Although in previous summers we have on occasion decided to get out into the ravine at an early morning hour, shunting aside showers and breakfast until our return, this spring we appear to have embarked on a new personal trend. Jackie and Jillie have been willing accomplices to this new scheduling, knowing from the time we all haul ourselves out of bed, speedily dress, make a quick loop into the backyard, then set off for the ravine, what our destination first thing in the morning is to be.

When it's that early -- 7:30 a.m. -- rarely is anyone else out. The street, as we make our way up to the ravine entrance, is silent. Even at that time of day we can feel the sun's furnace rays warming our backs. The nice thing about that is that wind is always about, and this morning it was strikingly brisk, its cooling effect challenging the sun's heat, making us entirely comfortable.

We'd be the only ones, once again, traipsing through the forest trails, we assured one another. And then, as we approached the trail descending into the forest, a couple and their dog were making their exit, quite obviously they'd been out even earlier than us. And, as it happened, the young man recognized us from a decade or so earlier when he had lived in the area he has now returned to. At the earlier time he had a Bernese Mountain dog, now he has a much smaller schnauzer, a happy-go-lucky puppy. He had just returned, he said, from several years in Central and South America.

On we plodded, on a most pleasant of mornings where, despite the young man having warned that the mosquitoes were particularly blood-thirsty this morning, we found none about. Until, that is, much later, when squads of mosquitoes zeroed in on us and with barely audible shouts of mosquito glee did their best to completely drain these hapless humans of their blood supply.

But by no means were we four the only creatures being set upon; we soon discovered that others besides ourselves had brainstormed getting out before the heat of the day. And every one of them were people we know as regular ravine hikers. Which leads us to suspect that finally, all the casual community hikers that had been coming through for the past several months during lockdown have decided to forego mosquitoes and energy-draining heat and humidity, now that they can once again access area parks, albeit with some restrictions.

Jackie and Jillie met up with some friends, and we in turn engaged in some distanced conversations with their friends' human companions. Clouds began to gather, though the heat seemed to deepen. We're hoping that, as the forecast suggested, there may be a few rain events through the course of the day. We had an unexpected rainfall last evening, but not enough to really refresh the vegetation, although truth to tell, even with a recent paucity of rain, vegetation everywhere is eclipsing expectations.

When we arrived home, we caught up with the shelved necessities. Then my husband mowed the grass after breakfast. I had earlier grated the zest of a lime, and my husband had applied male power to coax the lime juice out of the two halves of the lime. Which left me ready to bake lime-coconut cupcakes, one of our favourites.

Jackie and Jillie lined up later in the afternoon, right on schedule, as I was busy in the kitchen, parking themselves beside the refrigerator. They were expecting to be served little bowls of cut-up cauliflower and we wouldn't for the world, disappoint them out of their favourite afternoon pick-me-up.

Later on, we all circulated around the front of the house, on one of our regular inspection tours of what's coming up in the garden. Both the tree peonies and the ordinary peonies have set their blooms, as has our most favourite and beautiful clematis. One little rhododendron is in bloom. The foamflower are blooming and the Jack-in-the-Pulpits, giant ones appreciative of the garden soil over that of the forest floor, are in grand display on their way to becoming even larger.

We've planted all the garden urns and pots. Differently this year than most, in reflection of what we've been able to acquire in this most unusual situation we're mired in, where given the coronavirus threat, access to garden centres has been difficult and the wide sphere of offerings we're so accustomed to in bedding plants has been severely reduced; in fact any plants at all have been in short supply. But all's well, we had girded ourselves for a poor start to summer gardening three months into lockdown. No complaints with the results at this stage.