A parcel awaited us in the group mailbox yesterday afternoon when Irving retrieved a key in our mail slot to open one of the two parcel compartments and there we found a gift from our son in Vancouver. Two sets of measuring cups, sizes ranging from a full cup on down to a 1/4 cup, six in all, three on each of two racks he made to hold them. He used a combination of cherry and sumac for the cup handles, and gave them a really hard finish, with the same sealing lacquer he had used when he finished his kayak.

They're sleek and elegant looking, and I'll be loathe to use them for fear of marring their perfect finishes, but when I do use them, I'll do so with care. He's made so many practical, utilitarian yet beautiful things for my use in the kitchen, from rolling pins to wood mixing and stirring spoons, and so many glazed pottery casserole dishes, bowls and teapots. Irving hung the measuring cups and they now gleam above either side of the stove under the fan, appended to cupboard walls.

It's turned out to be yet another in a series of beautiful winter days. Relatively mild at -4C, but the cutting wind makes up for that. The sun sits high in the sky and hangs there like the incredible ceiling chandelier it is, fpr far longer in the day now, illuminating everything below to a perfection of bright beauty. Its rays are now so warm they're doing a fine job melting the snow from the last two snowstorms sitting on the metal-topped canopy over the deck.

Which is double good news, since when the sun melts the load of snow it means Irving doesn't have to put up a ladder and use a telescoping roof shovel to rake it all off manually. He's done more than enough shovelling in the backyard to free up space on the walkways for Jackie and Jillie to be comfortable out there. Yet another bonus the sun brings to us, along with heating up the house interior through the medium of streaming through the stained glass windows that become very warm to the touch, radiating heat throughout the house.

Yesterday's snow was being whipped off trees this afternoon when we entered the ravine for our daily roustabout through the forest trails. Before setting out we wondered vaguely whether, since it is Saturday, the trails would be well used by people throughout the wider community coming out to enjoy a relaxed hike through the woods. When it's really cold, overcast and windy there doesn't tend to be too many people willing to face the elements so much as on days like today.

So there they were, in front of us, behind us, seen in the distance on other trails either approaching or retreating. To all of which Jackie and Jillie react most disagreeably. There are always people coming through we're unfamiliar with and if we're not familiar with them, neither are Jackie and Jillie and their job, they think as custodians of the forest is to vet everyone who has the gall to enter their private preserve. Which can be a tedious exercise in admonishing two little dogs wjp couldn't care less what we think about their disgraceful behaviour.

The snowpack is deep and getting deeper with each snowfall. Right about now, it looks like it has reached the depth of an average winter accumulation. There have been many winters when the total received has raised the forest floor and the depth of the floor of the bridges considerably more. Still, when spring does arrive all that snow will begin to melt, to pour downhill into the creek which will swell and  ragingly sweep its way through the forest en route to the Ottawa River.

For now, we're enjoying it. Always a breath-catcher to enter the forest, embraced by its gloomy light that seems to enhance whatever little colour there is at this time of year. A monochromatic scene for the most part, with white and dark predominating until one peers a little closer and sees the green of pine needles, firs, spruce, hemlock and cedar. 

Evidently, according to local news stories, residents of this great city have gone overboard in their sudden enthusiasm for the great outdoors. And we have plenty of great outdoors in our close vicinity. A half-hour drive will take one to our next-door province of Quebec, for example, to enter the wilderness area of Gatineau Park, replete with hundreds of trails, short and long, easy, medium and difficult for the enterprising outdoors person.

But other parts of Ontario, an hour's drive from the nation's capital lead to other, smaller provincial parks, lakes and forests -- and outdoor equipment retailers are basking in the fact that all of a sudden their wares are in high popular demand. Everyone is fed up with isolation, with the care required to ensure they're at minimal risk for contamination by the novel coronavirus, and looking for some relief.

