We were up early this morning intending to get out to do the food shopping even a little earlier than usual. Leaving two disconsolate little dogs whimpering and yowling to look after themselves in our absence for we had, after all, explained to them time and again that we were going out to bring back all kinds of edible goodies for them, so we set off with a good conscience.

There was less traffic on the road than we usually see. We assumed that the frantic Christmas shopping rush hadn't yet taken over the morning. And then we drove into the parking lot of the supermarket we shop at and were amazed to confront an unusual spectacle. Even at any time of the day that parking lot is never full. And when we usually arrive early morning to do our shopping it's almost empty on most occasions.

Not this time. We soon approached near enough to see a long line of would-be shoppers snaking two meters distant from one another the length of the store exterior, continuing to take in all the other storesfronts, none of them yet open, that comprise the bulk of the shops in linear fashion on that side of the plaza. All.those.people.waiting.to.get in.

This, we know, is a Toronto thing. We aren't in Toronto. There are supermarkets galore in our neighbourhood, plenty of venues where people can shop. And rarely are there such lineups. People were panicking, we guessed, as a result of the provincial premier having announced yesterday a province-wide lockdown to begin on Boxing Day for the following three weeks. Or was it that everyone was intent on getting their Christmas food shopping done three days before Christmas? Or was it the general impression that early morning shopping isn't just for seniors seeking to avoid the human, virus-vending crush?

My husband turned the car around, headed for home. Not so fast, said his wife, we're shopping. So we waited, at first away back of the line, but it moved steadily ahead as people were being admitted while those who had already completed their shopping left. It took about a half-hour before we entered the store, and by then the line had regrown itself behind us to about the same length as when we had originally joined it.

The idea was obviously to avoid bottlenecks. The gradual admittance ensured that people would move steadily forward, welcomed bit by bit, each taking possession of a disinfection-sprayed shopping cart. We were apprehensive that the shelves would be empty, and some were, but not most. We had no difficulty selecting what we needed for the week although in several instances had to be satisfied with substitutes when confronted with a wide, yawning shelf empty of its offerings.

What a joyous reunion when we returned! No longer abandoned our puppies generously forgave us and nicely obliged us by gobbling up a few treats. They followed us around while we re-distributed the food into the refrigerator, the pantry, this shelf and that shelf until it was all completed. They take their supervisory role in this household quite seriously.

The temperature for the day hovered around zero, so it wasn't very cold. Light snow was falling, the sky was heavily overcast, and there was wind. By the time we emerged again led by Jackie and Jillie who recommended that we hold the leashes and follow their direction, the wind had picked up substantially, clearly bringing in another front. It was damp feeling and colder than it should have felt thanks to the insistence of the wind raking our faces.

We discovered today that someone had snapped a photo of a fisher standing on one of the bridges. He'd had a swift response on seeing that ferocious little creature, snapping it before it left the scene. So now we know that small animals like squirrels, raccoons and foxes have fishers to contend with. We stood for a short while discussing the critturs in the forest while five dogs patiently waited for four people to get on with their trail hikes. One fellow had seen a wild turkey presumably killed by coyotes; if so why wasn't it eaten?

Another a large beaver corpse which, he surmised had been confronted by at least two coyotes, since beavers are well known to be able to look after themselves when attacked. The population of the forest has taken quite a turn with the introduction of coyotes. The abundance of small wildlife we once saw regularly years ago is no longer in evidence; partly responsible is that around the top of the ravine more houses were built in the past thirty years, and part of it is due to the presence of alpha predators represented by coyotes and fishers.

Jackie and Jillie will just have to remain content to be on leash forever now, it seems. Although truth to tell they haven't complained about the leash restraints on their freedom.

It seems we've been enjoying fewer sunny days than normal so far this winter. Today may be the shortest day of the year, but we've been in the thrall of short daylight hours for quite awhile; and now the long slow reversal begins. Meanwhile, we live in a kind of perpetual dusk and in the forest interior that light darkness prevails.

We've had no reason to try to see our family doctor since the turn of the year, and perhaps it's just as well on many levels. Access of course being one. The other perhaps more critical, is that the state of our health hasn't dictated a doctor's appointment. Immediately the lockdown in Canada commenced we had received an email from the family health clinic our family physician practises out of that it too was going into lockdown. Appointments by telephone only. Emergency? Hospital.

Since then, one would imagine, things have relaxed somewhat. Appointments, if required, can be arranged for physical examinations. Mask wearing is mandatory, needless to say. And only one individual may be given admission to the waiting room at a time. Escorted in and out. We're kept updated with regularly spaced email notices. Seeing a doctor is like pulling teeth. Glad not to have to.

