It isn't just Canada geese returning, along with robins and other seasonal migrants to greet oncoming spring weather. Milder temperatures and more reasonable weather scenarios bringing us as much rain as wet snow at this juncture appears to have persuaded some people to actually venture outdoors rather than continue to cower in their homes but for venturing out now and again to do their shopping.

And yesterday as we made our way up the street toward the entrance to the ravine our community accesses, we came across a few of our neighbours in conversation adjacent the street. Which of course necessitates a stop for a brief neighbourhood discussion. These are neighbours who live much closer to the ravine entrance than we do, but who have no idea whatever what the forest looks like, having never ventured into it.

Not that people don't have their own ideas of what should constitute exercise and recreational opportunities; Jean-Guy and his wife, as an example, do a lot of bicycling, inclined to take quite prolonged trips cycling where they will spend several hours doing what pleases them most aiming for distinct destinations, though it's not a daily activity.

For some reason that escapes us completely, all too many people shy away from the opportunity to immerse themselves, even briefly, within our readily accessible natural surroundings. They may, among them, agree that walking about rather than driving everywhere has its benefits, but seldom do it. And some, agreeing to take themselves out for walks feel that the traditional 'walk around the block' will do nicely for them. So be it. Personally, I find nothing attractive about walking on city hardscape in preference to the soft, natural surface that nature provides in a forest.

Granted, with the change of seasons now in progress, the trails in the ravine will become increasingly steeped in mud as the snow and packed ice steadily melt and fill the rampaging creek below which gives the area its charming name: Bilberry Creek Ravine [forest]. And of course, boots will bring a certain amount of detritus clinging along  wet and muddy soles to be brought home, necessitating additional clean-up. True, it's a nuisance, but a tolerable one, given the pleasant exchange.

Yesterday, following the rain of the day before, that began just as we approached our house after a long ravine walk, we found burgeoning patches on the forest floor clear of the prevailing snowpack and there will be more each time we venture out, though there's a long way to go before the forest floor is entirely relieved of its burden of snow and ice. I'd give it another month, at which time only discrete areas of holdover snow/ice will remain.

While it's still with us, brightening the landscape and maintaining its wintertime appearance to a degree, it's appreciated. Still, the snowpack is beginning to rot, its white purity taking on an unlovely aspect here and there and increasing litter from the trees shedding bits of bark, hemlock cones and dried fall leaves finally detaching from beech, oak, maple and ironwood branches and simply accumulating environmental detritus, will turn what had been a lofty white coverlet into an unpleasant potage of revealed dog excrement, crackling twigs, decomposing foliage and needles and whatever else is awaiting release from the snowpack.

The evolution of transition into renewal.           

                                                                                      

Although for the most part our gardens remain steeped in snow and ice, there are growing patches where the snow and ice have succumbed to the power of the sun. Now, the soil is beginning to thaw, released from the frozen grip of winter. And as it does we can see the bright green spears, tiny as they are, of emerging lilies, and the larger, more assertive red/green of tulip foliage spurting through the soil. Grape hyacinth's slender spears are beginning to look as though it won't be long before the bright purple flowers make their appearance.

In the forest, the snowpack remains deep in most places, just as it does on our front lawn, with some notable exceptions. Changes, however, can be seen from day to day, where what starts out as a tentative patch of snow-free forest floor one day, takes courage from the milder temperatures now prevailing and the warming effects of the springtime sun to grow their freedom into sizeable patches of bare ground revealing the orange needles of last fall's shedding of pine trees.

It's a bit of a shock to the eyes, actually, accustomed over the winter months to monotones of sheer white but it's one we will swiftly grow accustomed to.

There are those among our ravine-hiking acquaintances who are like us, given to taking our time along the trails through the forest. Some of them also, like us, take huge pleasure in noting the details that the forest constantly reveals. Few, however, actually notice the wildflowers that will shortly make their presence, delighting us no end.

Others simply hurry along, committed to the physical exercise involved in trail-hiking, determined to be healthy and prolong their lives with quality of health outcomes, avoiding the chronic conditions that are hastened by inactivity and lethargy.

We have a tendency to take our time, to look about us, to watch and enjoy the continual antics of our two little companion dogs. In the process we are aware of much that occurs in the natural world, from plant to bird to animal life as everything submits to the rhythm of their natural cycles, we a part of them, however much removed we make ourselves in the artificiality of our manipulation of the natural world that succours us.

