Nature felt rather ill-tempered yesterday and treated us to a high of 6C with blustery winds and heavily overcast skies threatening rain the entire day. Which might have diminished our pleasure in our leisurely stroll through the forest yesterday, but did not, in fact. Since we were dressed for the occasion, reverting back to warm clothing for us and our two little dogs, to weather the inclement atmosphere. The good thing about all of this is that there is now very little snow and ice left in the forest, merely patches here and there of innocuous, soft ice on parts of the trail, easily avoided.

In contrast to our comparatively slight re-acquaintance with nature, our son drove two-and-a-half miles out of Vancouver for one of his springtime paddles down the Skajit River for a two-day relaxing time-off in the wilderness, renewing his inner resources. There, camping on a gravel bar and the sun full out, the temperature soared to 26C during the day, falling back at night-time to below freezing, leaving hoar frost on the landscape, first thing the following morning.

He encountered a black bear not far from his campsite, busy noodling about in the newly-come-to-life willow shrubs across the river, which hadn't seen him at first as he was canoeing past, but when it did a pandemonium of 'escape' at break-neck speed ensued as the bear thrashed its way through the forest beyond the river.

And for the first time he came across a pair of beautiful little Harlequin ducks swimming about close to the shoreline. A permanent logjam he's encountered many times before necessitated a portage of about 40 metres which took close to an hour to achieve, emptying and carrying everything out of the canoe and then the canoe itself around to a take-in spot back on the river. There were shorter portages required where single trees lay across the river at narrowed areas, all of them familiar to him from past such escapades.

Snow from the mountain tops had not yet begun their seasonal melt, bringing up the level of the river, but the initiation was imminent.

How wet is a forest inundated by constant days of unremitting rain while in the process of absorbing the remains of the winter snowpack of ice and snow still remaining on the forest floor and the forest trails? Utterly, completely drenched.

We hardly thought we'd have an opportunity to get out with Jackie and Jillie for our daily walk in the woods yesterday. The forest, already well and truly soaked by days of rain that had fallen the week before, was once again treated to days-long heavy rain. And it rained throughout the night after a previous full day of rain, so when we awoke yesterday morning it was to dark, overcast skies spewing more of the same over the environment.

It's spring, after all, and a retarded one at that, and if we don't get enough rain to ensure that trees and the perennial woodland growths we're accustomed to seeing and valuing in the summer have enough rehydration to make up for the stupendous effort it takes to recover after their months-long hibernation in winter, nothing will thrive.

So, in anticipation of all the May flowers certain to begin decorating the landscape, we must countenance the necessity of ample moisture dampening the atmosphere to set the stage. And we already see vestiges of what's to come in the following month, green shoots poking up here and there from the fertile humus of the forest floor. The beginnings of the colonies of foam flower have started their tentative reach above the soil, breaking through the detritus of last fall nicely decomposing to add to the humus.

And there where we always see colonies of violets and trout lilies we were surprised yesterday to see quite a few lily spears poking above the soil. I'm hoping that the few trout lilies I transplanted to our garden will return this spring, but there's no sign of them yet there. Most wildflowers that I transplant from the forest to our garden tend to do very well; thrive, in fact, growing far more robust than their peers in the wild.

We had a long stroll through the trails. Because of the imminent threat of more rain after we'd set out earlier than usual on a daily forest walk we were all wearing raincoats. Jackie and Jillie who finally had the freedom to wear nothing, once again had to endure raincoats. But the rain held off and we enjoyed our hour and a half strolling among the trees, more than merely pleasurable. Considering ourselves fortunate to be able to do so, given the inclemency of the weather.

With even more rain and cooler temperatures again predicted for the following day.

There are small, delightful discoveries to be made every day on our way through the forest trails in the ravine. The winter wonderland we'd grown so accustomed to greeting daily is now gone, the last portions of trails thick with ice are almost now all melted, and about time too, moving into the month of May.

Yesterday when we took our two little dogs out for their regular ravine walk the temperature was a balmy 18C, with light winds and the sun even decided to part the dark clouds occasionally. Which was why our eyes fell on a sole bright and sunny Coltsfoot in flower, the first to be yet seen on the forest floor. Had the day been heavily overcast with no hint of sun that shy little flower would have closed and we would have bypassed it.