But speaking of pulling teeth. I lost a filling several weeks ago on the inner portion of a top front tooth. Inconvenient and irritating. The tooth felt as though it had developed a huge cavern. I was meticulous about keeping it free of food. And made an appointment with our dentist. At the conclusion of the telephone conversation when I secured a date two weeks hence, I was asked a series of questions.

Did I have any symptoms of COVID? Had I travelled out of the province? Out of the country? Was I related to anyone who had COVID? Had I visited with them? Did I have a fever? That done, I was instructed to arrive five minutes early for the appointment. I would receive a telephone call inviting me to enter the premises when the dentist was ready to see me. That changed, however, when we arrived five minutes early this afternoon, and an attendant, noting our vehicle entering the parking lot came out directly to escort me into the building.

Mask on. Asked to use the disinfectant on hands on entering. Checked forehead with an electronic device for fever. Responded once again to the same series of questions, ticked off on a sheet. Asked to remain seated in the waiting room where another person was waiting for his appointment to commence. Waited five minutes, was escorted into one of the pods completely enclosed with heavy plastic draperies.

Mask off, protective glasses on. Our friendly dentist proceeded with the work at hand, which took less than fifteen minutes, restoring a filling to the tooth. She wore a mask, rubber gloves, and a clear plastic face covering; her voice came through muffled but as cheerful as usual. No cash exchanges hands any longer, it's all credit or debit cards to pay the portion of the fee that insurance doesn't cover.

It helps that everyone there is so personable. And out I went, escorted back to the parking lot.

Glad that's over. What a nuisance. What a sea change in the casual manner in which all these things were conducted in the past. Sobering, and still difficult to believe. This has turned out to be the hottest day yet in a series of over-heated, high-humidity days. By noon it was already 34C, but a nice little breeze helped tolerate the searing heat.

Earlier in the day we'd had a pre-breakfast trundle through the ravine's forest trails with Jackie and Jillie. The forest interior always looks dark as one enters, but darker than usual when the surrounding air resembles a blast furnace, with the humidity along with that infernal heat creating a barely visible light haze. Wide rays of sunlight spark through the forest canopy and we take care not to stop directly in the sun after gaining a hilltop, moving automatically over to the shade. Even Jackie and Jillie try to avoid standing directly in the sun.

Just as wel, it isn't difficult to avoid sun patches since for the most part the trails are well shaded, given the close-packed nature of trees in a mature forest. Mature, but not virgin. In all likelihood over the past hundred, hundred-and-fifty years, the forest has been logged out numerous times. There are still huge old pines; probably puny striplings the last time the forest was logged out, and left to grow. Among the firs and the spruces, yews and cedars, oaks and maples, poplars and birches, beeches and hawthorns, hackberry and ash, and many more.

It has been well over three months since my husband had the opportunity, much less the inclination under lockdown conditions, to go over to the liquor store. He ran out of wine months ago. And he usually enjoys a glass of wine with some of his evening meals. Or bubbly cider. Although spirits were declared a 'necessary' item for public consumption and liquor stores remained open during the period from March to June, it was sheer folly to try to shop at one.

Everyone seemed to have been driven to absolute distraction during lockdown, working from home, worrying about the future, that to distract themselves from those concerns, they appear to have been imbibing more than usual. Anecdotal reports about runaway sales of liquor abounded. True, there are some select supermarkets that have been permitted to carry and sell alcoholic beverages, but the one we frequent isn't one of them.

So today my husband thought he'd give it a try. He'd drive over to the local retail outlet for the Liquor Control Board of Ontario, and if they weren't too busy, as in too crowded with shoppers, he'd slip in there, face-masked and gloved. He didn't get very far in his intention. On arrival at the location what he saw was not a crowded store, but a line several blocks long of people patiently awaiting an opportunity to get in, grab what they wanted and get out. What's more, this is an extremely hot day of 30C and the sun was beating down mercilessly on the people lined up.

At no time will my husband wait in a lineup if he can help it. And he could help it on this occasion. He drove right back home again. And then decided he'd wash the car, instead. By that time of the day, late afternoon, the driveway is in full shade. And since there is also a cooling breeze, and the water out of the  hose is nice and cool, washing the car turned out to be a good idea. While he was at it, I was outside in the garden, with Jackie and Jillie behaving themselves hovering about around us.

