Our two-day heat spell has passed. Yesterday's second day of 30C-plus-degrees was exhausting. Not quite so much as the day before which had the addition of high humidity, but close. The saving grace was the wind, much more emphatic than that of the day before. And heralding a change in the atmosphere, which finally arrived around 8:30 last evening, with a satisfactorily noisy and drenching thunderstorm. Which gave us a wonderfully cool evening and a comfortable sleep.

First of the wild apple blossoms

We were hot and sweaty throughout yesterday's walk in the Bilberry Creek Ravine woods. Our two little dogs, Jackie and Jillie were notably less enthusiastic than usual; their curiosity muted, their antics less emphatic as they trod alongside us. It was useful that we had remembered to bring along a water bottle for them; their haircoats are black and the sun's rays affect them more than other dogs with lighter-colour coats.

The further we got in the ravine the hotter we got, but at the same time more enthusiastic.

And that was occasioned by the sight of the wild apple trees beginning to blossom, quite surprising us, as they always do. And then we saw the first of the dogwood shrubs going into bloom, or close to it, as well. So everything is popping up, perhaps not quite 'on schedule', but nature appears to be flexible in her scheduling. We've yet learned to do the same thing; we procrastinate instead -- is that the same thing, the human touch?

But that wasn't all that yesterday's woodland ramble revealed to us. We looked for the usual patch of foamflower and discovered it had been pretty trampled on when work crews came in to cut down the dead ash trees that had succumbed to the Emerald Ash borer. Still, we did see some of the dainty little flowerheads, and were delighted at the sight.

What else did we see? Finally, the beginning of the flowering of the Lilies-of-the-Valley. They carpet the forest floor, as do the Trout Lilies, but like the latter the former send up few flowers, most of the plants seem sterile. But there they were, a few little bursts of dangling bell-blossoms.

And then we came across a Jack-in-the-Pulpit that was considerably advanced, quite more so than the few others we've seen popping through the soil, since in this one that we hadn't before noticed, the hooded petal could be perfectly seen, even though we had to gently lift the hood with the help of a slender bit of twig to reveal its full, striped-purple glory!

And perhaps the strangest sight of all, that of a fair-sized poplar that beavers had taken down last fall. The tree remains as it was when it fell, a silent testimony to nature's blueprint where her creatures alter their landscape to make use of what they require to flourish. The long trunk is completely separated from its base; beavers are accomplished harvesters. We noticed a week ago the strange sight of this fallen trunk being covered in a light blush of green.

The tree had been felled just before winter struck, in late fall, when presumably its sap would have descended in preparation for winter. In early spring it would not have been remotely possible for the sap to rise, for the tree to replenish itself and sprout new foliage. Yet there it is, the foliage has matured now to the point where it matches the progress of other, hale poplars. The will to survive. Unfortunately it will not, for it cannot.