We had a week of almost tropical heat and humidity last week. And a bonus of clear skies for hot, sunny days. Not only did we marvel at the swift transition, but so too did the forest that seemingly suddenly reminded itself that winter was long past and it was time to begin seriously leafing out. But yesterday morning when we awoke it was to a dark dawn and the sound of an approaching thunderstorm. I quickly got out of bed, as Jackie and Jillie followed close behind me. I was anxious to get them out to the backyard before the rain struck and they complied nicely. And then down it came.

 

When, some lengthy time after breakfast, the rain stopped, it almost looked as though we'd see clearing skies. We had a moment or two of actual sun beaming down through a crack in the clouds, and then for most of the afternoon, continued cloudy skies and intermittent rain. In the garden, the flowering trees are at their height of early-spring glory. From the large pink luscious blooms of the magnolia, to the smaller, innumerable and equally pink blossoms of the Sargenti crabapples, to the white blossoms of the weeping Jade crab, and the flowering pea.

 

 

The rain did its best to knock down as many of the petals as it could manage and soon our gardens and walkways had almost as much scattered white and pink petals as those remaining on the trees. I waited awhile for the light showers to abate, then began planting some of the annuals we'd acquired earlier in the week; begonias, petunias, impatiens, Canna lilies and a plant I'd never before seen nor heard of, curcuma (flowering turmeric). 

 

Typically, it's a plant from Asia where some of our most exotic and beautiful flowering annuals are derived from; perennials in their native habitat, but annuals in colder climates like ours. I just couldn't resist those beautiful blooms, just as I can't the hibiscus plants that I always buy in the hope they can carry over to the following summer, and never do. 

 

 

We decided to interrupt the gardening and take Jackie and Jillie out to the ravine for their daily trot through the forest trails, gauging we might be able to manage a hike without a sudden rain squall. But it was still warm enough that if they did become soaked it would be just an inconvenience. As it  happened, there was no rain while we were out, although the forest floor and the canopy were drenched from the thunderstorm's effect. There's an odd twilight that hovers in the forest on such heavily overcast, moist days that while the light is greatly reduced, colours tend to be intensified.

 

 

The all-encompassing, fresh verdancy was dazzling. It looked as though the forest was reaching out to embrace us all. And it happened so suddenly, a mere week or slightly more from the initial appearance of new foliage, to that point where the forest canopy was almost fully restored. Jackie and Jillie discover other minor miracles, mostly concerning the release of new smells that fascinate and draw their attention. Even while our very presence drew the attention of those hated denizens of a summer forest; blood-hungry mosquitoes.

 

 

The lilting, happy trills of cardinals and robins and song sparrows resounding through the woods is a conciliatory gesture by nature for us to overlook the prevalence of stinging, biting insects at this time of year. So our hiking venture was the usual pleasure and the serenity of our surroundings as always soothed us and refreshed us. So that Irving decided to take out the wheelbarrow to mix up garden soil, sheep manure and peat moss to begin filling up our numerous garden pots and urns.

 

I noticed, while I was adding bone meal to the mix, that suddenly mosquitoes began appearing. Peering a little closer I realized that mosquitoes which we normally don't come across around the house, were attracted to the bone meal, and rushing into the pots to sample the fertilizer I was mixing into the soil. Could have been some blood meal mixed in with the bone meal. So their presence was an unappreciated addition. Which didn't stop me from beginning to fill the pots with some of the annuals we had in preparation, from million bells to lobelias and wave petunias as stuffers along with the star performers, the begonias that thrive in our garden landscape that has a deficit of sun. 

 

We managed to get half of the pots and urns filled and planted and decided we'd had enough work done for the remainder of the day. I had earlier, after our ravine hike, decided to make a big bowl of Cole Slaw, because Irving said he planned to do ribs on the barbecue for dinner. And we'd have corn-on-the-cob on the side. So I grated cabbage, onion, carrot and an apple, and made a dressing of salt, pepper, cider vinegar, olive oil and mayonnaise to refrigerate it for several hours before dinner

 

Despite the rain -- which turned out to be helpful in its own way after all, since I didn't have to water the newly-planted annuals because the soil was already wet, and later in the evening more rain came down -- the cooler temperature of 22C, the humidity and breezes gave us a splendid opportunity to begin our annual planting. Before light failed with evening's approach I took another photograph of the garden and was pleased with the colour brought to our personal landscape with the addition of this year's annuals to complement the form and colour of emerging perennials, like our hostas, peonies, roses, lilies and irises.

