I used to walk often from Fuyo Compound over to the Palm Arcade, it was one of my favourite shopping places. In late 1986 or early 1987 I recall seeing a little outfit that really appealed to me for its practical value, a light-weight cotton hooded jacket and matching pants. It wasn't actually right in the arcade, but outside, where occasional vendors set up shop. I bought the outfit and still have it, and at this time of year it comes in very handy. I wear it in the ravine on summer days to help fend off the swarms of mosquitoes that make directly for us, and it helps.

It's useful also because on a day like yesterday, hot and humid with thunderclouds moving swiftly overhead, I was able to cram light raincoats for Jack and Jill into one of the pockets, and my camera in the other. My husband prefers to brave out the mosquitoes, they do go for him but not quite as much as using me as a moving target.

But he also brought along guards against the rain that we were sure was imminent, viewing the darkly bruised sky. Into one of his back jeans pockets two very small umbrellas fit quite nicely.

As luck had it, the minute we turned into our driveway after our long ravine ramble, when we heard thunder rumbling above and off to the side from time to time, the rain began, and we had escaped an inundation.

While we were in the ravine though, we could see manifestations of flora encouraged by all the rain we've been treated to over the last little while. Including yesterday, since once the rain started it kept coming through the area in waves, one after another, drenching rain events that can only be good for all growing things.

We saw in the ravine a plenitude of fancifully beautiful fungi. We saw that the raspberry canes which are ubiquitous, are now in full flower. And we saw the first of the buttercups of the season. We also saw that the milkweed which we noticed last year in that landscape for the first time, has returned and begun to colonize a part of the area we regularly pass by, and no doubt the butterflies will love that. We have seen a few yellow swallowtails here and there, but it's the Monarchs that really require milkweed to flourish.

Cowvetch

We also saw another new floral offering in our area, which we began to see last year, and which have returned in greater numbers; flowering ajuga. Cowvetch has been stretching itself on the forest floor growing up anything that will support its twining habit, and is now beginning to flower.

bunchberry, ground dogwood

And we saw the first of the bunchberries in flower, so things are really moving along swiftly in nature's many preserves. False Solomon's Seal is now fully flowering; everywhere we look there is something new to note and admire.

Even Jack and Jill are fascinated by the odours and appeal of new green things breaking constantly through the surface of the soil.

We've seen a succession of arborists come and go next door having been called in for consultations and information respecting the cost of removal of mature trees from the front and back of our near neighbours' property.

When these houses that are now 25 years old were built, the municipality had an agreement with the builder that on each property an approved tree species would be planted to ensure some kind of uniformity with respect to quality of life, with the atmosphere-scrubbing capabilities of mature trees giving us cleaner air to breathe, shade in the summer, winter protection against wind hitting the houses, and snow buildup. And of course there is the aesthetic value of seeing mature trees on lawns in front of houses.

People had a choice of approved trees, and the builder had them planted when the construction was completed. Our house was built as an experimental model three years later, the lot left vacant for that purpose. So when we moved in others had been in residence on the street for three years before us. When we bought the house it wasn't yet fully completed, and we had a choice of various interior finishes. But not the tree that was planted; it was a pine. Since we love trees and evergreens express the natural bounty of Canada's forests, we were pleased.

Over the years it has grown mightily, and we've discovered just how messy a pine can be, incessantly throwing down needles, and in drought years sending its roots closer to the surface to look for water, both conditions inimical to good grass growth. We still appreciate that tree, nonetheless, and it has been incorporated into our garden plan very nicely.

Our neighbours had less luck with theirs, having lost a major limb during the great ice storm, and the tree seemed never to have fully recovered; it appears it is hollow, and there are great sections of it verging on complete extinction. As far as 'natural selection' is concerned, it wasn't favoured. That tree was evaluated as dispensable by need. And another tree planted too close beside it is a soft maple which, the arborists informed our neighbours, has already sent its roots over to the foundation of their house.

In their backyard, a large spruce that overhangs our backyard, planted much to close to the property line and which plagued us this spring with the detritus it rained down which Jack and Jill took to eating and tracking back with them into the house, is also scheduled for removal. Beside it, also too close, is a crabapple, a glory of a tree in spring, but a headache for clean-up chores the rest of the summer, according to our neighbour, and it will also be taken down.

It's always a shame to see trees removed, but it's also surprising the number of now-mature trees that people on this street have contracted to have removed for one reason or another. A costly deliberation, but one that presumably frees up space for gardens and lush lawns, although both are elusive on this street.

