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.