My sister, four years younger than me and living in Toronto has been legally blind for most of her life. When she was younger she was able to get by a little better; as she aged her eyesight deteriorated. We are all of us in this family, passionate readers. Thank heavens for talking books, for the relief they offer to people like my sister. I would be devastated without the sighted acuity enabling me to read the printed word.

More latterly the freedom of her physical movement has been complicated by an impaired sciatic nerve. She loves dancing; ballroom, line, country dancing. She and her husband, a Holocaust survivor, have regularly over the years, treasured the opportunity to join recreational groups that focus on ballroom dancing. While her husband has no interest in other forms of dancing, my sister is devoted to them all and goes out of her way, despite pain, to continue attending both dance classes and informal dance opportunities.

As for my husband and me, we enjoy dancing, but prefer confining ourselves to our own home to indulge in dancing together occasionally to the melodies of the popular music that we vividly recall from the 50s onward. No, for us, physical recreational opportunities represent an urge to immerse ourselves in natural surroundings, and we have the great good fortune to live beside a natural forest preserve in the midst of a neighbourhood community of tens of thousands of people privileged like ourselves to easy access to this natural treasure.

And as is usual for us, we were out yesterday afternoon on a cloud-dense day of relenting temperatures in our neighbourhood ravine with our two little dogs. At a high of 4C and little wind to speak of, it was as  usual pleasant to be out on the trails, mucking our way through the melting snow and ice that continues to cover the landscape.

We can see, day by day, the gradual shrinking of the snowpack as greater but still relatively insignificant areas within the forest, exposed to the springtime heat of the sun has convinced the snow that it really is time for it to withdraw and to do so completely. So there are downhill areas where the snow has melted down to the ice beneath it, now becoming frozen slush. Slippery and awkward in some places, but presaging the arrival of warmer weather and a total absence of snow and ice.

Our two little dogs nonchalantly enjoy the melting atmosphere which releases all manner of hitherto-trapped aromas for their delectation. Some which are redolent of nature's castoffs in a forest, others far more rude and indicative of the number of companion dogs and other animals that pass through the area. And when they do come across other dogs on the trails, the excitement is infectious, brief encounters that call for short spurts of energy in friendly competitions.

It is not only the early-morning 'welcome spring' songs we hear from returning robins and newly-enthused cardinals that have finally convinced us winter is waning and spring is winning, but the sounds of geese in their eternal 'victory'-shaped formations speeding across the sky, their presence the assurance we've been looking for. I tried to capture the views we had of them in flight yesterday as we headed up our street toward the ravine entrance, but was entirely unsuccessful.

On our ravine circuit yesterday afternoon it was clear enough, under a dense cloud cover, that the snow is slowly disintegrating. Slowly being the operative observation here. But there are areas, particularly around trees, where 'wells' of dark forest floor are emerging, sometimes full of snow meltwater. And uphill climbs where the sun can penetrate at times during the day, that become slush and others where the ice layer on the trails are fully revealed.

In the forest there's a prevalence of 'dusk' given the density of the trees, even when the forest canopy is bare during the winter months, when an overcast day comes along. We're so accustomed to bright, sunny days that when that gloom descends in the forest, the landscape changes completely. There is a beauty of its own on such dark days when you're immersed in a woodland city. An intrigue of nature afoot.

There is also a greater presence of birds happy to flit about the trees, identifying themselves by the quality of their songs. An increase in the sightings of red squirrels, which it seems to us, prepare for winter far more appropriately than their larger grey and black cousins.

Jackie and Jillie are forever on the lookout for what they must consider to be edible prizes, but which we recognize as twigs and pieces of bark and needles that the trees have shed and the snowmelt is newly revealing. They scoop up these treats and chew them while we're loping along the trails; no amount of censure from us has ever persuaded these two little dogs that this kind of detritus is not the best thing for their digestive tracts. Occasionally, as a result, they'll feel ill afterward and choose to miss a regular meal.

We can now see, from day to day, the difference in the melting snowpack. We're going out to the ravine now in temperature highs of 2C, relatively balmy, but since the ground remains frozen and the forest floor still deep in snow in most places, cold radiates off it, and we can feel the contrast between that ambient cold and the warmth we feel when the sun is full out and makes its way through the denuded forest canopy. 

