lower reaches of the forest floor, unfurling in that old familiar curlicue that bespeaks the presence of green-bitter edible fiddleheads. Along with the ferns the trout lilies are now in full bloom, colonizing the forest with their delicate nodding heads of soft golden petals.

 

 

As we hiked uphill and down, through the forest on various winding and interconnecting trails, we heard owls and cardinals praising that beautiful day. The cardinals in a paean of appreciation,the owls having a back-and-forth conversation. Now and again we'd be met by one or another, or sometimes several at a time, neighbourhood dogs out with their companions enjoying the day. One by one, or two by two, stopping beside us for the Cookie Man to react as anticipated.

Before we left the forest, on one of the upper trails we discovered a newly-emerged garter snake, perfectly positioned to catch the rays of the sun, warming itself after its long, cold and damp winter hibernation under the soil and leafmass of the forest floor. Jackie and Jillie usually don't notice snakes, but this time they did, and were curious. The little reptile partially lifted its head, opened its jaw menacingly (hah!) and they stepped back, curious but cautious.

 

Later, we two went off for the second time in as many days, to a local plant nursery to see what we could see. What we saw was the rapturous sight of rows upon rows of colourful plants begging to be taken home, knowing how much our garden yearns to welcome them. The day previously we came home with begonias and zinnias and million bells and lobelias and chrysanthemums, prepared to leave them in the garden shed should the weather turn cold again.

And yesterday another adventure in selecting plants had us consulting each other and making careful choices, both perennial and annual; more begonias to be sure, Canna lilies and Shasta daisies and a cornucopia of fillers, fulfilling our ambition to be prepared to plant in a week or so hence. Oh, the heady experience of walking through a greenhouse, the overwhelming sensuality of the sweet fragrance of the blooms!

 

As the weather turns warmer, thoughts of transitioning from cold-weather fare begin to nudge my cooking consciousness. And so I begin to set aside the kind of cuisine that's so comforting on icy winter days, and dredge my memory's recipe files for other, alternative meals. That was the case evening before yesterday and it will increasingly be so, as we steadily move from midspring to early summer. A fresh garden salad seemed about right, pairing it with a fish chowder; different taste sensations to freshen our appetites.

 

 

As for baking desserts, fruit combinations come to mind, and pies containing those fruit choices seem appropriate. Which meant, because I had apples that needed to be used, they were sliced, dredged with cornstarch and sugar, dampened with cranberry juice, then simmered until the juice had thickened and the apples were just about cooked. The steaming apples are introduced to a few tablespoons of butter, lots of cinnamon and last, raisins. All that's left to do is to roll out pie crust and bake the pie. As soon said, as done!

 

It was still fairly early by the time I got a chicken soup simmering on the stove for our evening meal, and the weather beckoned. Another blissful day of 20C, with the sun swimming happily in the vast ocean of the blue sky, warming the atmosphere to the extent that the gentle breezes that persisted most of the day were very welcome.

 

Jackie and Jillie shared part of their hike through the forest trails with two neighbouring dogs they've known for years who just happened to be coming through the trails as we were. They were all so absorbed in the aromas lifting from the forest floor they barely spent any more than the cursory backend sniff between them, before it was nose to the ground again.

 

Our eyes were busy, as it happened, looking out for more woodland wildflowers and we weren't disappointed. Trout lilies have spread their early-spring-blooming colonies over the years, and the plants themselves seem far more productive of flowers. In one area where the ridges and hillsides of the ravine rise above the trail far below street level, there are more flowers in bloom than we can ever recall; delightful, fragile and searching for the sun, the trout lilies with their soft, bright yellow and pale red stamens are a delight to the eye.

 

We came across other neighbourhood dogs out with a major focus on acquainting themselves with community news, and whenever they realize that the Cookie Man is in neat proximity they make a proverbial beeline for  his location, happy to be re-acquainted, and placidly sitting before him while making the statement that their good behaviour merits at least two cookies each.

