As a very young child 80 years ago I had no toys. It was all my parents could do, as immigrants to the country to cope with trying to put food on the table, working in factories in low-wage employment. When I was very young a Catholic group offered daycare to the indigent population living in Toronto and I dimly recall feeling estranged and alienated even at that young age in the presence of nuns, however good their intentions.

I do remember that I wanted to have a doll. I had no playmates but I imagine I thought if I had a doll I would have a companion I could talk to. Something of my own. And dolls, I thought, were beautiful. I wanted a beautiful doll, the vision of which in its porcelain glory and elegant clothing would fulfill a strongly-held need. My parents were not emotionally demonstrative, likely because they themselves were deprived as children born in Russia and Poland of poor Jewish stock.

I remember a visitor who came to see my parents once brought along a gift for their-then only child, and it was a doll that looked exactly as I imagined it would. A large doll, it wasn't meant for a child's plaything, but rather it was a show-piece, and I adored it. Not for long. It was in my possession for mere hours; the evening it was presented until I went to bed. In the morning it was gone, and I never knew why, and what had become of it.To my upset questioning my parents feigned ignorance.

When I was older, around five, I was given a tricycle. My father demonstrated how it worked, for me, and I rode it around the street until bullies took it from me, and my father insisted that I confront them myself and demand its return. I was too fearful. There was hostility among the deprived populations living in poverty in Toronto back then, expressed toward Jews and I became accustomed to being accused of being a Christ-killer. I imagine my father feared confronting a hostile neighbour.
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Even before I began to attend kindergarten at the school across from where my parents rented several rooms on the second floor of a house owned by another family, I was allowed to wander the neighbourhood, make my way into the schoolyard, hoping to see other children, wanting to have a friend.

There was a little Japanese girl when I finally started school who lived across the street, and what I found different about her was her teeth, which were entirely rotted and dark. At that time deprived children were given breakfast and lunch at schools, were able to take showers at school, had nurses and dentists coming around regularly to check their health.

The little girl once invited me to her home when her parents were absent, confiding in me that she was going to share something special with me, and I wasn't to tell anyone. The something special were festival dolls brought out only at special times of the year. She looked about in a dark cupboard and withdrew several boxes. In them were dolls that bore no resemblance whatever to my fixed idea of what a desirable doll should look like. I must have conveyed my disappointment to the little girl; I can't recall ever being with her again.

And then, a lifetime later I lived for a year in Japan. By then I knew the significance of dolls as cultural artifacts with value inherent in their production, purpose and ornamentation based on heritage and custom. And I went out in search of them and was rewarded by finding many old dolls that had been produced for special occasions and had special meaning, and were linked to historical events. They were made of variant materials that in themselves described their meaning and purpose.

And, finally, as a mature woman I was given the opportunity by a turn in my life to acquire a number of significant dolls -- perhaps as a metaphor for a young child yearning for elusive human contact and finding none, accepting the presence of carefully made replicas of human beings reflecting the versatility of human culture -- satisfying my acquisitive streak.

In  the process discovering about myself the reality that I am a withdrawn individual, basically introverted and certainly not given to easy friendship and a circle of friends.

We've run out of the store-bought on-sale bread that my husband buys especially to toast and cube for the wildlife. Coincidentally, because we cannot access the quality of bread that he prefers to eat himself, since we have confined ourselves to shopping only every other week and only at one source, he has been baking the kinds of bread he most prefers with the use of his old bread-making machine. Yesterday afternoon another one was plucked out of the machine. And this morning while I still slept he went down to the kitchen to put on another.

An interesting side-issue of the coronavirus lockdown is that now, more than ever, we two spend far more together time in the kitchen during meal preparations. My husband bustles about preparing offerings for the wildlife, or baking breads, while I go about preparing our dinner and that of our two little dogs. They are served their dinner; the main course followed by their never-fail vegetable salads, and then it's our turn to eat.

Our turn yesterday consisted of a pasta dish, which was taking a chance on my part, although truth told, I had consulted first with my husband, since he notoriously enjoys only spaghetti and occasionally lasagne; no other types of pasta need apply, other than when I use fine egg noodles to bake a noodle-egg-raisin pudding to accompany a poultry dish. If he had his way he'd be served rice for every meal daily.

I love pasta in any form. I'd seen a recipe for bow-tie pasta with green peas and ham, and mentioned it to my husband and he said it sounded interesting, why didn't I give it a try? So I did, only I deviated somewhat, adding a white sauce to a recipe that only called for chopped onion and garlic sauteed in olive oil as the 'sauce'. I otherwise was true to the original. Adding frozen peas and diced ham. First though, I melted butter in a saucepan, added dry mustard and lots of pepper, then flour, then hot milk to form a thick sauce into which I melted a cup and a half of old Cheddar.