We found ours, as usual early this morning when we made off with Jackie and Jillie for our nearby ravine. No need to drive anywhere, so how fortunate can we possibly be, other than with what is so close at hand, a forested ravine that runs through a community of tens of thousands of people with relatively easy access. Some drive over, others walk through a series of connecting streets to reach one with access to the ravine, and the most fortunate, like ourselves, merely walk up the street to gain entrance to the forest.

As we did, as usual, on a cool and sunny morning. We've become so accustomed to our early morning trail hikes that we can't imagine simply going downstairs out of bed, into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. It's the meal that tastes so much better after a lengthy ramble through the woods. And, for the most part, it's a ramble that we have pretty much to ourselves. But not this morning.

Even for a Saturday there was a surprising number of people out. We must have come across at least a dozen, perhaps more; singly, in pairs, with and without accompanying pets, doing precisely what we were doing; enjoying the great out-of-doors, a landscape green and clean where we breathe fresh air, exercise our limbs and muscles and feel that much better for it. It's also a bit of a social exposure where people get to know one another and often stop briefly for chats.

After breakfast and cleanup we had other matters to attend to outside. This time not very far from our front door, when the garden called out for a little tidying up, long overdue. Snipping and cutting back wayward and too ambitious tree branches, shrubs and overgrown perennials. Placing the garden landscape into a more pleasing shape.

And in the process taking stock of the health of various plants even while enjoying their appearance for aesthetical perfection. Standing back and taking note of the number of bees and hoverflies around the perfumed flowering hydrangeas. Spotting weeds here and there that we know of as wildflowers when they appear in the ravine, and dispatching them from the garden environs. Though truth to tell, there are many garden residents that began life as wildflowers taken from the ravine and transplanted to the garden.

They're a matter of pride in the way they flourished and adapted to the rich soil of the garden, even in competition with cultivated plants where both over time learned to live companionably together; the Jack-in-the-Pulpit, the foamflower, the trout lily, the trillium, the wild ginger; all valued members of our garden community. And Jackie and Jillie thoroughly approve.

Last night, before bed when my husband took Jackie and Jillie out to the backyard, he called me out to have a look at the moon. The month's new moon, no less. The sky was almost clear after a rare no-rain day yesterday, there were some skimpy strings of white cloud, and there was the moon in all the grandeur it displays fully dressed. Above and to the right of the moon a bright star. Not a star, a planet, said he. Indeed, it's Saturn, the closest of the planets to be seen beside the August moon.

We knew that there would be rain the following day. Lots of it, since the 'chance' of rain was listed at 90%. So we weren't surprised to wake to a grey morning, unable to dispel the darkness of night thanks to a dense cloud cover. Which was steadily unleashing a light rain, leaving us to consider whether or not to launch ourselves into a ravine walk before breakfast, as usual.

We reasoned that the full  forest canopy would help keep us fairly dry, and we'd all wear rainjackets. Better early than making an attempt in the afternoon when the rain was destined to pick up strength and volume. So, suitably attired, off we went. Up our dusk-entrenched street, over to the ravine entrance where, looking into the forest interior the resemblance to a dark tunnel couldn't have been more apt.

But in there the patter of rain was notably reduced, so on we went, down the hillside into the ravine proper where we were surprised to see the low level of the water flowing through the creek, despite the rain. An odd little anomaly that we knew would be turned about by the end of the day. We were fairly surprised to see that a few others were out with their dogs. Larger dogs for the most part, and not geared out in rain gear since these are the rough-and-ready breeds more likely to head straight for the cooling waters of the creek even in winter before the freeze-up.

No one is inclined to stand around and talk. to everyone's relief, on such weather days. Waves and wry smiles more than suffice, as we pass, or see one another in the distance and continue on our way. Gayle, a long-time hiking companion who lives at the foot of our street came trundling by, umbrella in hand, shouting that she wished she'd gone out a tad earlier when the rain had been marginally lighter.