Because it was such a pleasant day, Jackie and Jillie wore nothing but their natural coats. The residual snow and ice remaining radiated cold it's true, but that was more than compensated for by the mild temperature prevailing above, so they were unrestrained and no doubt happy about that though there are some matters they keep to themselves rather than confide everything in us. They're now wearing far lighter harnesses than those we use during the cold winter months.

There are the first vestiges of the many plants that inhabit the forest floor manifesting their presence. Strawberry foliage is always the first to appear, and it's no different this year. We can see woodland violet leaves as well as those of trout lilies thrusting out of the damp rich soil of the forest, enriched by generations of well-rotted woody and leafy detritus, the humus of the forest.

Jackie and Jillie are mindful of puddles and prefer to go around them, or leap over them, just as we do. There will be more of these ever-widening puddles resembling little lakes as the days progress because we're in a very wet weather system meant to linger for at least a few days.

In the windstorm that swept through the forest a few weeks ago some trees had come down, several across the trails, but a day later they had been cut up and hauled off the trails. There is one house that we pass on our circuit, located very close to the forest edge, and it had the misfortune of experiencing a tall, mature pine growing at one of the entrances to the ravine adjacent their house, break off at close to soil level, and fall over their fence and into their backyard. It missed their house by not much more than a foot or so. The impact of its fall must have been substantial, both in sound and movement.

There it remains. Municipal crews most certainly must have been alerted. True, across the city maintenance crews had been busy removing trees that had fallen onto people's properties from public areas, but it is still surprising that these householders have this large pine prostrate in their backyard. They cannot be very pleased about the situation.

Following two days of hard, steady rain, we were finally relieved yesterday afternoon to find that despite overcast skies the rain finally came to a halt. Enabling us to put on raingear just in case rain recommenced, and take ourselves out to the ravine for a trailwalk in the forest.

Jackie and Jillie in their own raincoats were free to roam about, while in some stretches of the trails we had to exercise two-legged caution on the icy trails remaining, the rain making them slipperier still. The forest floor was well and truly drenched. Rain and melting snow make their way down the hillsides into the creek below and it was running fairly high.

But in the flatter areas up above, rain accumulated in great, deep puddles that will take some time for the overtaxed forest floor to absorb. We heard, for the first time this spring, the sweet melody of the chickadees' spring song. And saw a brown creeper making its way up a poplar trunk. The pileated woodpeckers are hard at work, their rhythmic, regular pecking can be heard at quite a distance, as can their call, almost as lunatic as that of a loon's.

Because the forest was so drenched, dark, quiet colours that one scarcely notices otherwise became vibrant, as bright as when the forest is in the throes of preparation for winter when fall hosts colourful foliage falling from trees and littering the ground below.

It's a mess underfoot, to be sure, and that is likely the foremost reason that few people venture into the woods right now. Truth is, it hardly matters when and in which conditions you're in a forest, there is always so much to see and notice that changes day by day. It's an absolute delight to be there, and what's more our bodies appreciate the opportunity to stride along breathing the fresh air, exercising our limbs and muscles, while appreciating spring breezes, and the sight of tiny green bits of emerging plants popping up here and there on the forest floor.

It's one of those inevitable necessities and one which makes us sigh with exasperation. More at ourselves than the impending need to address the issue. Everyone hates it yet just about everyone has to face it. I've been, as usual, procrastinating. Promising myself I'll get a start on it, and I really mean it, because year after year I have eventually come around to 'getting a start' on spring cleaning.

It's a universal attention-getter, and a sure-fire way to make people feel tired before they even begin. There is, after all, so much to be done. Not that we've left things over the winter months and ignored the need to keep clutter and dust in check. Most people have house-cleaning routines. Once acknowledged and agreed that these things must be done, we find the time for at least the bare necessities of keeping a clean and working-level kitchen. And the bathrooms require constant wipe-ups. Bedrooms and living rooms tend to look pretty shaggy without continual attention.

But spring cleaning? That's where the deep-down attention begins. Beyond washing and cleaning winter gear and putting it away for the following year. Which is also an excellent opportunity to winnow out winter clothing that we don't like, seldom wear, no longer fit right, before we replace our wardrobes with clothing more suitable for spring and summer wear.

Well, get out the old mop and pail, begin shifting furniture around to make certain you clean areas not usually accessible. Wash those floors that don't get regular wash-ups like the ones downstairs in the basement that have been finished and seldom get the deep-down attention the upstairs ones deserve because they're not used as much.