Then I added the al-dente-cooked bow-ties as well as the peas and the ham, spooned it all into a waiting casserole dish, sprinkled over Panko, then Parmesan cheese and baked it in a 350F oven until it was bubbling and brown-crusted around the edges. I loved it, my husband said it was really good, then picked at the plate, leaving most of the bow-ties themselves uneaten. No.more.pasta!

When we set out with Jackie and Jillie for our afternoon walk, we discovered the presence of an  unused garden compost bag that had blown from somewhere into our garden. The day has been  overcast, with heavy winds gusting now and again; the logo on the bag is not from anywhere we shop, but we'll use it for the purpose for which it was intended.

I suppose because it's been such a blustery day, albeit temperature-mild and heavily overcast, fewer people appeared on the evidence interested in wandering through the forest trails today, so we encountered far fewer people on foot and on bicycle than we did yesterday, which wasn't at all hard to take. We did come across other people with their companion dogs and there's always pleasure in that as the dogs introduce themselves to one another, mostly civilly.

Although everything at this time of year in the forest looks stark, devoid of green, no vegetation yet emerged from the forest floor to form the bracken underbrush, looking about for proof that the process has begun is irresistible. I thought, why wouldn't we see the first of the trilliums emerging, even while I admonished myself that it was far too early; possibly next week. And then, next thing I knew, there was a trillium, barely free of the soil, nestling close to the trunk of a tree. We were amazed.

Further along, ferns were making their presence known. And surprise! It seems the honeysuckle bushes too are beginning to leaf out. The catkins on the hazelnut shrubs are growing longer and lighter, and tiny pink buds can be seen toward the ends of their branches. Just as we were rounding up our hike for the day, there was a tiny woolly bear caterpillar on the pathway. My husband stopped long enough to lift it gently into his palm, to deposit it beyond the path into the density of the forest where it would be safe from being stepped upon.

And then, when we arrived home, and I peered briefly around the garden to try to see what might be happening there, well there was something notable happening. A small clump of several trilliums, their flower buds already in evidence, prepared in a day or two to burst into full flower and glorious colour!

We have it on the very best, most reliable authority now that the die is finally cast and there is no going back -- at least not until next November-December. Proof is in the now-rising temperatures and the palpable warmth of the spring sun, a combination along with rain that is moving irrevocably toward resuscitation of our still-slumbering garden.

We remain only slightly skeptical. To fully cement the impression that our wistful pleadings to nature have been received and acknowledged, we really do have to see the crowns of deciduous trees beginning to fill out with foliage. A tree unleafed is a tree in mourning. In the meanwhile, we're moderately satisfied with the tardy arrival of the warmth.

And the sun blazing its golden embers on the threshold of a palatial sky, rich with ocean blue. All of which has made quite the impression on Jackie and Jillie, two little housebound dogs. Who suddenly have conceived an affection for the bare wooden boards of the deck, abandoning the warmth and comfort of the family room sofa like fickle lovers.

Now, as soon as the sun swings around from the front of the house to the back, their eager little faces tell us it's outside-time, time to slide away the doors and allow fresh, sun-warmed air to penetrate the house and give two little dogs the opportunity to lounge on the deck, sniff the air and soak up the sun. Their notion of sublime relaxation.

And then another message is relayed and deciphered, the wish to be off and into the forest, and so we oblige as we're meant to do, and off we went. With a high of 14C, just light windbreakers for us and none for Jackie and Jillie to their great relief. They're a little perplexed of late, however, that their once-serene forest landscape has become a peculiar venue. They no longer can claim the ravine and its forest trails as their very personal getaway.

There happens now to be an abundance of challengers to the title of ravine habitues. Partially word-of-mouth to the COVID-restless that despite the closure of all the manifold area parks in the community, there remains a natural urban forest capable of absorbing the brief presence of many and that many, wishing to breathe freshly-scrubbed air and exercise their limbs have the option of accessing this primary, unspoiled jewel.

As we proceed through the long-familiar trails, looking up at the forest canopy, but for the evergreens, the crowns of the deciduous give little hint yet that they're working at another green wardrobe for the coming of summer. But closer to ground level where our eyes search desperately for any signs that foliage will eventually appear, there are little rewards in the sightings of minuscule, emerging leaves.

And for heaven's sake, isn't that a familiar bit of vegetation in an area we well know to host great clumps of trout lilies? Those oblong, vaguely fish-shaped leaves with their little splotches of pale orbs decorating the foliage so they resemble trout, have the early-risers already made their presence?! With more, many more to come....

