Despite that we woke somewhat groggy feeling, an hour and a half before we usually wake and get up in the morning, yesterday turned into one of those decidedly perfect days. It helped, enormously, that we woke to a sunny morning, the house aglow from the sun's penetration lighting up the rooms at the front of the house as though all the lights in the world glowed in them.

That good feeling lasted the entire day, though by evening the sky had clouded over and rain fell heavily. The thing of it is, we wanted the rain to come along, then and there, at that very time. Because we were dissatisfied with the grass seed that the contractor working for Bell Canada had put down to correct the mess they'd left digging up our front lawn. So few of their grass seeds had sprouted that my husband set about laying down fresh soil over the entire area, then used freshly-bought grass seed liberally over the new layer of garden soil. So the rain was welcome.

We had gone out much earlier in the day as we're wont to do, with Jackie and Jillie, heading for the ravine, feeling pretty carefree with no jackets needed since the temperature went to 22C with a light breeze and full sun. Both the sun and the wind, we hoped, would help dry up some of the forest trails and the wind, we also hoped, would keep mosquitoes away. And our hopes were realized.

Woodland violets are now everywhere in bloom in the forest, their bright yellows and mauves and purples dotting the forest floor. The tiny yellow violets are always the first to bloom, and there's the occasional minuscule white violets. The mauve are no more dominant in size than are the yellow, but when the purple violets finally bloom, their blossoms are larger, more perfectly shaped and shade-perfect and have become our favourites.

Jackie and Jillie have now become so accustomed to the pools of muck on the trails sometimes they don't even bother avoiding or leaping over them, but steam right through. Even so, we're no longer faced with the nuisance of washing their tiny feet interminable times to free them of the black muck once we're home. Now, a quick swipe of a damp sponge does the trick; the muck no longer clings to their pads.

On our return home it was time, I felt, to pay a little attention to the garden. To see which of the garden pots wanted to be watered, to cut back the dead stalks on the climbing roses, to help some of the clematis vines find purchase, to trim some of the ornamental conifers of their sun-burned needles. To merely claim to be pleased with how the garden is restoring itself after a long, cold winter, is to understate our delight.

While the garden pots and urns still look sparse, they will soon enough fill in, and the same can be said for the garden beds and borders. Our oldest and largest hostas are beginning to assert themselves and I'm giving some consideration to separating some to re-plant elsewhere. There are always nips and tucks of the most pleasurable type to be done in the garden.

Our neighbour whose house sits beside the trail leading into the ravine stopped us yesterday afternoon while she was out tending to her garden. She was aggrieved that another woman who takes her two large dogs regularly into the ravine tends to park her large truck right in front of our neighbour's house to access the ravine as she lives in another community, and when she starts it up, the heat from the exhaust burns the very front of her lawn in two brown patches.

She's spoken to the woman who we know well, to ask her to park a few yards further up where the grass, not on her property, can be sacrificed because it's public property, and she was taken aback by what she perceived to be the other woman's disgruntled attitude. She was complaining to us about the woman's rude manner. I explained she just happens to be brusque but once you know her you realize she isn't deliberately rude; still, our neighbour was offended and obviously held a grudge.

But our conversation soon turned much more pleasant when we noticed that somehow, and from somewhere, a lovely cultivated crabapple tree had materialized over a few years right at the edge of the forest beside her home, and it was in full, glowing pink bloom. Wind can carry the seeds of cultivated stock; they can be carried along in the fur of animals, the droppings of birds, and eventually some of them germinates. You see a plant or a tree that doesn't 'belong' in the forest in the sense that it's a cultivated variety. Directly beside this little tree proudly showing off its blooms (for the first time), stands a small wild black cherry tree whose presence we were aware of, and it too was in bloom, since both, where they stand, have the benefit of full sun.

Our neighbour's little dog, Newton, played about a bit with Jackie and Jillie, and our neighbour accompanied us for a short bit as we continued on our way, and we spoke of how surprising it was that the forest was regenerating itself with a multitude of new poplars and opportunistic thimbleberry bushes, after the disaster of the hillside slumping a few years back, taking old mature trees, both deciduous and conifers with it, down into the ravine.

Then we set off down the first long hill into the ravine on a lovely day where the temperature soared to 22C, with little wind, and a clear sky hosting a brilliant sun. It's cooler in the forest, of course, thanks to the sun-muting effect of a now-fully-leafed canopy. It seems just as the foliage began swiftly erupting from naked branches of the forest trees, the underground vegetation struggled to emerge, to match the trees in an effort to re-populate the forest floor, and it was doing a fairly good job of it.

