Can't claim we didn't see it coming, that we had no warning. Our washer-dryer set has served us well for the past dozen years. The set is produced by Fisher and Paykel and although the washer could be very annoying with its tweets informing us that the load needed to be redistributed all too often, it was efficient enough, as was the dryer. And then they weren't. The washer failed to spin-dry as it should, leaving the washed items far too wet when the cycle was completed. And the drier struggled to do its job, but when its cycle was completed invariably presented me with too-damp items, even if the dryer was set to 'extra dry'.

And because of their age and our experience with them we thought it would be wiser, in the long run to simply bypass a service call and go directly to replacing them. We did this reluctantly, since discarding still-useful products for new replacements doesn't appeal to us enormously. Prudence, however, mitigated against laying out big dollars to correct the faults of aging appliances when they've likely reached the end of their life-cycle.

So we decided on Sunday, the day the dryer's action on handling a load of laundry was so obviously wonky that our two little dogs began barking in alarm at the clanking, leading us to recognize finally that their useful days were numbered, and it was time to look for replacements. We went off to Home Depot, the big box store that sells large home appliances, which is located a two-minute drive from our home. There a friendly and knowledgeable appliance salesman gave us information on the newer appliances. We had earlier consulted our annual Consumers Guide booklet on home appliances and thought we'd look for Samsung or LG models, reliable and hard-working.

There were plenty of models on display, but the salesman warned us that their capacity and size was much larger than we'd been accustomed to, given the age of our current, decrepit washer/dryer. So we returned home after taking the measurements of some models that interested us, to measure the space we would need and which would be available in our laundry room. On Monday we decided we'd have a look at Lowe's, also located mere minutes' drive from our street. And there we saw an even greater number of makes and models.

And we might have bought a set there but for the fact that the salesman, a young man, went out of his way to affirm for us our earlier impressions that the sales staff at this purveyor of household goods is invariably hostile to good service and positive customer relations. Little can be more off-putting than having to interact with an intermediary in searching out information and making decisions that will affect your life, than to come across young people who haven't the sense and good grace to treat potential clients with common courtesy. We left Lowe's feeling pretty certain there would never be an occasion when we might ever return there.

From Lowe's we headed directly to an outlet with many locations in the city and in Quebec, specializing in home appliances. Going there represented a much longer drive.  It's called Corbeil Appliances. They have a very good reputation as a reliable dealer, and we were about to discover it's a reputation they have earned. Their displays of all manner of home appliances are generous, their store staff well attuned to the needs of customers. The young man who looked after us there, was the very epitome of sensitive customer relations; friendly and informative. We chose a Whirlpool set. It took us little time, with his help, to decide the product we would commit to. And the deed was done.

Unlike Home Depot and Lowe's, Corbeil picks up  and looks after the old appliances you're replacing at no extra charge. And nor do they charge for delivery, which the others do. Their pricing is at least as competitive as the others and the selection they carry indeed superior. We had purchased the laundry pair on Monday morning, and they were delivered to us on Tuesday morning. What more could anyone want in such a transaction?

Nature, unpredictable, a prankster, sometimes benevolent, sometimes downright cranky. It was the cranky element that we witnessed yesterday with copious rain flooding the atmosphere, and making it hugely unlikely that we would want to venture out into the ravine for our usual daily perambulation.

Not that Jackie and Jillie seemed to mind, but as it happens, we mind when we're unable to get them out for a good, vigorous walk in the woods. They make up for it by tearing through the house after one another, tussling, wrestling, grunting and having a general good time, so that's some consolation.

What greeted us this morning was about as distant from yesterday's downpour-that-wouldn't-stop, as it would be possible to imagine. Bright sunlight streaming through the house, and a heart-throbbing kaleidoscope of colour out in the garden.

That just happens to be the combination that gardens love; ample rain and plenty of sun to soak up the rain. The garden has responded this year by leaps and bounds of growth and maturity, far more so than any other year of an ordinary spring with just-enough rain and fulsome sun.

The ravine, however, once we made our way there, was utterly drenched. The soil, already having received far more rain than is usual, simply cannot handle any more, and so it sits about on the forest floor, in great shallow puddles of the type that mosquitoes just adore. Clearly the ferocity of yesterday's rain washed all the mosquito larvae out of the puddles that hadn't yet dried up, so our walk today was relatively mosquito-free.