The ravine hiking community of some twenty years ago was fairly upset when it appeared that someone had abandoned a dog in the ravine. This was no runaway, no stray, for someone came across a crate, with a blanket inside it, a bowl of dog food, with the 'door' to the crate wide open and no dog in sight. The crate had been left in an obscure part of the ravine, a place off the beaten track as it were, since there was no trail there at all. They just happened to spot something odd in the distance and tracked toward it.

There had been rumours before then, of people briefly spotting a dog that was very elusive. And it seemed to those who saw it that it was fearful and untrusting; as soon as it was spotted it would melt into the forest. It wouldn't respond to appeals to come forward, nor would it express any interest in food that people brought for it into the forest. This was beyond upsetting. A day or two later the rumour went the rounds that the crate had been discovered.

And it was theorized that the dog returned to the crate nightly to sleep. The food bowl was empty, of course by then. But someone we knew well, a man and woman of our long ravine acquaintance had brought along dog food and topped up the bowl. They had a dog of their own, an unpretentious mutt that they loved beyond description and their dog returned the compliment fulsomely.

Each time they returned to where the crate was left, the bowl was empty, and they re-filled it. Several times they came across the dog and it kept its distance. But in the space of a week after they had cajoled it, spoken gently and soothingly to the dog, it began to respond. And when it did it was just a matter of time before they were able to get close enough to gain its complete trust.

That dog became a companion to their beloved dog. We would afterward see them sometimes walking both dogs in the ravine; their original dog, accustomed to seeing everyone and feeling comfortable with other dogs would behave normally; the adopted one kept its distance when others than its new people were around. Eventually, needless to say, both dogs reached the point of their final existence, and in fact died within a short time frame, one after the other, after becoming close-knit friends for the final six years of their lives.

The couple never did have the heart to adopt another dog of their own. But they informed all their ravine walking friends that if anyone ever needed a dog-sitter, someone to take care of their dog if they planned to absent themselves, they would be prepared to step in. They were the kindest-natured, unaffectedly humble people we'd ever known.

Yesterday, when we were halfway through our afternoon ravine circuit on the forest trails, we came across the husband for the first time in years. His wife, he told us, was at home, baking. He'd felt like renewing his old acquaintance with the ravine. He looked exactly as he did when we last saw him a decade ago. They live not far from the forest, a fair distance from our own street, and he urged us, if we were ever their way and saw their little white car in the driveway, to drop in.

We've now heard our first spring robin bursting his heart out with an expression of brilliantly-noted joy in the anticipation of spring. It is an unforgettable paean to how all living creatures feel with the primal arousal lodged deep in our being that renewal is on its way.

We've heard the exquisite notes of cardinals, seen their carmine-bright bodies in flight, and heard the great Pileated woodpecker returning to the forest, sending its triumphant and slightly lunatic call resounding over the forest canopy, as well as nuthatches and chickadees all overcome with joy at the prospect of spring's final arrival.

And then there are the human denizens of this area who also appear anxious to welcome the oncoming season. When we set out for our afternoon walk in the ravine yesterday there was the indelible track of an ordinary bicycle wheel crimped into the hard-packed snow-and-ice trail that was just beginning to denaturize under the influence of the sun and milder weather. We had seen, a few times during the winter months, people struggling with a new type of bicycle with balloon tires meant for rough terrain.

It is a little precipitate for ordinary bicycles, however, to make their way through the ravine on any of the trails, without hazarding getting truly bogged down where sun has made its impact and created deep slush piles on the trails, or the reverse, where the sun cannot penetrate and there is more than enough cold lifting off the frozen forest floor to ensure that the trails remain firm and ice-glazed.

Yesterday's atmosphere was a gentler reflection of that of the day before; not quite as cold, at -2C, the wind not quite as briskly icy, and the wide open blue sky similar on both days, the sun a brilliant gold disk of fiery light and gaining warmth. Our two little dogs don't tend to confide in one another how fortunate they are to have daily access to this heaven-on-earth, but they do behave as though they are somewhat aware of that realization. As for us, the thought is never far from mind.

As we neared the end of yesterday's circuit through the forest trails to begin the long haul up the last of the hills onto the street we live on, three young men, probably in their 18th year, came along behind, carrying snowboards. One of the trio, fully hirsute, carried a shovel as well. Clearly they were grooming some areas on the  hillsides to add to their snowboarding pleasure. We exchanged greetings and they made for the top of the hill  just beyond the trail which was once thickly covered with mature trees.