I did some dead-heading of blooms, tied up other plants, and took an inventory of what was happening in the various beds and borders. The roses are now beginning their June bloom, and so are the peonies. The clematis vine with its huge spectacular blooms is just about finished, preparing to lose those fabulous purple petals. The begonias are coming around very nicely, and so are the petunias in their glorious striped colours.

This morning we decided to go straight out to the ravine before breakfast and before the heat really built up. The street was quiet as we walked up to the ravine entrance; no one else around at all; people sensibly sleeping in after a hot and restless night. We thought at this relatively early hour we'd have the ravine and the forest trails to ourselves. The large thimbleberry shrubs that have been putting on green weight for the past several weeks are now beginning to bloom. And we finally saw the first of the daisies in bloom.

We were soon relieved of the notion that there would be few others around at that hour. As it happens, and unsurprisingly, we weren't the only ones thinking of evading the afternoon heat by traipsing through the forest trails before the day's build-up. What was interesting was that we kept running into people we know that we haven't seen in months. Which meant that we were out considerably longer than we had anticipated, since each time we'd greet an old friend, it meant standing about talking to catch up with their news.

Jackie becomes quite excited when he sees in the distance that people and dogs are approaching that he recognizes. If he were off leash, he'd dash forward to greet them. On leash as we now keep them, he begins to walk upright and does so for a surprisingly lengthy period. Balancing effortlessly on his two hind legs, he simply walks reminiscent of how in the cruel days of circuses bears were trained to do that for the amusement of circus-goers.

Somehow I never imagined that nearing the middle of May this year I would still be preparing cold-weather meals. But of course I have been, given the extremely cold nights we've been stuck in of late. So yesterday I put together my favourite winter soup, lentil-tomato-zucchini-carrot, and baked cheese-sesame-seed croissants. And prepared a few devilled eggs for my husband to supplement the soup. He eats only one bowl, I slurp down two.

The temperature dipped to -5C last night and is on schedule to do the same again tonight. Regardless, today turned out to be a much milder day than yesterday, the sun full out, and an afternoon high of 11C, though the wind remained blustery. Out on the street it seemed quite tolerably moderate, in our backyard even more so.

Once into the ravine however, it was another story altogether. Which is surprising given that usually when we're in the forest, wind doesn't tend to penetrate, for the most part. But the low temperatures of the last week during the night lingers in the forest throughout the day, particularly in the low-lying valleys, even though the sun can still penetrate through the forest canopy, only now just beginning to leaf out.

We had noticed for the first time yesterday, looking out at various points on the trails that serve as ingress to the ravine from different streets in the community, that cars are heavily parked alongside those entrance points. Far more than at the entrance point on our own street. We had assumed that the crowds of people we've been seeing, particularly more son on the weekends, arrived directly from the nearby streets with access to the ravine. Apparently, not so. People are driving distances from who-knows-where, to access the forest trails.

Yesterday, we were informed by one of our ravine-hiking acquaintances that Gatineau Park, that great and wonderful forest preserve over the border into Quebec has been re-opened. It's operated by the National Capital Commission as a federal nature preserve. When our children were young we would take them to the area in all seasons, and there we would picnic, pick berries, canoe, hike, swim in the lakes or snowshoe in the winter, so regularly we regarded that great area as a second home, becoming familiar with long, meandering trails where we'd never see another soul. To access the area is a mere half-hour drive from our home.

But since we moved 30 years ago to our present home with such easy access to a forest preserve, albeit infinitely more limited in scope and area than Gatineau, we rarely visit it now. Over the years it began accommodating greater numbers of people, discovering what we had decades earlier. Areas that were once absent of people now can be teeming with people. Much has changed over the years.

So we're grateful to be able to daily access the forest adjacent our community without having to drive anywhere. And while Gatineau is now 'open', it isn't really. All the parking lots with access to various trail systems are locked down. Anyone hoping to drive to any point in Gatineau Park, cannot. Those scant few people who live within walking distance of trails though, can go into the park, which won't necessarily bring them to favoured sites, but will allow them the freedom to enjoy the forest.

While within a semi-urban area like ours, the opposite prevails. Which makes little sense. These lockdown conditions under the novel coronavirus threat can be confusingly illiterate. Regulations that make little practical sense and which people chafe at with good reason, reflecting the fact that authorities often don't really know how to administer their duties, particularly in the face of a monstrous threat like COVID-19.

As for us, there can be few complaints. We are fortunate and we appreciate that. We can shelter in our homes, remain socially distant, yet emerge when we wish to, and delve into a forest to breathe fresh air, exercise our limbs, enjoy a beautiful, ever-changing landscape, and socialize at a distance with others we're familiar with, while putting up with strained circumstances, attempting safe distances on sometimes-narrow trails.