Across from us three houses in succession have large, mature ash trees dating to their original placement, and all of them have succumbed to the ash-borer devastation, as well as another directly across the street from those. Even though one of the residents shelled out big bucks to have his treated last year in the hope it could be saved.

Henry is a large-framed, open-faced former military officer with the Canadian Forces, a genial man by nature, and when his family lost their former companion, a Golden Retriever, he gave no thought to bringing another dog into the house. His wife thought otherwise and urged him to think about this time opting for a small dog, one whose size he could manage. And whose needs would keep Henry on the move.

And there was a year-old Chihuahua being advertised for adoption by the Gatineau Humane Society; a connection made in heaven for both Henry and for Taz. Taz has never forgotten his anger, hatred and fear of those who maltreated him and then summarily disposed of him. He is suspicious of everyone, his body becoming a solid muscle of angry resistance whenever he encounters anyone on his regular trail walk in the ravine with Henry.

He has known us for years, but his anger is unrelenting. It dissolves entirely when he looks up adoringly at Henry. Taz is as frantically energetic as Henry is a compressed ball of incessant pain, necessitating that he keep his movements to a minimum. He walks with the aid of a walking stick, but he is as robust as that little Tazmanian devil dancing at his side. He's there to protect Henry. Just in case anyone gets too close to his beloved. And when that happens all hell breaks loose.

Henry is long retired. When he was a teen he had a bout with Shingles, and it wasn't pleasant. He was diagnosed with psoriasis, so that hasn't been pleasant. For years he was bedevilled with a growing persistent incidence of pain so intense he could barely function physically. Test after test eluded diagnosis. Finally his condition was correctly diagnosed as a rare type of arthritis connected to his psoriasis. He now takes medication that makes his pain tolerable, enabling him to get out and about, so he no longer involuntarily muses whether living is worth his while.

That medication comes at a steep cost, and it's only one among many drugs that have been prescribed for him, to allow for some quality of life. It alone, administered by injection twice monthly costs close to two thousand dollars. It's why his wife is still working. Her job isn't a great one, her payday nothing to celebrate, not much of a retirement plan, but the drug benefit plan is great.

When he's older and reaches 65, he'll be able to take advantage of the provincial drug benefit formulary. By then Taz will also be older, but it's unlikely that he'll be more forgiving of anyone who approaches too close to his best friend.

Drenched foamflower colony; centre Heuchera, foreground New Guinea impatiens

Just as we were on the cusp of taking Jack and Jill out this dark and overcast morning for their first break after awakening, we heard the unmistakable patter of heavy rain breaking on the atmosphere. It was a sudden event; looking out the window a few minutes earlier there was no rain. That poses quite a conundrum. Puppies have an urgent need to relieve themselves as soon after waking from a long night's sleep as can be imagined. With a light rain event we just put rainjackets on them, and even though they detest the inconvenience of the rain, plus the rainjackets, it's a feasible effort.

Jillie hates walking on wet grass. How's that for a fastidious little prima donna? Jackie doesn't much care, like a typical male, but he does prefer not to get drenched, while at the same time not enjoying the discomfort of a plastic rainjacket over his meagre little form. But as luck had it, the rain was over in five minutes and out we went. The skies still heavy with rainclouds, and more quite dark ones beginning to float over the house, but a truce, for a moment.

As soon as we brought them back into the house the heavens opened again. This time more furiously, and for a much greater length of time. Time enough to prepare breakfast and have it in leisure. And once the rain stopped again out we went once again for a leisurely, if sodden walk about, peering at what had transpired in the gardens since the day before.

Columbine

I do so much appreciate the effect of a drenching rain on a garden's denizens. Foliage is decorated with bright silver pearls of raindrops, and their colour is intensified, far brighter, more translucent when wet. Petals of flowers with rain still damp on them accentuate form and beauty. The columbine are now beginning to bloom, along with the Siberian irises. I hardly notice the hanging petals of the bleeding hearts because there are so many of them, and they seem, sad to say, pedestrian; which can also be said for the prevalence of forget-me-nots scattered in the garden.

Ladies Mantle

The hostas show wonderfully well when they're patterned with raindrops, and so too do the Ladies Mantle, with its tendency to take over the garden, self-seeding wherever there's an inch of bare ground, entitling them to take a foot, busily crowding out everything else around, trying to reach maturity.