There are still trilliums left in bloom and they're mostly the carmine-petalled trilliums. I made a little side-trip down one of the hills to see whether a small patch of white trilliums I know to grow there had matured, and they had, very nicely indeed. The patch doesn't seem to be expanding, so it remains a rare volunteer of white, hiding its presence -- whereas the infinitely more numerous red ones pop up everywhere.

As we ambled along, it was clear that overnight, as always seems to happen, the foamflower had produced its delicate flower stalks and waving in the slight breeze were the dainty white compound flowers whose appearance give this wildflower its name. Just incidentally, because I had, many years ago, transplanted a few of the foamflower as a ground cover in one part of a garden bed where they flourished beyond my expectation, those in our garden are also now in bloom.

Because it was such a beautiful day, quite a number of people appear to have found inspiration to get out into the forest for a walk along the trails. We came across large shaggy Charley walking along with her companion, beginning to pant from being overheated, unaccustomed as we all have been to warm weather after a too-long, too-cold, too-snowy winter. And as it happens when you haven't seen an acquaintance in a long time, we stood together companionably, and talked with Dan, while the three dogs patiently waited nearby for us to remember why it was that we made the ravine our destination, to begin with.

There is a very old, large wild apple tree that produces countless apples in the fall, and it too was in full bloom. The forest is alive with regeneration, its vegetation, large and small, calling out for notice and admiration and we're quick to deliver both.

Sometimes the gloomy atmosphere that prevails when you wake in the morning and instead of bright light streaming through the windows of your house a dusky atmosphere prevails -- makes one feel unsettled, a little sad, pensive at the very least. It's how I felt yesterday. On the other hand, often when it rains and you've no immediate plans to embark on any project that will take you out of the house, the rain serves to make you feel comfortable, protected and dry, while thinking of how good the rain is for growing vegetation.

It was certainly pleasant enough at breakfast time with rain teeming down the sliding patio doors. And the thought of all the planters we've got stuffed with annuals, and the perennials coming up and beginning to make a show of themselves being thankful for the rain. We've had the front lawn seeded because Bell Canada ripped up most of it in the winter to re-attach a communication cable that had failed the fall before.

That they failed to tend to it, leaving a temporary cable connected to our neighbour's connection to ensure we had access to all our communication needs, looped along the lawn, through the flower garden, and sitting there for months on end bare and exposed was irritating enough. Eventually they decided to activate our service without continuing to resort to piggy-backing on our neighbour's, but in the process, during the dead of winter, with the lawns piled high with snow, they destroyed the lawn when a deep crater was dug with the help of a huge mechanical shovel, the cable replaced and re-attached, and when spring came, the snow melted, and the full extent of the devastated lawn was evident.

After months a crew came around, dug the cable into the flower beds extending it to the house, and filled the crater with all the dense clay that had been dug out, finally topping it with soil, and scattered grass seed. My husband had worked on that lawn the summer before, after Japanese beetle grubs had destroyed it, and he succeeded in producing the perfect turf. Well, it's not the most critical thing that could happen, after all.

So, that taken into account, we really didn't mind the rain, even though the atmosphere was already saturated as has been the forest, with constant rain events. By late morning it was evident the rain wasn't about to stop any time soon. So we suited up, all of us, in rain jackets and set off for the forest trails. Since the forest canopy is now well leafed out, we had the benefit of it acting as a semi-shelter from the rain which by that time was no longer teeming having turned into a steady but lighter event.

Jackie and Jillie, both of whom hesitate and prefer not to venture out into the backyard when it's raining, paid little mind to the rain. It was more than a little pleasant, in any event, toddling along the trails, in the rain. The trails were sodden, but even more so the forest floor, beyond the trails. The forest takes on a special glow when it's wet. And rain drops on foliage is beautiful in and of itself. Our local mosquito population must be beside itself with joy at the prospect of a never-ending source of breeding territory with the vast tracts of acreage drenched and standing pools of rainwater occupying much of the area.

Later, at home, by mid-afternoon, the rain stopped, the sun arrived in a clearing sky, and the opportunity arose to walk about in the gardens. There is so much colour now, it's rather unbelievable how swiftly everything has changed. Mind, much of the colour has resulted from our having planted annuals in our various garden urns and pots, but the Japanese quince is in flower, as is the weeping Jade crabapple, and our glorious magnolias. The smaller of our rhododendrons is in bloom, and the tulips are outdoing themselves in splendid array and colour.