Late last autumn that slope was reforested with poplars and pines, replacing the originals after remedial work had been done to stop the hillside deterioration that had taken place the spring before. So, apart from saplings dotting the hillside, there are stakes pounded into the hillside beside each immature tree. And besides those, there are long rows of environmental 'piping' meant to disintegrate with time, and holding grass seed intended to flourish on the slope. The entire hillside for the uninitiated just looks like a snow slope, perfect for skiing or snowboarding.

We informed the young men of what lay beneath the snow, and that it might be dangerous to snowboard down and get caught by any of those impediments. The young bearded fellow, smiled and took off, his board carrying him gracefully down the slope as he faultlessly looped his way swiftly to its bottom. 

For a self-motivated, high-energy, competitive personality like our ravine-walking friend Barrie whose job as a crisis-response team member for our national police agency fit his action-oriented personality perfectly, the last several years of constraint, and restraint brought upon him by the mysterious onset of a medical condition, complicated by a variety of serious accidents, have been an absolute misery.

Witnessing the painful distress he attempted to work around was not pleasurable. Offering him our heartfelt best wishes as he went into one surgery after another, from the repair of a cracked collar bone to brain surgery was as empathetically concerned as might be conceivable. Each time he underwent one of the innumerable, sometimes-related, sometimes stand-alone surgeries and emerged in good spirits and feeling improved, he would be assaulted by yet another catastrophic body breakdown.

This once-robust, confident, muscular man eager to take part in marathons wherever they took place had simply worn out the body that nature gave him in trust. And he is now seeing the consequences and paying the dreadful price. His wife informed us yesterday that the latest surgery days earlier, to insert screws to fuse bones in his spinal area where several discs had given out was a success. He's up and walking about, gingerly, but his full recovery, he has been warned, would last between six and eight months. And Sheila, his wife, is determined to keep his enthusiasm in check.

At one time it was only Barrie we'd see walking their three Border Collies -- high-energy dogs to match the energy-orientation of their humans -- but Sheila shared the job of keeping them active and engaged. She would take them out for long ravine hikes in the forest in the morning, and Barrie took them out in the afternoons. Now keeping those three dogs active and unbored has been Sheila's job alone for the last few years.

On yesterday afternoon's ravine walk the temperature had dipped overnight and the daytime high had risen to 0-2C, with a sharp wind, under blue skies. The sun was great, but it was a nippy atmosphere we had forged out into when we brought our two little poodles out to the ravine. We came across a number of other trail walkers, since it was a Saturday. Sheila being among them. Taking their three dogs out for those walks in the forest gives Sheila a break in a sense, from her concerns over her husband's health.

The very fact that you're in a fresh-air, landscape-beautiful environment surrounded by trees, plentiful snow heaped on the forest floor, feeling refreshed and taken away from ordinary day-to-day concerns however briefly, is a cheerful and healthful alternative to whatever other occupations may beckon throughout the course of a day. It's restorative, a renewal of the senses, a boost to the immune system and a valuable adjunct to adding quality to one's day.

We're seeing more people coming through the forest trails in the ravine than ever before. Not that we still cannot do a daily jaunt of an hour or hour-and-a-half with our two little dogs and see no one else out on the trails, but increasingly we do come across people never before seen in our 27 years of daily ravine hikes, often with dogs of their own.

The ravined forest runs through the Orleans suburb of Ottawa, the nation's capital. Altogether it is said to take up some 30 acres. It acts for the municipality as a stormwater management site and is zoned conservation. The simple reality is that it is a geological presence not given to development as a building site for tract  housing and shopping centres. A gift from nature to residents of the area ensuring that its green forest presence will remain so. The forest itself is administered by the province of Ontario.

For us, as area residents, the ravine and its forest has been a superb recreational boon, as it has been for many others who appreciate its presence and the opportunities to hike about on a series of interconnecting forest trails. The ravine itself is compromised however, in the fact that the area is comprised of Leda clay, susceptible to slumping in extremely wet weather, as did the ravine hill adjacent our street last spring, which required remedial work, jack-hammering steel posts deep into bedrock to maintain stability.

The remedial work, which took months of heavy equipment and work crews to accomplish followed ultimately by some reforestation where mature old trees had been taken down to make the work possible, also resulted in a new trail opening from a main street where previously all the trail entrances had emerged adjacent to residential streets.