No morning is satisfactorily completed without a post-breakfast roundabout in the garden. Jack and Jill are taken out to the backyard multiple times every morning. They cannot yet conceive of asking to be let out, of going out on their own recognizance as it were, to conduct any personal business without our being present and themselves initiating the procedure.

They do linger at the sliding glass doors in anticipation of being taken out, not of being allowed out on their own. They wait at the door for us to exit alongside them. When we don't, their interest in exiting the house is extinguished. When we do step out with them they're joyously exuberant, anxious to examine everything in view and whatever isn't in view.

They've both taken lately to relishing the new growth on one particular Alberta spruce tree that grows at the bottom of the rock garden; its tender new green appears to them, evidently an especially delicious morsel. It's beyond difficult to convince them otherwise. Their appetite for the strangest things continues to baffle us.

So we did the rounds this morning, as we do every morning, other than days when rain is too intense to hazard such an inspection without becoming completely drenched. Besides which, neither of them is fond of the rain, and Jillie will do just about anything to avoid having to go out during a downpour; not that we can blame her.

They've now grown accustomed to anticipating a prowl around the front of the house, as well. Under fairly strict supervision, given their propensity to dash beyond the lawn if they see anyone walking down the street. They appear to believe that it is their given duty to apprise complete strangers of their presence, to be friendly and neighbourly. And it's this penchant we're on guard for, even though ours is a very quiet street, with very little traffic.

When they're in the throes of such excitement they're not all that likely to heed our instructions to 'stop!' and 'wait!', so while pleading with them to return to our property it's necessary for us to run after them, scoop them up and bring them back. Needless to say they have no trouble outrunning us.

And if we scold them they reciprocate by enthusiastically licking our faces.

Jack and Jill appear to have adjusted their inner rhythm to travelling in the car. They are now permitted to sit with us at the front of the truck, since there's more room there and it's an automatic. That accommodation to their tender feelings of not being isolated from us has led to better behaviour on their part. So one might say with a fair degree of accuracy that they're training us quite well.

Having them in the front with us in the car isn't quite as comfortable, since it's a gear-shift and there's less room, but again, they behave quite well, so today we allowed that for the first time. Trouble is the 'first time' always sets a precedent that they don't forget, after which they feel it's an entitlement. That being said, it's a relief now that they no longer respond to riding in either of the vehicles by being nauseous. So it's a true bonus that neither one of them now brings up, distressingly, in the car or the truck.

We had a pleasant drive downtown, after our morning ravine walk. After yesterday's relentless all-day rain the sun has dried everything off. And though it still felt humid, there's a nice breeze. It is hot, though, no doubt about it, approaching 29 degrees, so they prefer not to be outside where the sun beats down in the backyard. The coolness of the house interior is far more appealing to the spoiled little black urchins.

They're not totally unfamiliar now with being carried along in over-the-shoulder bags when we go into shops as we did on our Byward Market expedition today. They're not all that well behaved, but they'll learn to accept being confined in a bag for the length of time it takes us to peruse a store interior for whatever it is we are in the market for.

Today it was art and antique magazines, as usual. We bypassed the cheese shops because we've so much cheese in the refrigerator right now, but did drop by the Rideau Bakery for some of their fabulous bread products. And at the market we stopped at one of the outdoor stalls where I acquired small pots of red basil, tarragon, and chives. I forgot to get parsley, but will have to attend to that on another occasion.

Ottawa most certainly is a green city, with parks running throughout the urban area, adding to the quality of life in so many ways, from freshening the air we breathe, to providing for recreational activities -- we always see lots of people bicycling or boarding or skating -- not the least of which is walking along within a natural preserve.

Jack and Jill don't much like the rain. If we take them out when it's raining they invariably rush under the deck, to stay dry. Can't say we much blame them. But when we first took them out this morning it hadn't yet begun seriously raining, just a very delicate drizzle. We've got raincoats we take with on our ravine walks for use when and if we encounter a downpour while we're out; they hardly need them on these occasions.

So instead of rushing to the dry area under the deck they rushed instead, in a concert of two enthusiasts to the rock garden that reaches from the front of the house to the back, on the narrow side of our lot. There to happily browse, though they had eaten their breakfast just a short while earlier.

Chewing on twigs, digging up the roots of violets, making off with the little Hens-n'-chicks, provides them with entertainment and a challenge to see what they can get away with before I rebuke their antics.