 

 

You've heard it before, I'm sure, in a variety of contexts: "It ain't over 'till it's over". And nowhere is that more true than winter, here in Ottawa. Spring has officially arrived, of course. And the snowpack that usually gathers in Ottawa on lawns and thoroughfares and urban forests has done some serious melting. I was trying to persuade Irving that he no longer has to put out carrots and peanuts and torn-up bread with peanut butter for the local wildlife, but he's not convinced. And so he bought another huge bag of peanuts from Ritchie's Feed & Seed, and more carrots.

Yesterday, while I was washing the floor in the foyer because it was cleaning day, and I was down on all fours, so was a little rabbit ,only he was munching a carrot on the other side of the glassed front door. He's so accustomed to being around and rabbiting away that he was undisturbed by my presence, as much as I was charmed by his. A larger rabbit that also comes around frequently is far less trusting.

When we took Jackie and Jillie to the ravine for our usual daily hike through the forest trails yesterday afternoon, most of the snow had melted on the hillsides, the snowmelt trickled into the creek and it was rushing imperiously downstream, at the height of spring run-off. The forest looked drab and dreary, all dark colours, the only hint of the monochromatic green to come, that of the conifers, outnumbered by the naked branches of deciduous trees.

Last night, comfortable in bed, I awoke at around 4:00 a.m. and lifted an eyelid, then both, when I realized there was no moon to be seen, despite yesterday's balmy 6C, and full sun. Instead, what caught my attention was the aluminum glare of a snowy sky, and a heavy burden of snow weighing down the cedar hedge behind us, and the branches of trees further off in the distance. Dismayed? Not one bit. I felt a surge of comfort and anticipation wash over me, and quickly fell back to sleep.

Mind, all that snow meant getting up before breakfast to shovel out pathways for Jackie and Jillie in the backyard. I had earlier, around six o'clock ,let Jackie out the back when I heard him woofing downstairs to go out. He was out quite awhile, and when he entered the  house to leap onto the settle covered with towels he was a little snowdog. As soon as I wiped him down he sped back upstairs to bed, and I did the same. So the shovelling was done and the pups went out to do their business. And the snow just kept coming.

Official figures haven't yet eventuated for the early-spring snowfall, but I would guess about 20cm at least. And snow kept coming steadily down until early afternoon. The temperature high for the day stood at -5C, with a 35-km/hr wind. When we did venture out to the ravine later in the day we knew enough from a previous experience and the fact that the bottoms of our boots kept clotting with packed snow while shovelling, to leave our cleats behind and just set out with winter boots. 

What a transformation. April 8, it may be, but it's a winter wonderland again in the forest. We watched as robins kept swooping down to the creek; some had been newly returned on their reverse spring migration from southern climes, but some among them had spent the winter in this region. The ducks that we saw yesterday in the creek were nowhere to be seen.

And Jackie and Jillie were beside themselves with  joy at the snow's return. They ran back and forth, hither and yon, their little booted paws making deep impressions in the snow, their expressions sheer happiness. Branches were fully festooned with thick layers of snow. From time to time the wind lifted snow from branches to create a wispy waterfall of light snow.

Lifting our heads and looking above, we could see the sun, bright behind a curtain of luminous clouds, trying to break through. We had a wonderful trek through the trails, the captivating winter landscape utterly breathtaking. Mind, it felt cold, and colder yet with the force of the wind, but the beauty surrounding us was priceless. 

Well, then, so much for my aspirations to begin cleaning up the winter-deposited detritus on our lawn, for today. 'Man proposes, nature disposes', as relevant an observation now as it ever is. Last evening snow began falling, and it came down generously all night. When we woke in the morning, it was to a white world once again. Old Man Winter cannot be persuaded -- in any given year -- to depart our landscape, this year is no different. When March comes to an end, it's with a sense of relief that we bid it adieu for another year; the month that begins to introduce melting snow, milder temperatures and rain, while invariably relenting to give pause to winter's departure, persuading the elements to display a parting winter landscape.