All's well with the forest and with our garden, everything flourishing as they would not, without seasonal rain to complement the sun.

Of the two siblings, Jackie is the emotionally sensitive one. Nothing much seems to faze Jillie. She is stoic, and imperturbable. She is clingy in her own way. She wants to be noticed and stroked, there is never enough of the latter. She likes physical contact. Her brother limits his. They are so unalike in so many ways, both physically and psychologically.

We can apply psychology to dogs as well as to people, of course. On occasion, as we roam through the forest trails in our daily ravine walks we will come across both dogs and people whose character or personality happens not to connect with our own, let alone in the experience of our two little dogs. There are some people we just find obnoxious.

Just as some dogs appear to have developed habits that makes you prefer not to be around them. Not that they seem physically threatening, just that they've picked up tics, perhaps because they are uncertain and insecure, that annoy others. Like the German Shepherd-Husky mix we came across yesterday with a perfectly pleasant middle-aged man. The dog was well behaved and innocuous enough but for a continual display of back-digging. You know what some alpha dogs do after they've evacuated, and they end it with a little display of digging in the soil, sending clods of dirt flying everywhere?

Well, this dog took it to extremes. He continually indulged in back-digging and since he was a large dog, able to penetrate the soil of the forest floor without any difficulty, wet clods of dark soil and vegetable matter flew a good distance in each of his displays of authority or alpha-ness. Best to avoid near proximity. Its behaviour didn't seem to bother Jackie and Jillie; they just moved aside a distance. And so, needless to say did we, while the dog's companion smiled wryly.

There's a woman we come across occasionally, having met her a few years ago. She has a very nice companion dog, a mature and well-behaved Lab mix who always goes its own way, never making any attempt to befriend other dogs, never showing any interest in people they come across. Which is fine. But in their presence, Jackie becomes instantly nervous and continually begs to be picked up. He leaps against my legs, nibbles my fingers, pulls at my clothing. And Jillie, unusual for her, does the same, albeit in a less frantic manner.

We find this woman obnoxious. She is never out without earbuds plugged into an iPod or whatever they're called, and the music she listens to is sharp and jarring, loud and somewhat hysterical. Why anyone would want to fill their ears with it is beyond me, particularly in favour of the raucous sound that emanates so annoyingly, as opposed to the peal of a cardinal or bluejay, the song of a robin, the soft melody of songbirds. And if a tree were to fall, would she hear it? The classic question.

Oddly, while listening to her music she chooses to walk alongside us, and a conversation invariably ensues. She is the quintessential expert, opinionated, brash and confident. Questions? She has the answers. Whether or not a question has been posed, an answer/solution will be forthcoming. Smug and assertive, this woman is not anyone's ideal walking companion, when you prefer the calm and serenity of the sounds of the forest.

And, until we manage to part, explaining feebly that our normal pace, given our age, is slower than the one she affects, and best we rest from time to time as we forge our way through the forest. Immediately we part, Jackie and Jillie feel as relieved as we do. Free to amble along at an agreeable pace, enabling us to hesitate now and again to more closely admire the woodland violets now in full bloom, their yellows and mauves an absolute delight amongst the prevailing green ambiance.

At this magical time of year, it's enjoyable doing a quick inventory whenever I'm out in the backyard with Jackie and Jillie, to see what's been erupting while my notice has been elsewhere. And elsewhere it most often is, since there always seems to be so much housework to be done, cooking and baking, part of maintaining a household in the manner to which we've become accustomed.

So those brief perusals give me the opportunity to see what needs to be done. From tying up tendrils of fast-growing clematis vines, to pulling out weeds, to making note of the rose canes that will have to be trimmed. We have a purple smoke tree that always has die-back in the spring and that too will have to be looked after.

It's a daily routine, to have a look about and take stock and remind oneself of what a well-cared-for garden needs in maintenance. It isn't all that much work once the annuals have been planted, because the perennials look after themselves pretty much. The irises and lilies are coming up nicely and so are the mountain bluet, the Ladies Mantle, bleeding hearts, the bellflowers, the geraniums, the peonies, the Japanese anemones, Columbine and Lilies-of-the-Valley. Tulips are exhausted, though the grape hyacinths are holding their own, and they've been joined by tiny blue forget-me-nots.