Yesterday we saw for the first time a four-month-old Chow puppy, taking its human companion for a jaunt in the snow-infused woodland, and a bit later on our walk a four-month-old miniature Australian Shepherd, both little dogs appealing in their puppyhood and voraciously excited about life's new experiences, bundles of bright energy, both of them.

Once past that portion of the ravine the forest resumes its normal presentation, beech, poplars, maples, oaks, ironwood and willows, along with hawthorns represent the hardwoods (the elms have been destroyed by invasive beetles), while pines, firs, spruces, hemlock and other evergreens are also present in their numbers. Wandering about on the trails in all seasons restores the mind and exercises the body for all those devoted to appreciating the opportunity to approach and delve into a natural environment in the midst of a thriving metropolis.

Our good fortune in living proximate to such a natural delight is never lost on us. Nor on the two little sibling dogs who are part of our household.

It seems I am somehow destined, because of the nature of my character; impetuous, careless, hurried, to suffer these falls. At least every two years. I've always been accident-prone, it just seems as though Dame Fortune shrugs her shoulders and tells herself, 'well, if she doesn't make an effort for herself, I cannot be considered at fault'. She's right.

My husband is constantly telling me to slow down, have a care, there's no hurry. And although I agree I am just not constitutionally geared toward that kind of mentality translated into the kind of awareness that if I continue on a certain track I'll be headed for trouble. I'm more careful now when we traipse through the ravine, not that I haven't always been aware that protruding roots and rocks can claim their toll in scrapes and bruises. When I fall, though I tend to bounce right back up, occasionally I can't because the damage done is too severe.

Tripping the light fantastic down our main staircase several years ago I lost balance (my own sense of conceit tells me smugly that I have perfect balance) and went head first, tumbling down from the top to the bottom, landing face first on an unforgiving tile floor. We've got nice fat rugs at the bottom of the staircase now. And I often use the handrail now and force myself to be more aware.

But slipping and falling head first at the top of the stairs? Well, that's what I did on Tuesday night. My slipper caught fast in the hem of a floor-length skirt. Usually I take the sensible precaution of lifting a corner of these long skirts that I tend to wear in the house for warmth and comfort, to prevent such an event, but I had reached down to pat one of our little dogs as I reached the top step, foot got mired in skirt, and down I went. Since I never seem to proceed slowly, I was going at a good clip. And as I was projected forward the top of my head warmly greeted the corner of the hall wall, the sharp corner that creased my skull.

The ensuing pain was not pleasant. Tylenol helped. Wednesday I was rather uncomfortable, but resisted going to the hospital to check for trauma. Wednesday night, between ten and eleven in the evening I was startled to realize that something felt odd with my eyes, and was even more amazed that the area around my eyes had become pouched with bruising so obviously blood was pooling there (haematoma) and in an area at the top of my head. So along we went to the hospital. The triage nurse at emergency put me through the paces, and but for my blood pressure, everything checked out well, no signs of concussion but she wasn't thrilled with the contusions and the sight of my eyes.

Because it would take six hours before the sole emergency room doctor on duty could get to me, I decided we wouldn't wait, preferring to return home. We got to bed at 2:00. The nurse had given us a very useful, reusable icepack and I used that, but found it useless. By Thursday morning my eyes were almost shut tight by the amount of gruesome-looking purple-black swelling. We decided to head off for a ravine walk, having missed one the day before, following my fall.

The cold air was bracing and helpful. I had ample energy. We enjoyed the tranquility of the forest, the wonderful spring day that would begin to melt the snowpack, the sun beaming through a perfectly uninterrupted blue sky. We came across only two other walkers and their dogs, two women whom we've known as fellow ravine hikers for several years. Of course explanations of my condition were forthcoming and so was sympathy.

Our two little dogs really needed their walk in the ravine, and so did we. It helped us all feel better. We had set out at 2:15 and returned home at 3:45, time well spent. Ironically, last night on one of my blogs I wrote about exercise and aging, how exercising one's bones and musculature as aging occurs results in prolonging the quality of life and life itself. Healing is accelerated, illness is avoided, there is more pleasure in being active and involved. And the positive results go beyond one's physiology, impinging on stability of cognitive function.

By this morning the swelling around my eyes was considerably reduced. I felt well inclined to doing my usual for a Friday morning; cleaning, baking, cooking, laundering, the lot. My husband went out to do his usual errands nearby; the library, the bank, a supermarket. And then it was time to gather up our little dogs and head out to the ravine.