Change over the winter duvet to a lighter-weight one for spring now that the temperatures nudge up to ten degrees and beyond, no longer falling below freezing at night. Tackle bathroom cupboards and vanities for a little neat order and wash-up. The same with kitchen cupboards; empty, scrub and return objects. Rid yourself of kitchen stuff seldom or never used but bought because you thought you might need them one day and that one day never arrived. Multiples included.

Take down those curtains or sheers, wash them and clean the windows. It's all time-consuming and you wonder where you'll get the time to do it all. You do, though. Spring brings rainy days and they're perfect as target days for spring cleaning. Because it doesn't take one dedicated day or even several to get around to everything waiting to be done, it takes weeks. But eventually it gets done and you feel a certain level of relief and satisfaction that it's behind you. 'Till next time.

And then, by the time you've finished with all that, you can look around at your garden. Whatever you missed in your fall clean-up of perennials and annuals can be looked after now and composted. And then you can fill the garden pots with soil and wait until the last week of May when it seems safe enough to put in tender annuals for summer enjoyment in the display of their vibrant, beautiful shapes and colours. As for the perennials they'll mostly look after themselves, apart from a bit of snips and tucks.

And then, you're home free. For a bit.

My earliest memories of Toronto as a child were gathering along with other little urchins behind the truck regularly delivering blocks of ice to homes on the inner-city street where my parents rented a flat, to keep the interior of ice-boxes cold enough to preserve perishable foods; back then refrigerators were not yet common in most households. We children would beg for slivers of ice from the deliveryman and sometimes he would oblige. Otherwise, in his absence, we would scour the thick wood, slivered floor of the truck as far as we could reach, for slivers on our own. Even scooping some up off the road, careful to bypass those too close to the balls of excrement left by passing horses, including the one pulling the iceman's cart.

In those days, in the early '40s, roads were shared by horse-drawn carts and motorcars. Gas-powered vehicles were enough of an anomaly to children that when one was parked by the side of the road it caused a bit of a sensation, until we finally became accustomed to seeing them more commonly and took their presence for granted. And gradually there were no more horse-drawn carts.

Our familiar neighbourhoods of mixed immigrant-stock and more established Canadians was an uneasy one in a sense. I was sometimes referred to as a "Christ-killer"; an epithet shouted at me by other children. Although Jews were plentiful in the neighbourhood my family then lived in I was still singled out as an alien, born in Canada though I was. By the time I was in my first year as a teen and working summers in a clothing factory on Spadina Avenue, perfect strangers on the bus would ask me where I was from. Canada, I would reply, and they would persist: where was I really from?

There's a vastly different population mix in Toronto now, a veritable international community of immigrants, all Canadians living together in a democratic harmony only occasionally disrupted by breakouts of discrimination. When, on the rare occasion we return to Toronto for a brief visit, all the old familiar places are still there and a feeling of nostalgia is evoked, but they're vastly diminished by the changes that have taken place, and high-rise construction is everywhere, dominating the scene and stifling the atmosphere.

As is the obvious manifestation of a country whose population make-up has undergone a vast change, demonstrated in the cacophony of languages overheard, culturally-inspired costumes, skin-tones and the appearance of exotic-looking houses of worship. This diverse community has come together in a mourning ritual of shared sorrow, with the recent vehicular homicide that took place when a profoundly mentally disturbed young man of Armenian parentage deliberately mowed down pedestrians along a busy intersection on Yonge Street. Coincidentally on the anniversary of the Armenian genocide that Turkey refuses to recognize.

Yesterday afternoon during our ravine ramble we sighted the first butterfly of the season. Of course we saw its shadow flitting through the trees before we saw the butterfly itself, on this sunny day. However, alerted to its presence, we soon made out its outline briefly before it disappeared, a first-of-the-season Mourning Cloak. Named for its sober, dark appearance, dusky charcoal-grey to black wings with a lighter rim, these are the first butterflies we see every spring, a welcome sight for us.

In the morning now, from our backyard garden we hear the beautifully lyrical song of the song sparrow, returned from its southern haven throughout the winter months. And at night we can hear the deep voice of the returned barred owls beginning their nesting season in the forest trees of the ravine. Its distinctive soft yet penetrating voice wafts from the ravine over to our backyard.

We've finally been embraced with springlike weather, complete with wide, blue-blue skies, a burning sun whose kiss is swiftly melting the snowpack in the forest, and light breezes to complement days that hover around 13C to 17C, exactly what we've been yearning for. In this area, a full month later than elsewhere where the weather tends to be more moderate than ours.

