We had an intimation of what the day would allow us to do and what it would not be feasible for us to plan when we walked down the steps from our second floor to the first, glanced out the glassed front door and saw snow falling. We had no idea how long it had been snowing, but the fresh snow nicely covered the season's snowpack that had begun melting, freshening it beautifully.

We had to do the usual mental shrug of acceptance of the inevitable with March even if this was the penultimate day and March had been given ample opportunity earlier in its winter reign to wreak havoc on the landscape. Never satisfied, March always has more in store, and was unleashing that 'more' yesterday. When we were having our breakfast, looking out the patio doors we could see that the snow had intensified, falling in great fluffy gobs. Beautiful to behold, especially if it had been January, but the end of March?

No matter, down it came. But by noon it was over. Instead what had fallen as snow began coming down as freezing rain. Sleet is, for our purposes, less amenable than snow. No one in their right mind with two little dogs plans to head out to a forest for a leisurely hike along the ravined trails in pouring rain in a season that resents leaving in favour of spring's entrance.

The rain continued into the afternoon. Which meant no ravine walk. By that time I had decided that it was past time to begin what I had been putting off. Similarly, when looking out of the house onto a decidedly wintry landscape, our gardens deep in snow, the urge to begin spring cleaning just isn't there. Not that the prospect of indulging in days and days of cleaning out cupboards is anyone's idea of a particularly pleasant pastime...it's just one of those things you do. And so I began.

The pantry in the kitchen was my first target. It's a must-do, to take stock as an example, and get rid of things you can dispense with. I wrapped quite a few items in newspapers to take along to the Sally Ann recycling depot; glass vases, glass juice containers that I hadn't used in ages and likely never would again; small glass dispensers, extraneous baking dishes. And in that portion of the pantry where baking supplies, canned foods, jams, are kept some order was required and assessment of what was there and what might be outdated. It's a start.

From time to time one of us would initiate a bit of play through the day with Jackie and Jillie, to throw around tennis balls or knotted mittens that they much prefer to play with, to get them going until they felt like independently playing and tussling about with one another. Jillie is more of a snoozer, while her brother enjoys standing at the front door, barking and harassing the squirrels coming by for treats laid out on the porch.

In the evening, we watched three segments of a British Masterpiece Theatre series called Indian Summers; a fascinating drama focusing on the dying days of the British Raj. No other cinematic entities can beat British cinema at depicting itself as an arrogant, entitled occupier of a foreign land under the self-appointed task of relieving developing countries of their natural resources, in the process leaving them with the inestimable riches of British jurisprudence, bureaucracy, snobbery and cricket.

Theirs was in some ways an issue of noblesse oblige; viewing themselves as altruistically dedicated to the advancement of civilization to countries whose civilization long predated Britain's, endowing those countries with the indelible stamp of British colonialist rule. They viewed themselves as benevolent in their dictation to others what they should value and how they should behave.

Coincidentally, last night I finished reading 7 Years in Tibet, a fascinating first-hand account that described another Asian nation under colonial duress by a powerful neighbour whose outreach in the interests of territorial expansion was not resistible by a much smaller, less warlike nation of Buddhists. No one could ever accuse the Chinese of being guilty of benevolence toward others.

On our hike through the ravine trails yesterday it was a physical challenge slogging uphill and retaining balance on the downhill clambers. Our boots, despite the cleats securely strapped onto them, slid deep into the melting snowpack. It's thick and firm yet sloppy on the trails. So ascending the hills means twice the usual effort to compensate for the backward slide with every step.

That, of course, means that the environment is gradually adjusting to spring. Though, to be sure, looking about at the landscape, spring doesn't come immediately to mind. The forest remains clamped deep in snow. But the thaw, or some semblance of it, is beginning to make its mark. With their four nimble, young and strong legs Jackie and Jillie encounter no such physical difficulties that our 82-year-old legs struggle with.

The only other person we came across throughout the time we were out on our lengthy circuit was a young woman struggling to mount a hill we were descending. Our descent was quick and hers was more prolonged on the ascent because, as she said ruefully, she had decided not to strap her cleats on before setting out. Since we're out every day in the ravine we reserve a sturdy old pair of winter boots with those cleats permanently strapped on. In her case, she would have had to remind herself to put on the cleats since if the same boots are not used in such forested landscapes as are worn on the street one automatically removes them as unnecessary for use on the street.