And that is just what confronted us this morning. The temperature below zero, sky heavily burdened with snow clouds, and wind whipping the snow into a froth. I hardly expected that before breakfast this morning I'd be out in the backyard shovelling snow for cleared pathways once again, for Jackie and Jillie, so that when they enter the house after exiting for their morning bathroom breaks they're not little snowdogs. They demonstrate their gratitude by ignoring the clearings and heading straight for where the snow is deepest.

Yesterday Irving had mentioned that I hadn't baked eclairs for a long time. I'd completely forgotten about them as an option for my Friday morning baking tradition, it's actually been that long. Truth is, I'm not myself all that fond of the eclairs, but he is. So I decided I'd give them a go after a long absence. There are three stages to putting them together, so they're a little fussy, but they're also a challenge. Beginning with the choux. I put together a half recipe, since there's only the two of us now as compared to years back when I cooked and baked for a family of five.

A half-cup water to a half-cup flour doesn't seem like a lot ingredient-wise, but even that makes at least ten middling-sized puffs, so that's more than enough. The process is to bring the water along with 1/4 c. butter to a boil, add the flour and a sprinkling of salt, quickly mixing it into the water/butter vigorously beating under reduced heat enough to incorporate everything into a thick ball. Once done, taking it off the heat, then adding two eggs, one after another and continuing stirring and beating until a thick, smooth choux results. And it takes energy to do that; a wooden spoon and strong right arm helps.

 Once the puffs have baked (400F for 15 minutes; 325F another 20 minutes), I simmer a vanilla cream filling comprised of icing sugar mixed with cornstarch, 10% cream, butter and vanilla until thick, to stuff the puff interiors, then melt baking chocolate with a little butter to top it all off. It was a hit with Irving, and I found them tolerable enough. Besides which, it's enjoyable to me to putter around the kitchen with different treats on Fridays. It's when I also put together a yeast-raised dough to be refrigerated and then used on Sunday for dinner rolls to accompany a winter-hot savoury vegetable-bean soup.

In the afternoon today we dressed good and warm for the weather: 0C, windy and by early afternoon, some vestiges of blue sky interspersed with mostly snowclouds, dropping flurries now and again. Environment Canada had warned a great swath of Ontario south of us of freezing rain conditions that had already caused electrical interruptions for tens of thousands of households.

We hardly thought, a mere three days before the calendar arrival of Spring that we'd see the forest reflecting its white winter garb again, but that's just what we saw. Jackie and Jillie were pretty happy about it, as are most dogs. There had been enough people venturing out into the ravine before us so that the trails were beginning to be trod down. Last night's layer of snow -- about 10 cm -- laying lightly over the ice on the trails. Where the snow was disturbed it was clear that the ice had glaciated back to sliding conditions in reflection of the cold temperature.

Crows crowded the sky above, mobbing in their celebration of spring, and we could hear the staccato of woodpeckers in the distance. The creek was running full of meltwater from days before; muddy and agitated, carrying detritus downstream with it. And looking cold, very cold and crowded with fallen tree trunks. 

The cleats on our boots were picking up clotted snow clumps, but not intolerably, as would be the case if the atmosphere was any milder, melting the top layers of snow. Jackie and Jillie wandered about everywhere on the newly-made more attractive forest floor, scenting what we cannot (thank heavens) and paying close and deep attention to the messages thereof. Conditions underfoot were not ideal in the sense of being slightly laborious, but tolerable. By the time we emerged from our circuit back to street level we felt well exercised.

 

 

With the change back to standard time once again, leaving the accursed Daylight Saving Time behind for another year, and the natural change of the Earth on our side of the globe tilting back to face the sun, the days seem longer, with more natural light and that's a decided plus. Now that March is coming to a close, we're eager to see more signs of approaching spring. There's a reason why we think of March as the cruelest month, simply because it is. March is when winter refuses to leave and when spring waits in the wings for her opportunity to appear.

Because winter is so recalcitrant in that month and spring so polite, waiting for her opening really tests our patience. But it is Nature that is control here, not puny humans, and so we wait. The occasional snowy morning elicits our groans even while the resulting snow won't last, melting as the day begins to warm, even in the single digits above freezing. The days when snow flurries alternate with freezing rain and rain itself can drive us to distraction, even when the polarized events signal the end of winter and start of spring.