However, conditions are just right with the presence now of even larger pools of water, stagnant and welcoming to more mosquito larvae and we'll know all about it in the coming days. Just as well that the magnetic attraction of the forest and the happy satisfaction we derive from rambling through it presents its own irresistible draw, enabling us to consider those stinging pests merely slight inconveniences.

By the look of things so far, it doesn't appear as though we'll have much of a chance to get out into the woods, perhaps for the balance of the week. Certainly today doesn't look promising, yet. A little bit of drizzle is no hindrance to a walk in the woods, but what's coming down is nothing like light; it is, instead, a constant deluge.

Of course to us it represents a bit of a nuisance. But to our neighbours living on the opposite side of the street, with houses backing onto the ravine it's another matter entirely. I cannot even begin to imagine the concerns they're living with. It's the kind of thing that makes for sleepless nights and frantically nervous days, wondering whether the landslide that began over a month ago resulting in the hillside collapsing behind them reaching toward their backyard lots, and occasioning the directive that three of the houses be immediately vacated, will target them next.

Some of our neighbours living adjacent those that had to temporarily vacate their homes have been advised that if conditions once again deteriorate as they did to the extent that the hillside slumped so dangerously a month earlier, they might indeed be the next to go. We could even, when we were out yesterday going through the ravine and seeing no one else out, hear workers over at our section of the ravine, cutting down trees, and loading the logs onto waiting trucks.

The engineering company hired to do the work of shoring up the hillside brought in a huge drilling machine, truck-mounted, to get a core sample for the purpose of determining where bedrock begins. The idea is that a hugely deep corrugated-steel 'wall' will be dug into the side of the hill where the slumps have stopped, leaving huge craters behind, in an effort to stabilize what is left of the hill. Meanwhile, down below it, a large road is being constructed where once that portion of the ravine was heavily wooded.

Over the decades that we've been hiking through these woods that have given such value to our lives, there have been many natural changes, but none as profound as what has occurred this wet, wet spring. And now, on top of today's constant heavy rainfall, the weather forecast for the week is for rain, every single day. How the already saturated Leda clay and sand will react to this fresh onslaught is anyone's guess.

There's a compulsion we feel in the spring, to get out after breakfast and take a leisurely stroll around the exterior of the house, to see what the gardens have been up to overnight and into the morning hours. It may sound silly, but it isn't to us, since invariably we'll see things we hadn't before, where plants have suddenly erupted out of the soil, and where others reach toward their seasonal maturity.

And as we peruse this intimate outdoor landscape of ours, there is always something that calls out for brief attention; to snip something back, tie up something else, tidy a tiny area, pull a presumptuous weed, that kind of thing.

It's an enjoyable early-morning past-time of ours, and one our twin puppies enjoy as well. Once we let ourselves out into the backyard, they nose about alongside us, and when it's obvious we're headed toward the front of the house, opening the gate leading from the backyard to the path alongside the side of the house that takes us toward the front gardens, they're beside themselves with eager anticipation.

First the backyard, then the pathway, then the turn around the corner of the house to discover the gardens unfolding before us; those closest to the house and those further along, reaching toward the street.

All of the plants, immature as they yet are, call out for attention. And we're more than pleased to give them attention, amazed at the progress they make in such a limited amount of time. Thanks, of course, to the warming atmosphere, the plenitude of rain, and the life-affirming sun.

We most often stay out there in the gardens longer than we'd intended. Frequently, people walk by, stop to talk and a brief chat becomes a much longer interchange. It's a pleasant start to the day by any measure.

Because it's a lovely sunny day and there was nothing urgent calling for our time and attention we decided to extend our daily ravine circuit today to access a different part of the forested ravine that we once visited often but in the last few years only infrequently.

And also to provide a little more stimulation for Jackie and Jillie, lest they become bored with seeing the same landscape on a daily basis. Our little Riley used to become bored, but these two little fellows don't seem to get that way, although Jackie has a tendency to want to investigate everywhere, going off on a tangent here and there.

Hawthorn in bloom

There was enough of a breeze to help keep the mosquitoes down. Yesterday's all-day rain no doubt gave the mosquito larvae extra encouragement to thrive, (there are still small boggy puddles on the forest floor that haven't yet dried up) and we'll have those results in a matter of days, but for now there weren't as many about as has become the usual. What has taken their place, however, is the sometimes-overwhelming rain of poplar seeds, whisked hither and yon on the breeze, their white fluff falling everywhere. Even, as one of our trail-walking friends commented, 'up his nostrils'.