Colour seems to intensify in these conditions. Green especially seems to glow. The bearded irises raised their floral stalks so quickly, it never fails to amaze; they're on the cusp of blooming. Our giant hosta has already begun to send up its flower stalks. Climbing roses have begun to set their buds and so has the climbing hydrangea and the peonies, promising a spectacular showing in a brief period of time. Siberian irises are in bloom and so are the bleeding hearts. Columbine and Canterbury bells are setting their floral buds.

The miniature roses in their little pots are in bloom, a nice punch of aromatic colour and form. Some of the nasturtium and morning glory seeds I planted have germinated nicely. A goldfinch was rummaging about behind the still-blooming magnolia.

Jack and Jill have had their hunting instinct awakened, absorbed from time to time in tracking and snapping at bees, mosquitoes and beetles that annoy them. Last night they had captured a June bug that required rescuing from their clutches. They seem at these times, like cats, playing with a captive audience.

They're so alike. They're both different. From one another, that is. Even as they are distinctly similar. It's really hard to imagine which of the two is the more inquisitive and adventurous of the two. Which is more mischief-inclined. We've decided they're both equally mischievous. And they act in concert with one another, in their mischief. It's as though they're carrying on a covert scheme that only a duo could carry off to great advantage to both.

When they're running off with something, like a violet that they've dug up, roots and all, from the garden, they scamper in tandem, the guilt and the exultation is equalized between them.  They do tend, whenever they're up to an escapade that they've been scolded for countless times before, to act as one. Although each doesn't need the presence and cooperation of the other to act singly; it just seems as though it's more fun for them to act as a team.

In the backyard they can romp and play wherever they like. At the front of the house, where there is no fence to enclose them and keep them safe, they're constantly closely monitored. They're getting the idea where they're permitted to poke about, and there's ample scope for them to do that without getting too close to the street. In the backyard, though, there are countless places to race about, on a wide loop, or a shorter one, or darting around or through obstacle courses, or cantering at great speed and exercising feints so one cannot catch the other. Sometimes Jack is in the lead, outrunning Jillie, and sometimes it's the other way around. We keep out of the way.

Often they'll stop long enough to challenge one another to a wrestling match, and each gets up on hind legs using their forelegs to grapple with one another, a very convincing show of flying fur, threatening growls and muzzles busily snapping in a great show of sharp white teeth, biting here and there for maximum advantage.

From the very beginning when we first brought them home to share our house, Jack indulged in leaping effortlessly onto the sofas. He still does that without even requiring a run to hoist him into the air; he simply lifts himself into an elegant arc and he's where he wants to be. Jillie, though, cannot imagine herself being able to make such leaps and she doesn't attempt to. This puts her at a distinct disadvantage when they play, because Jackie can easily get away from her, and she's unable to do anything about it.

He will leap up onto the sofa to tease and taunt her, or to escape the fact that she's gaining the fight-advantage. From his perch above her, he challenges her to try to reach him, and she cannot. She tries tiny leaps, stopping at the edge of the sofa, not believing she has it in her to make the required height to leap on the sofa, and emitting sharp little yelps of frustration, to Jackie's satisfaction.

When they're out racing about in the backyard, free to do as they will, each on occasion sails off on a twisting leap to evade the other, jumping well clear of one another's height, Jillie as skilled at this as Jackie, but she simply doesn't believe in her ability to perform such acrobatics when she's confronted by the need to do so; when it's simply a reaction, it works for her.

My husband has spent hours the last few days doing what he most enjoys; working with wood. He bought some undressed pine planks, thicker than dressed, of course, but perfect for what he had in mind. The doors to the larger of the backyard sheds, not my smaller garden shed but his storage shed, didn't fit to his satisfaction; it's a shed he constructed about six years ago and though he prepared the ground under the shed very well by excavating levelling and filling, it settled over the years and the result was that the doors tended to stick and became uneven. So he meant to replace them.

Despite which, on Thursday he insisted in preparing our dinner barbecue-style; baked potatoes and a paprika/olive-oil/cumin-dressed side of rainbow trout. I had only to prepare the salad and fresh fruit for dessert. And on Friday, again, he proposed used the barbecue, and because he's so curious about the limits to its use, which seem non-existent actually, he once again did chicken breasts dressed with lemon juice, oregano, basil, and garlic, and like the fish, they turned out wonderfully moist and delicious.