She laughed and said she'd remember tomorrow if she came out again with her friendly, large black dog, who wanted to play with Jackie and Jillie. Because they'd never seen the dog before they were suspicious and stand-offish. A second meeting, if it ever occurs, would change that dynamic. The young woman also mentioned that the following day whatever melted in the 2C-degree temperature of yesterday would be restored since we were due for another snowfall.

We knew that, of course. People living in this geography become fixated on the weather. And listen carefully to weather forecasts to be aware of what to expect in days to come. So we expected snow for Saturday, the penultimate day of March 2019. March is always an 'iffy' month weatherwise in this region; completely unpredictable.

We had no reason to be taken by surprise when we came downstairs for breakfast this morning on a heavily overcast day, to see snow falling. But we were, regardless. And stood looking through the glass of the front door as the atmosphere released its considerable store of frozen crystals on the landscape. It snowed for hours, the snow turning into thick lumps of light snow.

And then, at noon, the snow was over. But the precipitation wasn't, since snow had turned to freezing rain as the temperature rose from -1C to the high for the day, 2C. We broke the news to Jackie and Jillie that no, unfortunately, we wouldn't be going out to the ravine to hike the forest trails today.

There are certain seasonal rituals that are not to be toyed with, taken lightly, given less than their due as vitally important to fully enjoying certain times of year. In winter, needless to say, we seek comfort in warmth. Which means that our bedrooms must be inviting places to rest and sleep throughout the night hours and above all our beds must be draped accordingly in warmth adequate to our needs.

My husband feels it is needful to use fleecy sheet sets during the coldest of the winter months, and I certainly agree with him. The fabric instantly communicates warmth and comfort. To us, in any event. There's time for cotton sheets and winter isn't that time. Mind, I will revert to using flannel sheet sets once the temperature stops dipping below freezing at night. And they eventually will give way to cotton sets in summer.

But our winter-weight duvet, I thought yesterday, had to go. I knew this would bother my husband who enjoys its soft depths and all-enclosing comfort, but nights well above -20C no longer need that level of warmth and so I substituted a light-weight transitional duvet for the interim as we slowly begin to warm up to spring. Of course, looking around us outside we're still deep in snow. But it will surely melt in another few weeks, we hope, and we will truly begin to enter spring mode.

When I turned down the spread over our bed last night my husband, who rarely notices things of that nature, saw immediately that a different duvet cover presented itself and understood that his beloved fluffed-up plush duvet was no longer there to invite him to indulge in its deep embrace. I hastened to assure him he would never notice the difference at this point, and he grumblingly accepted that. Sure enough, by morning he agreed.

When we were out yesterday afternoon in the ravine after all the laundry was done and other household chores completed, it hardly seemed as though the days were beginning to warm up, although they have been lengthening in daylight hours. Guess we'll have to focus on that bonus for awhile. Until the snowpack in the ravine melts from its current depth, accumulated as a result of our having received over 300 cm of snow this winter, the ambient atmosphere in the ravine will remain cold.

And cold it certainly seemed yesterday, as we ambled along the forest trails with Jackie and Jillie. The wind bustled about as though supervising the transition to spring. At ground level it was strong enough to make us a little uncomfortable, but it was at the canopy level of the forest that it was issuing its most urgent commands, rudely roaring and swaying tree tops.

The trails that had begun to thaw the day before, under the influence of sun filtering through, yesterday re-iced because of both wind and lower temperature and the absence of sun. Despite which it was a lovely day and we felt fortunate as usual to be able to get out and make the most of the day. On those rare occasions when we are unable because of really inclement conditions to take our two little dogs out for their usual perambulations through the trails we feel guilty and irresponsible.

After our return home my husband's attention turns to the invitation to local wildlife sitting out on our porch, and replenishes the vanishing stock of seeds, nuts and bread. It's only when twilight arrives that he also puts out dog kibble for the raccoons. I watched a tiny red squirrel (this little fellow was small even for a red squirrel) biding its time in our miniature weeping pea tree until an officious grey squirrel would allow him to take advantage of the offerings the larger squirrel was monopolizing.