Today we had sun, and the temperature by afternoon rose to 8C, although it had plunged overnight the night before to -12C. There was wind, there's always wind to make the prevailing temperature feel much colder, particularly when we venture into the ravine. In the forest the trails were much improved from only a week earlier when the hillside trails were coated in thick, glaring ice, while the flat areas were steeped, where the sun reached them during the day, in the melting snowpack.

Our cleats do a good job clinging to the ice, but they pick up packed snow when it's in the throes of melting, so hiking through the trails can be a lot more difficult under these conditions. Jackie and Jillie, with their little rubber boots, slide a bit on the ice, so they learn quickly to avoid the trails' central portions and move themselves effortlessly at the edges where snow, albeit fading, sill remains atop the ice.

Conditions are iffy enough plowing through the trails to discourage a lot of people from the larger community from coming in; certainly those who haven't availed themselves of the safety quotient in wearing cleats prefer not to enter under these conditions. The result is that we mostly have the trails to ourselves, and the atmosphere is quiet and peaceful. Other than crows mobbing raucously at this time of year. We haven't caught sight of the ducks paddling through the creek lately. The creek, full of snowmelt, is fairly tumultuous as it roars downstream, and perhaps that's why.

Irving is still putting out peanuts on our porch, along with torn-up bread for the wildlife. We've seen a few squirrels obviously carrying young, so he feels committed to the practise, though it makes a right royal mess on the porch. Last night one of the area raccoons came around the porch, untroubled by my presence on the other side of the glass front door. They doubtless recall winters before when Irving used to put out dog kibble and entire raccoon families would come along from the ravined forest, crossing the street to reach the porch.

I thought yesterday evening since it's still so cold, that a comfort meal would be in good order.  Anything with sticky, oriental-style rice is considered comfort food by us, reminiscing about our year living in Tokyo. I marinated thin beef strips in chopped garlic, soy sauce and olive oil, chopped up garlic cloves, onions, snow peas and baby Bok Choy for a stir-fry served over rice last night, and we really enjoyed it.

I'm hoping for a better weather day tomorrow. Much of the snow and ice on our front lawn has melted. And as it melts it reveals an astonishing amount of detritus that has to be cleaned up. From tree branches to piles of conifer needles, and all manner of bits and pieces that tend to gravitate to the driveway and the lawns over winter. It'll take some cleaning up, but if the day is pleasant enough, I can get a good start on our spring clean-up.

 

Quite a winter we've had so far. Nature has been throwing a mixed bag of winter goodies at  us. Last week  the average temperature ranged around -6C to -12C, and with the incessant wind -- occasionally moderate, but now and then whipping through the atmosphere, our daily hikes through the ravine have been extremely cold. 

Added to which has been the two snowfalls, mere days apart, that together brought us up to our average snowfall for the date, which usually falls gradually to the accumulation we see now. Those two storms added 70 cm of snow on top of what had already fallen previously. The snowpack on the street alongside people's driveways is considerable, lawns are under three to five feet of snow.

 

 

So yesterday and today we had a break. Wind, to be sure, but temperatures rose to 3 and 5C; one day sunny, the next overcast. I set aside my snug Icelandic winter cap and double mittens for lighter coverings.
We still dressed Jackie and Jillie in their warmest winter jackets and little boots, but we felt significantly more comfortable, given the warming  trend. We're not so foolish to think that it will continue, but we'll enjoy it while it lasts.

 

 

Yesterday too, for the second time on the weekend, we saw a pair of Mallards in the creek.  That was a surprise. We usually see returned Mallards along with at least one Great Blue Heron in the spring. We're nowhere near there yet. There were also flocks of robins, swooping down to the creek and then back up again graceful arcs toward the overhanging trees. A week ago we saw a family of three Pileated woodpeckers.  

For our hike today we were accompanied by our youngest child. Some young child; he's now 62 years of age. As a biologist, apart from being our son, it's always such a pleasure being with him on our hikes, as he points out things we're less likely to notice, much less interpret. He won't stay with us this trip as long as his ten days in December/January. It's just that he had a conference in Hamilton and stretched his stay another week for us.