 

Even the pair of Mallards were out yesterday, in an area of the creek we'd never seen them in before, steaming through a screen of saplings on the bank of the creek, just beginning to fill out with tender new foliage. We also noted that a few of the first of the spring woodland violets are displaying themselves; for the present, the emphasis is on 'few', but it won't be long before they begin springing to life everywhere.

 

 

At home, in the garden, we were surprised by the larger of our two magnolia trees; seemingly overnight, courtesy of the warmth and the sun the buds that had informed us throughout the winter months that this would be a good flowering year for the trees, had begun to open their bright pink flowers, a sight to behold.

 

For a change, the weather prognosis for today was wrong, and we were glad. Instead of another day of rain, we had occasional bursts of sun freeing itself from the general cloud cover and at a daytime temperature of 20C, that made for a balmy day. Thursdays are busy with laundry but that didn't keep me from inviting Jackie and Jillie out to the backyard for occasional garden inspections. Peonies are beginning to come up, so are the lilies and the irises. Although the magnolia trees are full of flower buds they seem in no great hurry to bloom, and the crabapple trees may very well beat them at it.

 

 

I've been digging weeds out of the grass and the garden plots, and just when I think I've got the last one, a day or two later a few more arrogantly confront me -- and out they come! Jillie likes to sit on the deck when I'm out with her, so she can bark at any sound or movement she detects. Jackie has a tendency to follow me around, curious about what I'm doing. Several days ago when I went out with them to the backyard, the hare was sitting beside the smaller of the two garden sheds. Neither Jackie nor Jillie detected its presence, so for the short time we were outside, the hare just sat there; alert but seemingly comfortable.

 

Early this afternoon when we entered the forest and were about to descend into the ravine, our eyes were caught by the presence of a bird with a bright red cap. Just a little fellow; we were in quite close proximity to it, and it appeared unconcerned. We watched as he (the female of the species doesn't wear a red cap) flew from tree to tree, then settled on a fallen log. Hairy woodpeckers are not an unusual sight in the forest, but when they're this bold and we can see them from close range, we can admire their beauty.

 

 

A warm day, as it turned out, so that was pleasant. Much less the muck underfoot, fine on some parts of the trail, but an impediment to complete relaxation on others, as we gingerly made our way off-trail when the dark slush became too prevalent and deep. But these are the conditions that early spring-flowering wildflowers revel in, and we came across a large number of trout lilies blooming in colonies throughout the forest.

 

A week earlier on a similar weather-day; mostly overcast and a little cooler, there were scant few trilliums to be seen flowering. A different story altogether, today. Trilliums galore, casting their bright crimson petals to the illuminating light of the sun. We did a brief side-tour down one of the hillsides to see whether a small patch of white trilliums that we see year after year were yet in residence, but it was too early for their presence; we'll give them another several weeks.

 

At another short trail we paused briefly, knowing where an unusual trillium usually shows up, doubting that it would be there, but there it was, a smaller incarnation than we've been accustomed to seeing, but blooming nonetheless, its petals pale pink and beautifully striped. Its flowerhead bowed deeply toward the forest floor, a dainty, tiny plant, relatively rare and highly appreciated.

 

 

Because it was such a beautiful day we had decided to take a longer circuit than we usually do, and so we went along a network of trails, enjoying the temperature and a calming, cooling breeze. Whenever the sun did emerge for brief periods, it was warm enough wherever we were exposed so that I could feel a light halo of moisture along my hairline above my forehead. 

 

And from time to time we entertained visitors. Dogs little and large. All well-behaved, eager to be noticed and recognized and their message interpreted accurately: we're here, your fans, come to say hello, and patiently waiting for you to withdraw that bag you always fill before departing your house, just in case we happen to drop by -- which we very much appreciate, and thank you for, Cookie Man!

 

Just shortly before we left the forest, on our way to street level, we were more than a little surprised to see white blossoms on several small trees in the understory under the forest canopy. The tiny white blossoms, similar in shape to small daisies, would bear fruit in midsummer. They're known as Saskatoon berries, an early blooming fruit-bearing tree.