A few days back when one of the raccoons had come around earlier than usual in daylight hours I noted that the raccoon didn't mind the close presence of a little red squirrel on the porch, both absorbed in delicately picking up what most interested them in particular, neither paying much attention to the other. And Jackie watching them both through the glass front door, barking furiously while they both ignored his futile efforts at territorial intimidation.

My husband is kept busy supplying our local wildlife with edibles daily. He has moved from refreshing the snacks laid out on the porch from once a day to three and four times daily. Last night he wanted to put out fresh food before going up to bed but the two raccoons, mama and juvenile, were hard at it, gobbling everything, and he didn't want to disturb them. First thing he does in the morning is toast bread, butter it, cut it into little squares, gather up raw peanuts and sunflower seeds and put the ensuing piles in neat little separations, out for the squirrels and the birds.

In the evening he adds piles of the dog kibble he's bought especially for the raccoons. We sight the rabbit only occasionally, and it is far more vigilant than either the squirrels or the raccoons, quick to make a swift exit if it feels any threats nearby, so we keep Jackie and Jillie a distance from the front door in the evening hours. During the daytime, Jackie is free to harass all comers with his barking, although we chastise him because we don't want the birds disturbed.

Yesterday seemed a perfect precursor to spring. The temperature nudged all the way up to 2C at street level and likely remained about -2C down in the ravine, given the icy cold and damp we feel radiating from the forest floor, clamped tightly in layers of ice and snow. But with the sun in full, glorious display no one could think other than that spring is procrastinating, but the season of reason will prevail.

The icy trails under the influence of sun and warming trends has developed a softened exterior so we don't slide about as much ascending and descending the hills. Unfortunately, the night-time temperatures continue to linger around -5C, giving the trails impetus to continue icing up. It's a perfect combination for local enterprises busy with producing maple syrup since cold night time temperatures and moderate day-time conditions encourage the sap to run.

And tthe sun, the wonderful, warming sun feels exquisite on our exposed faces. Its warmth more than compensates for the wind's rude lashing. Evidence is gradually accumulating that winter is indeed in retreat, however bad-natured about it the season seems to be, as always. Here and there are signs that the snowpack is slowly receding. And the blanket of snow is becoming increasingly soot-deposited at close visual range.

We've found it useful under these circumstances to keep putting their little rubber boots on our little dogs' feet. The rubber actually keeps them from sliding on the ice, and it also protects their tender pads from the sharp surfaces that also mark the ice when freeze-and-thaw cycles play havoc with what might otherwise be a glassy finish.

They, of course, are oblivious to all such concerns. Their interest lies in just being out there in the forest, on the trails, chasing up interesting odours, interacting with other dogs, satisfying their curiosity about what may lay ahead on a curve of the trail, and rushing up to people they are familiar with just in case there are treats in the offing.

No sooner does our son living in Vancouver put away his skies for the season, than he plans a camping-kayaking expedition to begin his mountain-and-ocean excursions for the new season. Spring, of course, has arrived in British Columbia. The cherry trees have blossomed as has the large quince tree in our son's backyard. Last week he drove to the Sunshine Coast and took his kayak and camping equipment to South Thormanby Island. The weather was beneficently beautiful, the water becalmed and the landscape unmatched. For a biologist like him, a perfect setting to make the most of.

For us, still in winter's icy realms, we think of spring finally manifesting itself unreservedly, but that time has not yet arrived. We continue to dress for the cold and white greets our eyes on the forest floor as we enter the ravine for our daily communes with the natural world. We know the snowpack is steadily receding, but in most places our eyes light upon it's hard to believe, yet spring melt is in the process. The creek runs freely with churned-up detritus from its clay bottom, receiving meltwater from the hillsides above.

However much we would like to wave winter adieu, it is not possible to look at the landscape without admiration for its cold beauty. Jackie and Jillie spurt about on the trails, anxious not to miss any newly-revealed aromas that tell them much that we cannot even begin to imagine, for as creatures capable of temporarily adapting to this changed environment they are much closer to as a species than we are.

When any of their friends appear, it's an opportunity to socialize and expend physical energy in their usual competitive run-abouts. Everyone tends to be cheerful on such beautiful, sun-lit days illuminating the snowpack, sunbeams glancing brilliantly off the bright green of the flat fir needles and on other evergreens intensifying their deep green colouration.