An absolutely exquisite weather day. Mind, our landscape still bears no resemblance whatever to spring, since we remain ensconced deep in the snowpack that developed over those long months of winter, yet there is no denying that spring is coming...coming...coming...

Walking up our street this afternoon with our little dogs on our way to access the ravine entrance by the group mailbox you could see the difference. Usually there is nobody outside. Today there was. On one side, one of our neighbours unloading downhill skis from his trunk, on the other, one neighbour at the end of his front yard was speaking to his direct neighbours, just returning from a walk to one of our nearby shopping plazas.

So of course we had to stop at each of those homes to share a chat with each and then everyone came together for a bit of a longer chat, while Jackie and Jillie seemed to sigh in resignation, wanting us to get on with things. We did do that, eventually, thanking them for their patience.

From a distance as we approached we could see the forest floor being released in bits and pieces from its accumulation of snow. Before long, if this mild weather keeps up, the bare patches that we see will soon spread and accelerate the snow-melt, filling the creek with its runoff and bringing us ever closer to true spring that we can see, smell and touch.

With a high of 4C, full sun, and only a few contrails marring the wide blue sky above, we moved along happily in what appeared   and in actual fact was, balmy weather. At the side of the creek as the snow begins to melt you can see striations in the snowpack indicating various snowfalls that had fallen months back. Soon they too will melt.

And when they do, the ravine-trekking dogs will be confused and heartsick. Where has all their snow gone? They love the deep snow, and some dogs just loll about it in, relishing the cool softness of the snow, rubbing themselves into it and taking full pleasure in these opportunities soon to be lost to another season. Jackie and Jillie are somewhat puzzled at the sight of other, larger dogs immersing themselves, back laying in the snow, legs up and squirming, but they too look for deeper patches of snow when we're ambling about.

As for us, the mild, windless temperature of this day softened the trails and made them easy to navigate, no slipping, sliding, just trudging along on firm, yet readily purchasable trails.A pair of bright red cardinals took wing at one juncture, and chickadees flitted about in the trees. Before we left the trails for home we were surprised to see a floating pack of flying insects veer around us. This is just the kind of weather when you can see snowfleas if you look carefully, leaping out of the snow.

We were just hauling ourselves up the last long hill out of the ravine yesterday, when we came across Suzanne at the very top, with Munchkin in tow. Munchkin is a tiny, long-haired dachschund, a stand-offish little dog with a mind of her own, who has finally become accustomed to our bumptious little poodles, Jackie and Jillie. Suzanne had already been out earlier in the day for her usual ravine walk. She was just accommodating little Munchkin who had expressed an interest in going out to the ravine, from her family's backyard, abutting on the ravine.

Many years ago Suzanne had her own dog, Della, a Golden Retriever, but she is long gone. Instead of deciding to have another permanent canine companion, she and Barrie thought better of it. Della had been in such great discomfort before she died; even hip surgery for dysplasia, so common in larger dogs, didn't help her much. Barrie, then in his mid-70s couldn't see himself going through the agony of helping another heavy dog up steps to the second-floor bedroom of their home. And Suzanne filled in the gap by becoming a mentor to other peoples' dogs. She often takes care of Munchkin when her family is away and they've gone back to Australia, the second time in six months, to visit with their daughter and her family.

When we first moved to this street Barrie was quick to introduce himself. Back then he was an area volunteer in the ravine, reporting back to a parks committee on the state of its health. That committee is no longer operating, and with advanced age and health complications Barrie gave up his daily meanderings in the ravine, another venue where he knew everyone who ventured into the forest.They live quite a number of houses down  he street from us. But Barrie knew everyone and everyone knew Barrie; he is that kind of person, a gregarious extrovert. Barrie is now 88, Suzanne 72, her personality the opposite of Barrie's, introverted and given to distance other than for those she knows well.

Earlier in our ramble through the woodland trails yesterday afternoon, we came across a small female Malamute we'd never before seen. Her companion kept her on leash, telling us the Malamute would dash off any chance she got and his wife would never forgive him if her dog got lost. His wife, on the other hand, never used a leash with the dog, who seemed content to stay at his wife's side. She seemed very good natured, laid back and friendly. More than happy to accept a few tokens of our regard, some small doggy biscuits, shared out with Jackie and Jillie. And they were small, meant for small dogs like our two, but she graciously accepted them and gave ample evidence of her gratitude.