No need now for Jackie and Jillie to wear cold-protective jackets. They're free now of their various coats from lighter ones to heavier types reflecting the weather. We do have them wear their harness since we never use their leashes attached to their neck collars. So they're free from all constraints and able to lope along the trails to their hearts' content.

And so are we, wearing the lightest of jackets, and replacing our winter boots with hiking boots. Over which we still have to strap our cleats to take us safely over those areas of the forest trails that remain packed with ice, resistant to melt because they're in areas that are perpetually shaded from the sun.

Yesterday represented the second day that residents of this area knew of a certainty that spring had finally arrived. Embraced by a warmth we haven't experienced since last fall under clear blue skies and a gentle breeze, it was hard to deny that elusive spring had entered at long last.

The garden of course looks miserably abandoned, sere and bereft of any natural architecture other than the shrubs and trees that lend it an air of temporary loss. But look a little closer, and we can see green spears of grape hyacinth, the thick, thrusting foliage of tulips, the determined shoots of lilies and irises prepared to relocate from the thawing garden soil to the upper levels of thaw and finally that break-out of preparation for bloom.

The ornamental trees like our magnolias are beginning to swell their over-wintering buds for early spring bloom, and the weeping caragana and mulberries present their own fascinating undercarriage soon to be hidden by foliage. Another month and the dry, unappealing appearance of the early spring garden will have been transformed in texture and colour.

In the ravine yesterday afternoon, we slid and slithered about on what remains of the snow and ice on the hillside trails. We thought that at 13C degrees it would be warm enough to turn it all to slush and there would be no need for the cleats strapped over our boots we have been dependent on for the winter months for stability and secure footing. I changed into hiking boots and it felt wonderful, really freeing. The reality was a little different, unfortunately.

It does sap one's confidence to have little control on a ice-slippery  hill. There were places, granted, where the ice could be bypassed, where the snow was secure enough to hold my boots in place, but in other areas my husband's sturdy confidence bolstered mine as he held me steady and helped me manoeuvre downhill.

We all wore lighter garments, including Jackie and  Jillie, who aren't much bothered by sliding about to begin with.  All the fresh, new fragrances released by the melting snow and ice intrigue them no end, and we'd rather not know what they're comprised of, truth to tell. When we're suspicious we call them away. Despite which, they gnaw their fill of little twigs, a habit nothing we've done has ever cured them of.

Our assignation with spring has finally arrived. Hope springs eternal in the minds of Canadians yet we know that the final decision when to appear rests not on our eternal hopes but on nature's decision-making and in making her decisions in this part of the world, she all too often prefers to delay, mocking our confidence that winter is prepared to depart.

The official calendar date may be one we celebrate tentatively, but it is a tenuous one; there may be creeping signs of spring's imminent presence; early migratory arrivals, a scent in the air, warm breezes, a warming sun and lengthening days, but the temperature begrudges us relief from winter's tenacity and snow-and-ice-storms and lashing winds tell us we've still a wait to be tolerated.

There's little option but to wait and endure the last of winter's onslaughts. And when fine weather finally arrives we're beside ourselves with pleasure.  And we leave our comfortable homes in droves to get out into the out-of-doors to bicycle, jog, ogle the returning birds, stroll along the riverside, spread blankets and picnic, amble along pathways and soak in the longed-for pleasure to be had feeling free within the landscape we so treasure, feeling the warmth of the spring sun.

Willow trees along the Eastern Parkway are fuzzed with that light yellow halo that tells us it won't be long before foliage appears; they're always the first to respond to longer days and a warming atmosphere. The further we drove yesterday along the parkway beside the Ottawa River toward the Western Parkway, the more ice could be seen along the shoreline, not yet melted.

On the paddocks of the famed black horses of the RCMP musical ride, Canada geese have settled to find edible bits of seed, and we continued to see the geese the further east we travelled, close to the highway on newly revealed greensward, nibbling at the grass and whatever else they find compatible with their taste after their long journey from south to north. Traffic hurtling by, and people strolling along the pathways did nothing to disturb these great birds whose size gives them such an advantage over other avian species; which birds can challenge them, after all? They graze serenely, oblivious to the noise and activity around them; quite a sight.

We passed the National Gallery with its 'Maman' giant spider sculpture, the Royal Canadian Mint, the Chateau Laurier and the Parliament Buildings, then the Library and Archives building and the Supreme Court, the new Holocaust Memorial and the War Museum, before continuing on our journey to our destination, a small shop catering to the needs of those who produce stained glass windows. A lovely trip, in all. Quite wonderful to see people out and about after a too-long winter.