 

 

Today's hike took place in the expectation that it might rain while we were out. Lucky us, the rain held off. The forest trails are in fairly good shape now, well trodden down from use since the last of the snowstorms, to form a fairly solid base underfoot. Still, the trails apart from the main trail, tend to be narrow and choppy, just a bit of a challenge on our ascents and descents of the hillsides. 

When we had completed our circuit for the day, Jackie and Jillie leading the way, we stopped briefly adjacent the forest creek, wondering if the ducks were still in residence there. Thinking about what they could be getting to eat, likely algae and minuscule aquatic life that might sustain them. It's possible that this pair and others didn't migrate south this winter. Instead spending their time at places along the Ottawa River, which the ravine creek feeds into.

 

 

First order of business on our return home is always preparing a little fresh vegetable salad for Jackie and Jillie. In anticipation of their after-hike treat, they rip through the house after one another, sliding on substantial scatter rugs, nipping at one another, excited beyond measure at the prospect of wolfing down their favourite treat. 

 

That done, I decided to bake a small batch of chocolate chip cookies. While I was in the process I thought why not make them chocolate-chocolate-chip cookies, so I did. I had the oven on anyway, to roast a pair of Cornish game hens for dinner, and it took no time at all. 

 

We slept in late this morning. Too late to bed last night. It's me, mostly, spending hours in the evening writing my blog entries. It's become a habit, one of long standing, at least a decade now. I value it because it gives me so much satisfaction. It's a mental challenge to decide what I mean to write about each day and at the same time it makes me feel oddly fulfilled that I commit to it. The blog that I dedicate to literature, posting short fiction, commentary, book reviews and poetry is a different kind of challenge of much longer duration, and it's been going for longer than the political and social commentary blogs.

In any event, I really do dislike sleeping in, although it's necessary for our well-being in having enough sleep on those occasions when we retire too late at night. Irving doesn't mind, he usually listens to lectures or current affairs discussions or watches some kind of drama on his little portable computer. The puppies are always fast asleep while we're both busy. Jillie could sleep forever, but Jackie gets a little restless when midnight approaches. He wants to go  upstairs to bed, but won't, until/unless we do too.

 

We had, as usual, a leisurely breakfast after our showers. Jackie and Jillie eat first. Not just their kibble, and bits of fruit and cooked chicken, but they also, between them, share an egg; fried, scrambled or hard-boiled as a 'second breakfast'. Then they busy themselves cadging from Irving while we're having our breakfast. I've given up protesting, try not to notice him slipping them bits of melon or egg from his plate, or toast under the table, when I'm 'not looking'.

Neither of us was particularly busy today, since it's Saturday, our 'day off'. We dressed Jackie and Jillie in their winter coats, halters and booties and made off for the ravine for our daily tramp through the forest trails at mid-day. A day that brought light snow flurries followed by clearing skies and full sun to brighten the house interior. For a change, there wasn't enough wind to make the daytime high of -5C seem colder than it was.

 

We'd have appreciated a decent snowstorm. Nothing spectacular mind, just enough snow to cover the ground, say about 10 cm at the very least. That would help our traction on the trails, on the ascents and descents. The underlying ice on the trails becomes more and more exposed as the days go by without a refreshing snowfall. Our ice cleats strapped firmly to our boots help immeasurably -- we wouldn't even attempt to traverse the trails without them. But even with the icers the trails have become so slick and slippery we can feel the icers having problems getting a grip and there's the occasional aborted slip.

The puppies evade the iciest portions of the trail, searching out areas with sufficient snow clumped over the ice to make their gait slip-free, and their little rubber boots help. I try to navigate the trails by avoiding the central portion of the trails when it's possible, where the ice is the slickest. Irving is less concerned over a fall than I am, despite my urging him to take awkward side trails as I do.

We haven't been seeing too many other hikers out lately in the woods. Unsurprising, since not everyone has icers and people would prefer striding along with confidence in their gait, not continually scouting out opportunities to avoid disaster. We did see in the distance when we were up on a raised portion of the ravine, looking down over a descent we had negotiated earlier, someone taking to sliding down the  hill on their rear end, rather than risk a fall. Clearly, someone lacking the protection of icers on their boots.