Bicycles and bicyclists. We encounter them in increasing numbers. Even when we don't see them directly we see the evidence they leave behind, of the abrupt braking as they descent the hills, leaving hillocks of detritus to punctuate the impressions made by their tires in the still-muddy trails. Caution required; very few audibly signal their presence as they speed forward behind you. And often, when you stop and wait, leaving that credible distance, you keep waiting until the second, the third and the fourth go by.

Attaining the main ridge with the hills falling away on either side encounters are even more frequent of family groups, friends, young lovers, children and their minders. No straight forging ahead, mind in relaxed leisure, the woods silently observing your passage. Now an intricate dance of courtesy-avoidance informs our minds of the necessity of being constantly alert.

Just as we had almost cleared the dinner table yesterday evening, Jackie and Jillie informed us they had an inclination to go out to the backyard. So I continued removing our dinner dishes to the kitchen sink, and my husband accompanied our two little imps outside on a still-balmy spring evening with a gentle breeze and the setting sun. This, just before dusk began seriously arriving.

And then my husband called out to me to come over to the patio doors and look out. My reward was the sight of a wide sliver of bright pink sky painted on the horizon by that setting sun. Beyond beautiful, though not as spectacular as many we've seen in other years, but there will be other evenings when the sky presents in jewel colours, in a much wider scope that will take our breath away. It's that time of year. One of mother nature's gifts.

We'd had a busy day for a Sunday. When we were out on the street walking back and forth from our daily ramble in the ravine with our puppies we saw more neighbours out on their lawns than we would ordinarily see, and each lawn we passed was an invitation to linger and enjoy a conversation with people we've known for many years. At a discreet distance, observing the novel-coronavirus-recommended separation.

Lawns and gardens have dried out finally given a lull in the rain and warmer temperatures, wind and sun. People have come out of their confinement in their houses with rakes and determination to spend some time out-of-doors and prepare for spring clean-up.

When we arrived home, I set about preparing dinner. Rolling out bread dough, spreading it with butter, sprinkling sesame seed over, then grating cheddar cheese, folding the dough in thirds, turning it, rolling it into another rectangle, repeating the filling process, folding and rolling again. Then leaving it to 'relax'. While I chopped up onion and garlic into olive oil in a pot, sprinkled over fennel and cumin seeds and garam marsala to briefly saute. Chopped up tomatoes, zucchini and carrot, added that with the rinsed lentils, then boiling water and tomato paste, and let it all summer with a chicken stock cube.  Back to the dough, to roll it out for the last time, cut it into triangles and roll it into shape.

Today, a meal that requires far less preparation; omelettes, vegetable salad and leftover blueberry cheesecake, because we've been busy all day. Cleaning the house, clearing away detritus from the winter outside on our own lawn. And then finally, heading out with Jackie and Jillie leading the way, to the ravine for an afternoon hike through the woods. Not as warm as yesterday, absent the sun and the wind brisker this time around. It seemed very warm while we were in the backyard doing some yardwork, but on the street and then in the ravine it was considerably cooler.

We all took our time moseying about, noting how dry suddenly everything looks. How deep the fall foliage appears on the forest floor. How monotonous the colour in the landscape before  any leafing-out takes place; were it not for the presence of conifers with their dark green needles the landscape would look even more bleakly sere than it does. But the trails are finally beginning to dry, not as muddy as they have been.

And as soon as we move into May we'll be met with one welcome surprise after another as the spring wildflowers begin to emerge bringing form and colour to the landscape. A natural routine that couldn't be more familiar, but guaranteed to excite us every time it recurs. Trout lilies and trilliums, violets and strawberries, foamflower and Jack-in-the-Pulpit, Solomon's seal, anemone, daisies, apple blossoms, honeysuckle, and more....

We're becoming spoiled, all of us. So accustomed to the excitement of seeing a raccoon or two on the porch these days that we've become rather blase about it. Of course, it's still amazing to us to see these clever woodland creatures come around. Again, in broad daylight, one fellow sat on the porch in an expectant manner. All the offerings had been taken. By the squirrels, the birds, or even a raccoon guest that preceded his presence.

Alerted to the situation my husband hurriedly toasted some bread, cubed it, and put it out. The little raccoon retreated slightly but remained on the porch, patiently waiting until my husband had sprinkled everything on the porch floor, and then shut the door. And only then did the raccoon shift closer, and begin scooping up his due.

Even Jackie and Jillie, at first when they began coming around, furiously barking at their presence, now no longer emit other than a half-hearted bark between them. They'll stand at the glass door and watch quietly, far more of an improvement in their manner as a result of familiarity which we very much appreciate. If I tell them to hush now, they will. Raccoons, like all of us must have felt yesterday's warmth and sun to be the final herald of spring.

This morning I poked around in the garden a bit, Jackie and Jillie following, curious about what I was up to. Up to? Nothing. Not much work to be done since it was all frenetically undertaken last fall. But I was curious about how things are faring, looking for red buds on the roses, seeing the tops of green spears of the lilies and the irises emerging through the garden soil. Too soon for any action from the clematis vines.