The sun sits much higher in the heavens now, and its warming rays succeed in comforting exposed flesh, in a kind of contesting of the icy cold emanating from the ice- and snow-pack radiating upward from the forest floor.

Grumble as we may about the tardy entrance of spring and the cantankerous refusal of winter to depart, the landscape scintillates with brilliant beauty reflecting a season loathe to leave, and it's hard not to appreciate it.

Because the environment remains in the grip of late winter, all the more reason to continue cooking comfort foods and dinner called for something different but hot and fragrant with taste-treating ingredients. The night before we'd had a tiny roasted Cornish hen between us, and last night it was a giant stuffed-pizza roll (Panzeroto), one for each of us, stuffed with cheese, mushrooms, bell pepper, tomatoes and smoked mussels.

When we saw the little Schnauzer running toward us yesterday afternoon as Jackie and Jillie ran helter-skelter toward it on the forest trail, I recall thinking 'finally, they liberated the little guy from that stupid rope'. But as the three dogs met up and continued their romp together back toward us it became all too evident that the little dog his humans named 'Tim-bit' was still trailing that bloody rope.

He's now the same age as Jackie and Jillie, three heading toward four. If they were concerned that he might get lost in the ravine, they chose a strange way of 'protecting' him, since out of their sight that rope could at any time strangle him if it were caught on some protrusion. In any event, the rope is also a danger to others since Tim-bit excitedly runs about in circles all around people and other dogs, entangling both so that everyone has to be alert to extricate their dogs' legs or themselves from the tightening rope as the little dog runs off.

I've asked Tim-bit's people why they continue to keep him connected to a rope. It must be at least twenty feet in length, and makes no sense whatever to encumber him and others constantly. A blank look resulted, along with a shrug. They can't articulate why in any meaningful way as an explanation. Merely habit. They previously had another little Schnauzer, even smaller, a saucy little female and she was a true treat of a dog. The bark she emitted was a high-pitched whistle, and she was always excited just as her successor was, to see friends. She would dance about, squeaking her happiness, and sometimes had her favourite toy with her, a ball, which she would let loose down one of the hillsides then scramble after and triumphantly retrieve.

Dogs are priceless. People are strange sometimes.

We're still walking tall on the snowpack through the forest trails. The bridges over the now-freely-running creek down in the ravine, remain packed with snow and ice, though the central portion remains at its level of height that brings us a good two feet above normal, while the sides, not as packed down, have begun melting and crumbling away.

It was -2C yesterday and in the ravine more like -6C, given the cold-radiating effect of the immense amount of snow that remains in the forest. Though the 'wells' of disappearing snow are widening around the base of trees, the forest floor remains deeply buried in a season's-worth of snow and ice.
Without a lasting switch to warmer temperatures -- certainly warmer than the average -6C we've been having overnight so far -- serious melting won't take place any time soon.

Last week our younger son went on a kayaking-camping trip on the Sunshine Coast in British Columbia, where he lives. Not that Vancouver gets much in the way of snow in any event. But there the cherry trees are in bloom. And on photographs he took of his campsite on South Thormanby Island you'd be hard put to identify any signs of winter...

Given what our landscape still looks like we hardly needed reminding that winter has not yet departed this northern clime of ours, but still we were somewhat surprised to find ourselves trekking through the icy forest trails in the ravine yesterday afternoon in a minor snowstorm. Not much of a storm to be sure, more like winter taking huge pleasure in bringing our attention back to its inclemency and its stubborn desire to remain in place. Nothing unusual in that either.

Truth to tell, the melting snowpack hasn't been too kind to the landscape. It never is, at this time of year when the pure white and smooth blanket turns grimy and slushy and the once-virgin coverlet holds all manner of cellulose-based and animal waste front and centre. The delightful magic gone. The reality of an unkempt-in-appearance forest dominates, at least at foot level. So the new snow covering that nasty embarrassment is welcome, as a temporary measure to eliminate unpleasantness.

Apart from being snowily overcast, it was also cold enough at -1C. We're not getting much of a break in that department either. And what a wild wind careening through the forest canopy! It conspired with the cold radiating from the forest floor steeped deep in snow and ice to make for a truly frosty walk in the woods. None of which bothered Jackie and Jillie.

