It has been surprisingly cold lately, and windy. We've had little rain and plenty of sun but the cold and the wind haven't made for a pleasant April. Somehow, we always expect some magical and instant transformation to take place when March departs and April marches in to replace the winter uncertainties of March weather. And it's true we do have the occasional day that convinces us we will no longer need jackets and mittens to keep warm while outdoors.

We keep thinking that this April has been unusual in its relentless cold and windy conditions. In the ravine most of the snow and ice has receded, but there are remaining patches of ice and snow, and in one particular part of the trail the ice is so thick it seems it will never melt, although memory does serve correctly to remind us that this is a yearly ritual; our need to bypass that part of the trail until the ice finally does relent.

I've got a newly-acquired rose bush that I want to plant, and although I'm reasonably certain it will be fine planted right now, I've hesitated to take the gamble. Last night the temperature plunged to minus-three degrees, and by morning it notched up to the freezing mark. This is a floribunda, not a particularly cold-resistant rose, so I guess I'd better wait awhile yet.

What I did do right after our ravine walk was go about the garden to sprinkle crushed egg shells around the perimeter of as many of our hostas as I had shells for. I'd been collecting them for the past two months, and many of the hostas are beginning to show signs of new life. Little did I imagine that Jackie and Jillie would find those egg shells inviting. But they have. They will give anything a try, and without doubt the eggshells, though long dry, still retain the odour of eggs, and they're familiar with eggs, being given them as a treat often at breakfast time.

Last night when I wrote a few lines in my daily diary about the day just past, I riffled back through the pages to find last year's entry at this same time of year. Unsurprisingly, because I've done this before during different times of the year, I find that some lugubrious passages about recalcitrant spring were recorded. In fact, same dates, earlier year, but the notations are similar; cold, wind, rain and anxiety over whether spring will ever surprise us with continuous days of balmy, sunny weather.

I can recall earlier springs, when I've been lulled by a string of lovely days, readily convinced that summer is just around the corner, when I've taken possession of ready-to-plant annuals, feeling it's time to inject some form and colour in the garden, only to have to rush out night after night to try to cover them to shelter the tender annuals from a succession of frost-heavy nights. At least we no longer submit to that kind of foolishness, and content ourselves to wait until around the end of May before we commit to risking losing those beautiful flowers to an early expiration.

We've got a few patches of anemones up, and tulip foliage, but no flowers yet; the same with alliums. Patience certainly is a virtue, but it seems I'm short in its possession. I did find that the snakeshead fritillary is struggling to survive, having been crowded by the passionate presence of the red-leafed heuchera that proliferates so robustly in the rock garden.