Some of whom are tourists visiting from elsewhere, and we also see buses that convey them in their numbers from all over North America, others coming from further abroad, venturing into a Canadian landscape that is finally turning the corner into spring. A finer day would be hard to imagine; slight breeze, high of ten degrees under a lovely blue sky.

First things first, this morning. Right after cleaning up from breakfast, our two shaggy little dogs were due for a haircut, and that's just what they got. They could be happier about such things. Grooming is a relentless trial and a tribulation for them, testing their patience. Once they realize they're cornered and there's nowhere they can hide from their determined barber, they resign themselves to the experience. As do I, needless to say.

I keep threatening to take them to a groomer and have them properly done with proper grooming tools -- not the hair grooming scissors in an assortment of sizes that I use. Time-consuming and sometimes very frustrating. But I must give them their due, they were well behaved this morning and tolerated my ministrations and the job got done.

Immediately afterward off we went for our ravine walk, a little early today, but that's because we had other things to do as well. Just as well to give them the opportunity to romp about in the woods after they'd been so well behaved while I was trimming their hair. And now that the snow is fast melting there's so much for them to satisfy their curiosity about, sniffing and snuffling here and there, finding just-right treasures in the shape of twigs, perfect for gnawing at, that kind of thing.

And then, walk in the woods concluded, we set off for downtown Ottawa, taking the Eastern Parkway along the great Ottawa River, eventually linking up with the Western Parkway which brought us to the stained glass shop my husband buys his supplies from.

On the way we passed the National Gallery, Middle Eastern embassies, the Chateau Laurier and the Cenotaph, the Parliament Buildings and so much more. We also passed the newly opened Holocaust memorial, the Supreme Court and the National Archives, along with no end of other public buildings.

Alongside the park setting beside the Ottawa River there were runners out and bicyclists, couples walking pensively alongside the river pathways, and families pushing infants in strollers. Amongst them all were Canada geese, taking no notice whatever of the traffic, let alone people strolling by, too busy pecking for seeds and grass after their long reverse flight to welcome spring.

And spring finally has arrived here, it is redolent in the air with that unmistakable light and airy promise. It's a glorious, full-sun day, with a temperature high of ten degrees, destined to be warmer in the following few days. In some places, close to the shoreline along the Western Parkway, there is still plenty of ice in the river. Glancing across to the Quebec side across from Ontario, the landscape looks serene  and beautiful, the sun glinting off light wavelets in the river.

Although it's early season-transition days yet in this part of the globe's geological and atmospheric realities, we now begin to see a glimmer of change. Nature's inestimable talent in altering the stage from which we regard her wonders is once again transforming the natural world around us. Yet this has been an unusual spring even by the usual standards of spring's eternal struggle to convince winter its tardiness is not appreciated.

The general consensus among those whom we usually pass light banter with on the weather is that yes, this is a hugely unusual spring even for Ottawa. Night-time temperatures, for one thing continue to plunge below freezing, including the occasional day-time high that barely manages to reach the above-freezing mark. Not to mention ongoing snow flurries and icy sleet.

All of which retard the usual and gradual freeing up of the frozen ground, let alone the melt of the accumulated snowpack. There are growing areas on the forest floor that have managed to free themselves; depending where and when the warmth of the spring sun happens to glance day-by-day when it manages to grace us with its presence.

In other portions of the forest the snow has decreased in volume, and the ice interspersing it is no longer glassy-firm, but rotting. Trails are slower to lose their ice-and-snow compactness because they've been trodden throughout the winter months, so sometimes the trails remain packed with snow and ice while beside them the snowpack has finally melted away. Still, on the greater balance of the forest floor there are great swathes of still-deep snow accumulation.

Surely by now, we tell ourselves, it should all have melted? As much as we depend on memories dating back considerable years of observation, we're left with uncertainty when we assert that this has been the slowest snow-melt spring we've ever encountered.

As we plod along through the mushed-up trails through the forest we continue to come across trees damaged by the ice storm of last week. The ferocious winds wrought another kind of damage, hurtling its force against denuded trees awaiting the time of leafing-out, and sending clumps of pine needles onto the forest floor alongside a condor's-nest-worth of twigs, looking as though a giant has tossed down pick-up-sticks.