Dogwood

In today's perambulations we saw at least several firsts for the season; the surprising presence of the first Buttercups, much too early yet for them to appear normally, but there they were. Not on 'our section' of the ravine, but over on the other side where there's more field than forest. Another first was the honeysuckles starting to bloom, white or pink tiny flowers; delicately lovely briefly and then they're gone.

Buttercups

The dogwood too are coming into bloom now, alongside the Hawthorns and the Apple trees, so there's a sweet fragrance wafting on the breeze as well, from all these flowerings, mostly resulting from the Apple trees.

Honeysuckle (pink)

The Lilies-of-the-Valley are also flowering in earnest now, those fragile, tiny bells finally appearing here and there scattered among the trees. So our trail walk was somewhat lengthier than usual, with additional focal points that drew our attention, making for another interesting commune with nature in her woodland landscape today!

Lilies-of-the-Valley

Rain, rain and more rain. No sooner had we completed our daily circuit in the already-drenched woods yesterday, than the rain began to come down. And come down, and come down. It installed itself stubbornly for the balance of the day and on into the evening.

Just as well we don't really mind it. We manage, by and large, to get out with our little dogs irrespective, whenever there's a window of opportunity. And yesterday's window was mid-morning when the rain had stopped and there was a brief period when the sky looked threatening but no rain presented itself for that period of time, and off we went.

The condition of the gardens, and the many of our garden pots and  urns gives us assurance that they too don't mind the rain. True, they flourish when the sun also makes its appearance in between those wet sessions, but even without the steady presence of sun -- at least as much as we've long been accustomed to -- everything in the garden appears to be thriving.

It's colourful and full of texture, even though the season is young. And young too are the annual plants that have gone into the urns and pots, so they look fairly sparse, not anywhere close to, merely approximating the thick richness of form and texture and bursts of colour variations that will eventually represent those minuscule gardens-in-a-pot that we so love.

Complaints? None, really. Instead, we heartily appreciate the conditions that have led to spring warmth, even with the rain and the wind sometimes making the atmosphere seem pretty intemperate.  It's not winter, after all!

The woodlands now have achieved full foliage, the canopy dense and the overall green of the deciduous trees, bright green, illuminating the forest, even on dull days like today. We ventured out for our daily ravine walk in the woods early today intending to get out before the rain hit. The difference a week makes in the spring forest is enormously impressive. The bright green overwhelming, and we're grateful for that. 

Wild Apple Tree blooms

That period in early spring when we await the transition from sere bareness both on the forest floor and the naked branches of oaks, beeches, poplars, hawthorns, apple trees, birches to finally erupt into verdant splendour seems long, but once the first of the leaves begin to emerge it really doesn't take all that long before they mature, seeds are dropped into the wind to convey them here and there, and that bare look is succeeded by the lush green aspect we so anxiously await.

Hawthorns in bloom

We admire and are thankful for the pines, spruce, hemlock, fir and cedars maintaining green throughout the winter months, when their generous needled boughs are home to snow drifts and the beauty of a winter day in the woods is amplified, but there are large areas where the conifers are less plentiful, and the absence of green life on their deciduous counterparts once the snow has gone leaves a landscape bereft.

Foamflower in bloom

Now, the apple trees are in bloom, and so are the hawthorns. The False Solomon's Seal is beginning its bloom on the forest floor, and wild strawberries are also in bloom. It's a cheerful, constantly changing landscape as new growing things emerge to make their presence known. 

/False Solomon's Seal setting their blooms

The woodland violets are in full colourful display, and so are the Jack-in-the-Pulpits whose modest presence requires recognition else they'd be bypassed by those unaware of their secret, coloured hood.

The foamflowers are in full flower, and the dogwood shrubs just beginning theirs. Truly, never a dull moment on a forest trail.

Strawberry blooms

Finally, the spring garden is beginning to take shape. It is actually beginning, once again, to look like a garden and for us, that provides a feast for our garden-hungry eyes. Yesterday was a pleasant weather-day, though the mosquitoes, as encouraged by the rain as all growing things have been, are beginning to flaunt their dreaded clout.

