Normally, at this time of year -- mid-May, we will have already planted our numerous garden urns, pots and other planters with their allotted assortment of annuals. But this has been, if anything, an abnormal winter and spring, quite unlike any we've experienced in our almost half-century in the Ottawa Valley. Certainly Toronto, where we are originally from, was nothing like this.

The Ottawa Valley has a weather system all its own. Rarely lacking in sun, notorious for its humidity, but much colder, and snowier than the southern and more central part of Ontario. Not to complain, of course, there are much more weather-adverse places where one could live in Canada. But it is perplexing, if not downright vexing. We would like to commence with our gardening, but with the prospect of frost at night still imminent, hesitate to.

Yesterday afternoon we set out in early afternoon as usual for our ramble in the woods with our little Jackie and Jillie. The forecast had informed us that we'd be enjoying an 18C day finally. Yet our ventures into the backyard informed us otherwise; it was damp, cold, windy and overcast. In fact a light drizzle prevailed, as it did throughout the length of our ravine hike. Light enough that our raincoats kept us comfortable; for even though the cold penetrated the rain did not.

Because of these incessant rain events the forest floor appears to have given up trying to absorb it all and the raised area of the forested ravine now looks more like a wetland that merely a marshland. On the other hand, while the constant cold temperatures may have influenced all the vegetation still asleep in the soil to bide their time, for others that generally emerge in early spring, it has incited them to a spurt of new coverage with expanding colonies.

We've actually never seen as many of the trout lily plants flowering, nor the lilies-of-the-valley as we have this spring, and that's an absolute delight. Belying their usual habit of opening for the sun and closing in the rain, throughout yesterday's light rain where it almost seemed at times that the sun was going to be successful in its challenge to the rain, but never quite, even what is left of the coltsfoot was openly flowering.

I made a side-trip on one of the hillsides carefully making my way halfway down where we knew from previous years that discrete clumps of white trilliums were located to see whether there was any sign of them a few days earlier and found none. Yesterday I tried again and sure enough there was one clump poised to release its lovely white flowers; rare in this forest where most trilliums bloom bright red.

And then, when we passed by an area of the creek where a slump in the hills above had blocked the creek and work crews had been dispatched with heavy machinery to clear out the debris of fallen trees from the forested hillsides, and send metal rods deep into bedrock to stabilize the hills, lined the creek with heavy stones and re-forested the remaining hillside, we saw a pair of Mallards contentedly steaming along in their element.

We had been wondering whether any of the ducks still remained in the ravine and now we had our answer. They're transiting the ravine, taking a break in their seasonal migration, heading for their summer homes.