It was cold and windy today, but the sun was warm and illuminated everything. Enticing the trout lilies to seriously begin their bloom and the trilliums as well. Not in lavish numbers, but a few here and a few there, satisfying our hunger for colour and wildflower surprises.

And there are always surprises of one kind or another. One other kind would be when Jackie and Jillie are given the occasion to make the acquaintance of other dogs. Dogs which, generally speaking, are always far more civil than our two in their approach to others. Today, Jackie and Jillie met a pair of really tiny dogs, little hairy shrimps, a brother and sister like themselves, but much older, at 11 years to their four.

The two little dogs were curious and friendly, unfazed in the presence of much larger dogs. Jackie and Jillie are supposed to be toy Poodles, but they're of a size more resembling miniature than toy, even though the toy-breed personality is evident in them. The two newcomers evinced courage and civility alongside independence. Absolutely sweet little companions for the mature couple walking them.

We heard the house rafters creaking last night in response to the blasting wind and the freezing temperature. Nicely enough, sun greeted us this morning. Accompanied by wind, of course. But the temperature had nudged up above freezing and there was hope that the promised high of 11C would materialize and there would be no more of yesterday's snow flurries.

We kind of forget when we set out for the ravine that there are now an awful lot of other people doing the same thing. The days when we could be perambulating along the forest trails for hours and see no one else are gone. There's even plenty of activity out on the street, people walking by at all hours, walking dogs, pushing strollers, riding bicycles, jogging.

At an earlier time in history that would be a normal city streetscene. But not in recent memory. People never seemed to emerge outside their homes. Where at one time children would be out playing in the street together, that had become a quaint occurrence that no longer commonly happened. No one walked along the street, either for recreational purposes or for a brief bipedal shopping expedition.

That's when people had the freedom to do such things, when there was no spectre of a novel coronavirus threatening should anyone be unfortunate enough to expose themselves unknowingly to the infectious virus.

Now, in lockdown conditions, people have suddenly discovered the beneficence of nature, how good it is to breathe fresh air, to feel the wind and the sun, even the rain. That peering outdoors from the confines of one's home is a stifling way to live. Now that people are admonished not to venture out-of-doors unless absolutely necessary, people have suddenly discovered the absolute necessity of getting out and about.

Well, many were getting out and about on the ravine trails today. Presenting obstacles in certain places where the forest presses in closely on the trails winding through it, to achieve adequate distancing, without some awkward step-asides. Jackie and Jillie continue to be noisily hostile to the presence of those they've never before encountered. And the majority of people we come across now fall into that category.

Who can blame anyone wanting to get out and amble peacefully along pathways running through a forest on a sunny day? When vegetation is just beginning to evince itself, on treetops, branches,and the forest floor. And finally, we came across two little very shy trout lilies poking their graceful little yellow heads poised on their flower stalks, above the trout lily foliage. There are thousands and thousands of plants in thick drifts across the forest floor taking advantage of the spring sun and the still-bare-of-foliage forest canopy, but a mere sprinkling of them have yet flowered.

The masts of the tallest trees in the ravine were heaving back and forth, sometimes clacking against one another from the force of the wind. The blue sky was a landscape complete with herds of white puffy clouds moving swiftly across the sky, maneuvering themselves around the sun, respectfully avoiding obscuring that golden disk.

We were out quite a while, not only because we decided on a lengthy circuit to fully enjoy the 11C and sun that had eventuated, but because from time to time we encountered some of our friends and stood across from one another at an appropriate distance, shouting out our conversations, moving further aside each time yet another group of others passed by.

Later, at home, when five in the early evening arrived, Jackie and Jillie began one of their bark-fests again. We had noticed that when a tiny mouse on occasion dashes about on the porch picking up bread crumbs left by the other animals, our two mischief-makers will sit there at the door, silently watching the tiny animal. Although they see squirrels and raccoons every day, and watching them has become one of their favourite entertainments, they must signal their presence by barking.

It's bright daylight now at five in the afternoon, but no matter, if it's five there's the little raccoon. By then the porch floor is bare of any offerings, gobbled up by earlier-appearing guests. So he sits there. Until my husband comes along with another bowlful. This time leftover pancakes from breakfast cut into small squares, along with the cubed bread. The raccoon moves aside slightly on the porch, waits for the refill to be deposited and before the door is even closed again, settles himself into a stuff-fest.