Although we were comfortable, and kept fairly dry given the circumstances, we decided that a shorter circuit would do us all very nicely this morning, rather than continuing on for the usual hour-and-a-half tramp through the trails. All the more so since as time passed the volume and strength of the rain was becoming more robust, though there were no complaints from either Jackie or Jillie, plodding along through small puddles.

The garden welcomed our return, its colours brilliantly lacquered, light from some source bouncing off the vegetation. Everything was getting a good soaking, the rain slanting directly toward the front of the house to penetrate the width of the porch, which doesn't happen very often. And then, in the afternoon, though there hadn't been any decline in the rain, it turned suddenly quite fierce.

The temperature slowly descended as well. In all, a dark, damp day. But the dark aspect and the pouring rain lend an impression of quiet comfort. And we enjoy watching the rain fall, deepening colours of the flowers even in the dusk-like atmosphere that prevails. And when the wind picked up and lashed a much heavier rain against both the back and the front of the house, it becomes hypnotically fascinating to watch such an increased volume lashing the windows, splashing down on the garden.

No better time than today to make the 100km drive out into the country to see our daughter and granddaughter. They live in a century-old log home, extended and upgraded over the years from its time as a local schoolhouse. Our daughter's 58th birthday is several days' off, and our granddaughter's will arrive at the end of June. Who knows how often and when we will have this opportunity again... Our daughter had made re-usable face masks for her parents, and we would be picking them up, while dropping off birthday gifts for both.

So. soon after a leisurely breakfast, we packed up Jackie and Jillie and left for the trip. Oh, no, we didn't quite. We harnessed our two little black imps and made for the forest to first give them and us some fresh air and exercise close to home. The outdoors looked enticing from the indoors. A clear blue sky, the sun penetrating its warmth through the house windows, promising a day far different from yesterday with its full overcast and chill wind.

We had a hint of just how cool it was and what kind of blustery conditions prevailed, however, each time we went out into the backyard. And it was no different when we entered the forest, and by then clouds had moved in, so we had both overcast and sunny intervals throughout our hike through the trails, shoved along by the wind. We keep looking for signs that foliage is soon to appear, but nothing as  yet has revealed itself.

For a Saturday, the trails were surprisingly empty of anyone but ourselves. Likely because more people were out shopping since on Easter Friday stores were closed and Sunday they would be, as well. We had no complaints whatever though, traipsing along the trails, maintaining body warmth by the energy expended, compensating for the rampaging wind.

On the highway, driving through the city and finally attaining the countryside, we could see a faint haze of yellow at the tips of willow branches, and atop maples the unmistakable bright red of new buds. From a distance as we drove along we could also make out a faint green mist over some trees that seemed to disappear the closer we approached to the trees as we drove forward. Farmers' fields were still drenched by the melting snow, the soil already having absorbed all it could.

But in some fields there was the unmistakable shade of bright green coming up through the soil, seeded in the fall for a spring silage crop, so no doubt about it, despite the prevailing cold, the stubborn wind and sometimes-absent sun, spring is moving steadily ahead. As when we were on the forest trails, the highway, usually packed with traffic, was quiet with the occasional car or truck sharing it with us.

When we arrived at our daughter's house, she was out pottering about cleaning up the gardens closest to the house. Our granddaughter was out with their newly-adopted dog Lili. LIli and Sara who is now 14, the last of the original ten-pack our daughter had, have a large tall, chain-link enclosure to romp about in when they're not out on the trails on our daughter's 6-acre property. We exchanged the face masks our daughter made for us, with the gifts we had brought for her and her daughter. We maintained a physical distance, trying to ignore that distance for the emotional closeness we shared.

And then, we left, our daughter and granddaughter waving us off, and we, driving back through the small village of Pakenham, and over their famed five-span bridge fording the Mississippi River which was in full spring flood, stopped briefly. We parked beside the bridge to watch the mesmerizing drive of the river, its splurging and spraying and foaming as it rose and descended like a living thing -- which, in essence, it is -- a tributary of the much larger Ottawa River.