Yesterday it was time to turn attention to the backyard, to fill up the garden pots we've got there, after having finished planting all the annuals in the far more numerous pots and urns at the front garden. So up came the winter-stored sweet-potato vines (just the potatoes, minus the vines, of course), the over-wintered begonias, the Canna and the Calla lilies, to be planted now that the danger of frost is minimal.

Almost everything but for the potatoes and a few of the begonias have already sprouted in anticipation of their days in the sun and rain and fresh air. Although, once planted, there is nothing yet to see and admire, it shouldn't take too long before all the plants begin to take shape. Except -- I must amend that statement -- for the ipomea; they seem to take their time before they sprout, but once they do they make up for lost time in the rapid growth of the resultant vines.

The rock garden is looking fairly decent, with all of the hostas beginning to take their semi-mature shape, the Ladies Mantle appearing here and there, along with Canterbury bells, heuchera, bergenia, hens 'chicks, periwinkle, and creeping phlox.

The backyard Magnolia is still in bloom, and the peonies have set their large, luscious buds, promising their usual fabulous blooms in short order. The clematis vines are progressing nicely, and the roses too are beginning to set their blooms for a June showing. Nothing to complain about in the garden, lots to appreciate!

All day yesterday the sky was burdened with steel-grey clouds, the burden heavy enough to collapse the sky into endless rain, yet again. At this point, the soil in our gardens appears to be content with accepting the rain and absorbing it nicely. It was a busy day for us, in any event, and we didn't think we would miss our usual ravine walk.

But by dinner time there were rain lapses and at one juncture the sun actually defied the clouds enough to shove them aside for one brief glimpse of what was going on down on Earth.We decided to give Jackie and Jillie their dinner, and put our own on hold, which wasn't difficult since I had prepared a potato salad for dinner.

Wild Ginger

Then we set off for the ravine, even as the clouds began to alternate between grey and charcoal grey, auguring the certainty that more rain would follow. By now the foliage in the ravine has assumed fairly mature size, making for a canopy above which acts as a fairly good shield for us down below, from the rain. On the other hand, since it had rained all day everything, including the canopy, was well saturated and itself dripping.

Foamflower

We had geared ourselves for rain, however, and off we went. Since it was only six in the early evening it was too soon for dusk to set in, but there was a dusky atmosphere anyway, from the mist rising in the ravine because the temperature had also risen slightly from its all-day 13C-degree sticking point to gain another several degrees of warmth.

Sprays of cherries budding

As is usual during or after a rain, colour is intensified, and so it was with the tender new green everywhere one looks; it fairly vibrates with colour-intensity.

Apple tree blossoming

The rain has given all growing things a boost, since we've also had fine periods of sun. The ginger patches in the ravine have become robust, the wild cherry trees are beginning to bloom alongside the apple trees and the tiny strawberry plants are also in bloom, as, finally, are the Lilies-of-the-Valley.

Lilies-of-the-Valley

We -- gardeners -- are typically so anxious when spring arrives we cannot believe how slow the gardens are to recover. It is as though spring has somehow mislaid the formula entrusted to it by nature. And nature, looking on indulgently, knows her season must make an effort to recall where it mislaid that precious document. And having done so, must study it carefully to fully comprehend what has been laid away in memory and then forgotten.

The transition is, once it really begins, actually quite swift. It is in fact the gardener's impatience that is at fault. For spring does recall its duties and does indeed know how to proceed; the formula has been so deeply ingrained that nothing could disrupt it -- almost nothing, and then temporarily, by our experience.

And so, we see the garden proudly presenting us with new arrivals. And among those arrivals, perennials long ensconced and happily productive, there are invariably uninvited guests. Some of which are summarily disposed of, as 'weeds' and others surprising us by their serendipitous presence, for though not knowing from where they come, they are nonetheless appreciated and they take their place in the garden as long as they're not too temperamentally assertive.

And finally the garden beds and borders begin to take shape. Trees begin their foliage and even begin bursting with blooms, like the magnolias and the crab apples, and shrubs too burst into bloom, like the Japanese quince, the rhododendrons and the spireas.

And then it's time to plant annuals, once the tulips and the hyacinths and the crocuses have had their splendid time in the spring sun. Suddenly, the garden begins to resemble what the gardener recalls of summertimes-past!