Although yesterday was officially the first day of Spring, you'd never know it, looking around in the forest. The forest floor is deep in layers of snow, and it will take temperatures far milder than the below-freezing we've been treated to of late, to begin the process of spring melting. Though it is inevitable, of course, and in fact, despite the prevailing cold, the warming sun glancing off the snow probing its structure, has made significant inroads here and there on the snowpack. There are now discrete areas in the ravine where on the hillsides patches of snow-free forest floor can be seen, glaringly dark against the blazing glare of the snow.

Sunlight bouncing off the snow in the forest is beyond dazzling, challenging our sight to remain fixed on the landscape that unfolds before us as we make our way through the trails. That same dazzling light has the effect of ameliorating the cold that has descended this week, with each day below freezing. Prevailing wind gusts do the opposite.

For the most part the trails, hard packed with layer upon layer of snow left by each succeeding snowfall throughout the winter months, are now layered with a thin veneer of ice where only a week ago, milder temperatures had persuaded the ice that then persisted, to turn to mush, making our way through the forest more readily navigable without threat of slipping,

Even so, there are areas where trees are fewer in number adjacent the giant slump of the hillsides closest our street where crews had entered to remove still-standing trees so that engineers could do their work pounding steel supports to bedrock to ensure that no further hillside slumps occurred, and there, the snow has taken on its spring look; rotting and falling in on itself on its way to the final, spring melt, as a result of being more fully exposed to the gaining warmth of the sun.

That portion of the ravine has been re-forested, but it will take many years before it begins once again to resemble the rest of the forest. The creek that runs through the ravine carries off stormwater for the entire community which is why it was such a priority for the municipality to come up with a restoration plan, aside from the fact that it was liable should houses abutting the ravine slide into it as a result of ongoing erosion.

The ravine and forest it contains remains an invaluable source of pleasure, affording residents the opportunity to daily set aside their concerns -- to take the opportunity to embark on a brief embrace of unspoiled nature. We're grateful that it serves a dual purpose; one of utility, to ensure that its state of stability remains a concern to municipal authorities, leaving the relatively few residents who make use of it as a leisure time their outdoor focus enhancing health and happiness.

On a beautiful, bright Sunday afternoon you just never know who you might come across ambling through the trails on the plateaus of the forest in our fortunate community. Though most residents have no idea what lays beyond their street of houses with various points of entry into a natural environment whose geology made it impractical for house-building, ensuring that we would all be beneficiaries of a large and wonderful haven for birds and small animals, welcoming to those who see its grace and and have a wish to share company in it s incomparable landscape, a paltry few do make their way in out of curiosity. They tend not to go too far, certainly not to delve into a descent that would take them through the forest trails.

Up there where the trails are widest and most-used by those who do have an affinity for natural surroundings but lack the curiosity to look beyond the readily accessible areas, we often come across  people we've never before seen. Yesterday it was a three-year-old girl, big for her age, and obviously well socially developed, accompanied by her mother. They'd left the child's tricycle at the entrance and gone for a little walk among the trees. Newly moved to the area, the mother had lived here as a child and recalled the forest, introducing her daughter to it now. Their own dog is too advanced in age to leave the house, and the child was interested in Jackie and Jillie, both of whom are extremely skilled at eluding enthusiastic children's close proximity. The little girl would pounce at them and they'd leap beyond her reach which did nothing to hamper her enthusiasm.

Later our two little dogs were happily at play with a new canine acquaintance when suddenly a burst of fuzzy black activity appeared, leaping happily toward our little group, silently and purposefully. A puppy, a Portuguese Water Dog, without collar or any kind of identification, ecstatic in the company of other dogs, themselves slightly affronted by the puppy's enthusiastic energy which only served to heighten the puppy's advances. A few seconds later an alarmed shout and a man emerged from a line of cedars backing onto a property adjacent the ravine, to try to round up his little escapee.

We were soon afterward in yet another descent into the ravine and there, in the further reaches of the forest saw no one else, our two little dogs gambolling about in familiar territory they had all to themselves. The trails have been well pounded, the accumulated snow turned icy and slippery with the return of colder temperatures, making it all the more necessary that when we venture out for our daily walks we be prepared, with our trusty cleats strapped over our boots.

A precaution that serves us well and aids us in our daily excursions to enjoy the landscape at our leisure and without fear of a fall; we've had more than ample experience with falls in the forest, despite our long acquaintance with all the various conditions that present themselves as a result of weather inclemency.