He had also decided he'd like to try baking bannock bread on the barbecue, so I prepared the dough, and he baked the biscuits in a cast-iron frypan, sitting on a brick on top of the briquettes, lid closed. It took them a half-hour to bake and brown nicely; he tended to his sawing of wood and dinner, alternately. I'd baked a blueberry pie from frozen berries in the morning and put a chicken soup on to cook as well. Then all I had to do was put together a salad of (microwaved) cauliflower, cocktail tomatoes, snap peas and sliced cucumber.

Summer does spell easy living. Even though the temperature last night dropped to the freezing mark. Leaving me grateful that the garden weathered that drop; quite the contrast to last week's 30-degree daytime temperatures.

There's nothing quite like a spring forest to enchant and surprise anyone strolling along trails to enjoy the freshness of incoming foliage on surrounding trees as the forest canopy fills out with amazing speed to its full flush of green.

As for the surprises, they exist in minute discoveries. Glancing right and left beside the trail pathways reveals the presence of nature's little gifts in living colour. The early spring volunteers enjoying the sun's warmth before the canopy is fully flushed and their space on the forest floor becomes too shaded for bloom, begin to erupt in a joyful celebration of eternal renewal from winter sleep to spring awakening.

The succession above the forest floor, in blossoming trees like Hawthorne, Cherry, Apple, Serviceberry and Honeysuckle have their counterpart below as multifarious ferns begin unfurling their fronds, and wildflowers join the free-for-all of release from slumbering soil.

False Solomon's Seal

Beginning to bloom we see False Solomon's Seal, in the Bilberry Creek ravine, and red baneberry along with foamflower, Jack-in-the-Pulpits, trilliums, dandelions, trout lilies, strawberry, coltsfoot, ground ivy and dogtooth violets. Our very most unfavourite plant is also now in evidence, possibly the most primitive of all forest plants, used in medieval times as an abrasive for vellum; horsetails.

The most exciting to us are the Jacks; we transplanted several in our garden years ago and they've grown to tremendous proportions, far larger than the originals we took from the ravine. They've thrived incredibly well, as have the foamflower, and somewhat less so, the purple trilliums. They're a prized addition to our garden, pleasing us just as much as sighting them in the ravine.

Jack-in-the-Pulpit

But the ravine remains our special getaway into nature, a gateway to both physical exercise and the opportunity to bask in the natural world surrounding us.

foreground: Trout Lily

Red baneberry

The bridge construction workers are just about finished, finally. We've had some very nice conversations with them over the months they've been working in Bilberry Creek ravine, from the most miserable late-fall and early-winter days to these current wonderful spring days, but this marks the very last day they will be working in there. They're winding up operations completely.

They've finally finished the bridges and the approaches to them; they've done whatever they've committed to in ameliorating the mess made of the trails, and they're set to depart. Latterly, when we've come across the small crews on break, they've had the opportunity to play with Jack and Jill, eager to see anyone new, and willing enough to cavort around them.

They're moving off to another job awaiting their efforts, and although we liked the men who worked here, we won't be sad to see them go, because of their connection to our inability to use the trails with the complete freedom we're accustomed to, because of the large machinery with their deep rutted tracks running amok through the ravine, and the many trees that had to be removed to accommodate their passage, and other trees wounded when the machines have 'run into' them.

It's lovely to have the trails all straightened out now and some of them packed well with gravel over the large rocks that had made our passage more ankle-tripping than it need have been. Since it turned out to be such a lovely day, with full sun and a warming over yesterday's chilly atmosphere with its strong winds, we saw plenty of others out with their dogs, enjoying the landscape in the woods.

There was the  young fireman with his two dogs, walking several neighbours' dogs as well, including a shy female pit bull, muscle-packed and young enough so she didn't quite listen to his commands when she rollicked through the trees and into the creek with another young dog, part pit-bull, shepherd and who knows what else; but a serendipitous melding that produced a beautiful animal; both female and both fully invested in play.

Our two were of mixed minds; happy to see the other dogs that towered over them, willing enough to sniff about and run at one another, but a little too delicate to be fully involved in the kind of rough-and-tumble that those two were engaged in. They had to settle for watching the antics, like the other little dogs, the fireman's own, unable to match the vigour and muscular strength of the larger ones.

As it happens, it was he who had informed us about the veterinarian hospital service that we used when we crossed the border into New York State a month ago to have Jack and Jill neutered and spayed, and we thanked him for his advice. He has a booming voice that can be heard everywhere in the ravine in his normal speech pattern, a young, robust and lovely young man whose mother we had known many years earlier.