In the rock garden the bergenia are in bloom and so is the snake-head fritalleria, and the hens'n chicks are coming along nicely. So are the sweet woodruff and creeping phlox and strawberries. Violets are everywhere, both in the garden and trespassing onto the turf.

Yesterday was the loveliest, warmest day we've yet enjoyed this spring. And when we went off for our afternoon ramble through the forest trails there was no need to think about anything but the pleasure to be had in rambling about, taking note of what has been transpiring on the forest floor and expressing disbelief at the complete leaf-out of the deciduous trees - the forest in all its glorious green.

And then it didn't take too long before we realized we were being inundated by swarms of mosquitoes. Not surprising, given the look of the forest floor, more like a swamp than a forest, with standing water from the copious rain events we've had. Our bare necks, arms and shoulders soon felt fairly uncomfortable. Our arms were swerving about like blades of a windmill in self defence.

The 23-C temperature, the air saturated with moisture and the absence of wind all conspired with the drenched forest floor to hatch those mosquito larvae we knew were there, into ferocious, biting pests. Jackie and Jillie too were being pursued by those merciless bloodsuckers. Our enjoyment somewhat dampened we thought a shorter circuit would do us nicely, yesterday.

And today? Cooler, drier, bright sun hanging in the sky. Mosquitoes? Nope!

My husband seems quite seized with his self-appointed 'responsibility' to feed our local wildlife. They are obligingly grateful as evidenced by their constant presence on our porch. My husband as area custodian of wildlife mealtimes, begins to lay out the offerings from five in the wee hours of the morning until around midnight. At least five times a day he cuts various types of bread (he shops for day-old bread) into cube shapes, takes cupfuls of sunflower seeds, of peanuts and great scoops of dog kibble to lay them out in neat little rounds on the porch.

A 14 kg bag of kibble now lasts less than a week before he hies himself off to get another. We're not certain whether the kibble is of any interest to the squirrels, certainly not to the birds, but it's a great hit with the raccoons. They come around at all hours of the day, all sizes, from oldsters to juveniles to babies. We've seen some that are cat-sized but they come around only at night.

And early last night for the first time we saw a mother raccoon with her two very young ones -- this time the size of kittens -- on the porch, all feeding comfortably. I tried to take photographs but the clarity is completely missing when it's so dark and that's a pity because the kits are so adorable.

Yesterday was nice and mild, but windy and the atmosphere was quite moisture-permeated. The sun made a quick survey of the situation early in the morning, then decided it would take itself off elsewhere for the day. We left the house shortly after cleaning up from breakfast, figuring we'd better get out there with Jackie and Jillie if we planned to have a hike in the ravine because it was certain that the high humidity gave ample warning of rain to come.

We were most of the way through our circuit when light rain began, stopped briefly, returned and accompanied us for the remainder of our ramble on the forest trails before we emerged and made our way home. It's so wet on many of the trails, steeped in muck from constant rain that washing our two little dogs' feet has become a feat indeed. Numerous applications of warm water is required before their feet begin to resemble a presentable state.

While we were out we were amazed to see here and there, tiny outcroppings of groups of Jack-in-the-Pulpit. Decades ago they were to be seen in only one discrete part of a trail in the depths of the ravine, alongside a rivulet that represents one of the many arms of the major creek. Gradually over the years we began to see others here and there. And now in the most unexpected places there they are, those neat little pulpits with their purple-striped petal.

We came across Rod walking Nova -- or perhaps it's somewhat more accurate to reverse that since Nova trots briskly along far in advance of Rod, a giant of a man himself with a long stride, but no match for a white German Shepherd still a puppy who goes into throes of exuberant greeting mode whenever he comes across us. Actually, Nova, like Jackie and Jillie, can hear and smell the imminent arrival of others and makes haste to meet them halfway, as he did with us, yesterday.

Now, when we're completed our walk in the forest, and come out on the street as we approach our house we can see in the near distance the incomparable beauty of the older-of-our-two Magnolia trees, with its large saucer flowers now in full pink bloom. It has given us early spring pleasure for decades. And each year it adds to its girth and reach, producing more buds as it continues to grow.

And we were beyond fortunate in another way. Once returned, it took no time at all for the rain to descend in a fury of waterfall-quality strength. Heavy rain continued for hours; another occasion where we were able to enjoy our usual circuit and then enjoy the rain from the comfort of our dry home.