But the early spring bulbs are coming back to life. The miniature irises, the crocuses, and the scilla, bright blue and brilliantly lively. Though grape hyacinths are early as well, they're quite a bit behind the scilla. As are the wood anemones. And while the tulips are erupting it'll be a while yet before they bloom.

The Corkscrew Hazel with its twisted branches is always fascinating to look at during this bare season of expectation. It has set its catkins, but no sign yet of any green; it's a slowpoke. As is the weeping Mulberry, yet another tree with convoluted branch systems drawing attention to its unique architecture.

After awhile Jackie and Jillie grow impatient with this kind of slow-motion inaction, and deliver some typical signals of enquiry such as what's next?, and what do we do now>, and when is enough enough?, and how about a ramble through the forest, chum? So finally we agreed, and off we went with them to the ravine; for some reason or other they prefer to wait for us rather than to set out on their own....

And my, my, what a lot of glum faces. Worn by people new to the ravine, but desperate to get out of their homes during this COVID-inspired lockdown. They cannot access area parks of which there are many, for they're all closed. They cannot go to their gyms because they're classed as 'non-essential', which is how I think of them in any event. As an alternative to walking on the street, many people on a Sunday appear to select an encounter with nature, strolling through forest trails.

For many an entirely new experience. At a time and season when the woods are not exactly at their most attractive. Perhaps what goes through the minds of those unfamiliar with the seasons and nature and a forest, is that the landscape is not very attractive; in fact downright dreary looking, absent colour and attractive forms, and why did they bother to come in only to get their nice clean shoes full of muck?

We just do a little mental shrug at those who studiously avoid locking eyes with other people, who somehow fail to hear a cheerful greeting from others, and simply walk on wearing their resentment loud and clear like an impermeable cloak of hostility saving them from the unwanted presence of others who are obviously enjoying their turn on the forest trails on a warm but overcast spring day.

Better late than never, although it was beginning to look to us like 'never' would be the operative this year in spring's arrival. First off this morning, though cool after yet another night of below-zero temperatures, the sun blazed through the house. And it seemed to take no time at all for the ambient temperature to begin warming. Jackie and Jillie were certainly attuned to the warmth and the strength of the sun. They agitated continually to have the patio doors slid aside so they could go out on the deck and splay themselves there.

Jillie gets really hot in the sun's rays, revels in it, and then comes back indoors and heads right for her special place under the coffee table in the family room. Jackie doesn't seem to become quite so overwhelmed with the heat as does his sister. He'll just saunter back indoors, wait a short while, then reappear at the doors and await our notice to obediently slide the doors back open for him.

So we certainly knew that we and they would be enjoying a languid poke-about through the forest trails in the ravine today. We set off earlier than usual, up our quiet street and then detoured at the top of the crook where it turns into the street behind us to enter the forest and descend the first long hill into the ravine. All was still, hardly any wind in comparison to its robust and icy presence for the past several weeks.

Ice yet remains on small portions of the trails, but easily bypassed. It's not as though the presence of the ice is readily identified, since now it is covered with the muck from the muddy trail that boots have tramped over the ice. You do know that your eyes belie its presence the moment your boots touch it, however; dark and muddy it may appear, but it becomes evident swiftly from tactile pressure that it is indeed ice. Another few days if this warmth continues, and it will all melt.

The high for the day 14C, and no real wind to speak of, it felt as though we had at last entered spring.
Jackie, as is his wont, was everywhere at once, behind me, pulling me forward, swerving to the left, to the right, lagging, leading. And all the while Jillie walks like a perfect little lady, straight ahead with few exceptions, at a leisurely pace matching ours.

But it was Jackie who detected the presence of the little snake. He started back with surprise at its sudden movement. A movement obviously caused by his inquisitive little nose sniffing at this strange object adjacent the trail. It was a garter snake, and we expected to see them about as soon as the weather warmed. They're anxious to leave their dens, and seek out the sun, loving its warmth on their skin. This little fellow must have been a year old, anxious to leave our presence, which he did speedily.

At the conclusion of our hike, when we reached street level and embarked on the short walk back home, the street had been transformed. The long, awkward months of social distancing and lockdown have wearied people of the new 'normal' we've all been channelled into by the presence of the ongoing threat of the viral contagion of COVID-19.

There were people pushing strollers, children on bicycles, couples walking their dogs large and small, and there were some of our old-time neighbours and good friends out on their lawns, doing some spring clean-up, all hugely conscious of the weather-given opportunity to enjoy the out-of-doors. The situation calling for time spent together while observing a 'safe' physical distance, to talk about the latest news back-and-forth.