They kept stopping now and again throughout our circuit to scent the air and every now and again would discern the oncoming presence of those familiar to them, both canine and human long before they made an appearance. Which tends to elicit howls of invitation from them as though they're urging their friends to hurry up and come along so they can enjoy a bit of a romp together.

When we did complete our circuit and return home, it was another pleasure to be welcomed by the homey comfort of late afternoon and the fireplace in the family room. Before that, though it was time for me to prepare for dinner, and this kind of weather simply calls out for a now-routine piping hot soup and rolls to complement it on a Sunday evening. Yesterday it was tomato-lentil soup. Lentils need no soaking, just a quick rinse, since they cook very nicely in less than an hour, though I keep a soup bubbling on the stove for much longer.

Starting with olive oil in a deep saucepan, chopped onion and garlic, masala, fennel and cumin stirred until that savoury fragrance permeates the kitchen, it's time to add the lentils, water, salt, pepper and chopped celery, zucchini and ripe tomatoes, along with a quarter-cup of tomato paste. The stove takes care of the rest. As for the rolls, out comes the bread dough I'd prepared two days previously then refrigerated, consisting of just a tsp.sugar, yeast, salt, a soupcon of olive oil and flour. A simple, unpretentious bread dough.

But then I roll it out to a flat rectangle, smooth Becel margarine over it, sprinkle it with sesame seeds, grate old cheddar over, then fold it three times on itself to enclose the cheese, and roll out to another rectangle. Smooth it once more with margarine, then fold again, and roll out again several more times. When it feels like a tight little ball, I let it rest, covered by the bowl it had risen in. Then it's rolled out for the last time and I decide whether to make traditional croissant forms, or flat rolls, and bake them at 375F for about a half-hour. The result, light and flaky rolls that are wonderfully flavourful.

Ta-dum! Dinner is ready, and out come the strawberries for dessert!

Since Friday's all-day rain made for a missed ravine walk on Friday, we were happy enough to wake on Saturday morning to a wide-open, bright blue sky. When the sun shines, as it mostly does in our region throughout the winter months that means a cold day. Not only was it cold yesterday but the wind was icily cutting, swaying tree tops rhythmically in a Dance of the Happy Shades.

While not as cold as mid-winter, the daytime high struggled to get to -1C, much colder with the effect of that brusque wind, shoving against us as we made our way up the street. The street, officially in spring, looks quite unlike a spring mode. It is itself still thick with ice, though some pavement is beginning to show through the pack, while the snowbanks remain high, in some instances six feet tall.

Some shelter from the effect of the blasting effect was to be had -- a welcome relief -- once we descended into the ravine, but the forest paths pass back and forth across the creek, at some considerable stretches remaining deep in the ravine, at others ascending onto the long forested ridges forming the spine of the forest and then exposure is guaranteed, despite the density of trees.

We didn't mind the cold, though we did the wind. For one thing, cold means that the high of the day before, a balmy 7C with copious rainfall was certain to make a sloshing mess of the trails. But there was little trace of that left when an overnight low of -6C firmed the trails up again into the icy form we can at least grip with our cleats. And that describes the trails that met us yesterday, except where some melting did occur on the hillsides those areas turned to treacherously icy surfaces we carefully avoided climbing uphill.

A pleasant walk through the forest trails was most definitely in the offing for Jackie and Jillie. We exchanged their winter rain coats for their warmer cold-weather coats since threat of rain had a zero likelihood, unlike many forays we take when the weather seems to change on a dime, from overcast and light snow or icy drizzle to sunshine, all during the space of an afternoon's ramble of an hour-and-a-half.

Plenty of company out and about, as it happened, for our two little black trouble-makers, with whom they were able to run about wildly and work off some of that stored energy. And for us, some additional interest in coming across familiar ravine frequenters who invariably bring others up to date on their latest winter getaway or what they've been doing to upgrade their kitchens and bathrooms, both types of events hugely popular during the winter months, both types of enterprises favourite topics that people like to boast about.

It's the verbal equivalent, I tend to think, of friendly dogs leaving their marking scents on tree trunks or posts, or, in fact, anything protruding that must appear to them a likely venue for neighbourhood canine news.