We saw no birds, much less squirrels or any other creatures; hunkering down in this weather. We see more squirrels, birds and rabbits on our front porch and side stairs than we do in the forest, these days. They come to visit for the offerings of bread and peanuts that Irving puts out regularly. We most often see the rabbits at dusk, crows, juncos, chickadees and cardinals throughout the day, and black, grey and red squirrels in the mornings and afternoon. Our puppies consider their presence an offence against their stewardship of our property.

Once Jackie and Jillie had their salads I turned my attention to dinner. And nothing is more palatable at this time of winter than steaming  hot and flavourful soups. So today it was a garden-vegetable soup to simmer on the stove until dinnertime. Chopped garlic cloves and onion in olive oil simmering with herbs, then celery, red bell pepper, snap peas and tomatoes, a bouillon cube and bay leaf does it. The fragrance of the soup pervades the house with its promise of a nutritional and good-tasting evening meal.

 

Heading out to the ravine for our daily tramps through the forest has become a lot more complicated lately. The spontaneity of collar, harness and leash and off-we-go was strictly summer mode. As summer waned and fall entered, there were subtle changes; light little sweaters for all of us, including Jackie and Jillie when the ambient temperature began to bite a bit. As the days grew progressively cooler, the quality of those sweaters changed to counter the cool nip. Now that it's quite cold, early-winter gear has become necessary. 

 

And although it took an unusual length of time this year for snow to arrive, it finally did, yesterday, a cheering sight, illuminating the seasonal gloom of the forest, covering leaf-bare branches with glittering new snow, that fairy-tale aspect that forests take on in winter. With temperatures of -2C, and snow on the ground, Jackie and Jillie had their little rubber boots added to the snow-proof winter jackets. They didn't mind, they gamboled like little lambs off-trail in the forest interior.

 

Today, it's a lot milder, even though snow fell again, most of the day. The mild temperature (2C), changed the character of the snow from light and fluffy to damp and heavy. Yesterday when we ventured out we hadn't come across too many people, but they, like us, took special care on the hillsides of the ravine, finding it fairly slippery and unwilling to sprawl on the forest floor. It does take away some of the enjoyment of plodding through snow when you're not footsure.

Because it was milder today Jackie and Jillie had no need of their boots, but we pulled cleats securely over the soles of our boots to regain that footsure balance. We no longer needed to walk with such care, but the snow, because it was damp, clumped thickly underfoot so that at times it took a real physical effort to pull our boots clear of the snowpack. 

Even without boots today, Jackie and Jillie were delighted with the snow, leaping happily about everywhere. They discover unending opportunities to sniff strange (or familiar) new odours that intrigue them no end; at times it seems as though they share their thoughts, one possibly asking the other what they made of any particular 'fragrance'.

 

Today we only came across two other people on the trails with their pet companions. One of whom we were familiar with, the other not. Yesterday we'd come across a woman from the wider community who was uncertain where she was, which trail network she should be on, to return her to be able to access her street, so we did a little trail orienteering for her. Her rambunctious little scamp of a dog was having the time of its life, running challenging rings around our two.

Finally, on the last third of our circuit, snow started up again, falling in little clusters, the wind picking them up and sending them in an almost horizontal direction. Last night, Irving had gone out at midnight to shovel the accumulation in the backyard, clearing off the deck and the stairs and clearing away some of the sidewalk trails we have installed in the backyard, so Jackie and Jillie would have less to contend with in the morning.

 

As a result of the snow continuing all night, however, since I was downstairs before Irving, putting the finishing touches on breakfast, I took a break before he came downstairs and repeated his effort of the night before. And then invited Jackie and Jillie to join me out in the backyard, once they had finished their breakfast.

When they were months-old puppies they used to go a little berserk with joy in the winter, chasing one another endlessly around the backyard, standing on their hind legs and boxing, teasing one another from one end of the backyard to the other. On occasion they do that also in the house, in an excess of happiness or when they're anticipating an imminent mealtime. They've more latterly added chasing the rabbits that come about in the backyard, and intently sniffing the ground where presumably they've last been. We suspect they have little nests under the garden sheds.