Everything it seems, is out of kilter under the dark, sinister shroud hanging over the world in the name of a novel coronavirus. A call came through after breakfast yesterday that my scheduled echocardiogram arranged a year and a half ago prior to an examination by my cardiologist, was cancelled. For that matter, my meeting with the cardiologist is also cancelled for some later date in the unforeseeable future. Last time I saw my cardiologist that long ago, he was scheduled for open-heart surgery himself. As for the cancellations, a sigh of relief.

No longer do patients see their doctors unless there's a dire necessity, under this grim new world we inhabit, nor do hospitals invite people to return for scheduled tests of any kind, other than for emergencies. For me, it's like a reprieve. All the tests and the poking about are grave irritants to my sense of well-being. And since I feel well, for me it's preferential that none of these appointments must be held.

Yesterday the day had started hot and humid and windy, losing the sun as the day wore on, to bring rain. My husband had decided to barbecue a small broiler chicken we'd had for far too long in the freezer downstairs. Ours is a direct-connection gas barbecue. So, despite the rain, which was light, and because of the metal canopy he had erected years ago over the deck, we were able to sit out in comfort with Jackie and Jillie and read, nicely sheltered, while he wheeled the barbecue under the canopy and prepared the chicken. Actually he has a smoker he sometimes uses with the barbecue, one that has given us excellent service for the past 30 years.

Later that night, we briefly lost power again, during a really heavy rainstorm. We'd forgotten having left the patio doors open to circulate some fresh air into the house, and before we realized it, the floor beside the doors was drenched, the rain ferociously storming into the breakfast room. That rain left the forest in the ravine well hydrated too.

In the afternoon, while sitting out on the deck I had given Jackie and Jillie some trims on their hairy faces, and their paws. It won't be until mid-June before the groomers will be able to keep their appointment, having cancelled the last one, due to the COVID closures during lockdown. Now that things are more relaxed and commerce is beginning to open up, we can hardly wait for their hair to be lopped off for summer; they'll be a lot more comfortable. What I did in a light trim, despite their protests, released their eyes from all that hair flopping down, and made it easier to keep their little paws clear of detritus they pick up in the woods.

Blackberry shrubs beginning to flower

We woke this morning to a chill wind and a cool morning, with a high for the day forecasted at 16C, quite a change from the day before. The combination of rain and sun works wonders in nature. Already we can see the blackberry shrubs have begun to prepare to bloom, promising a good year for the berries, though they're the last to ripen.

This was a day that required a light jacket, and no need to take along a water bottle for Jackie and Jillie. The trails were sodden, and the forest floor sported fairly large and widespread pools of rainwater, not yet absorbed after the rainfall of the night before. Mosquitoes were down in number, but their numbers will be speedily restored, thanks to the presence of those rain-pools, the perfect place for mosquito larvae to develop.

We came across two young boys, pre-teens on bicycles, feeling a little lost, having no idea where they were in juxtaposition to neighbourhood streets in the community. So Jackie and Jillie gave them some directions on exit points where street accessibility is feasible, allowing them to find their way home. The network of trails can be confusing to anyone not familiar with where they lead; at least the boys had the good sense to ask, and the curiosity to get out into the forest to look around, to begin with.

When we arrived back home, it was delightful to see that the tree peony has begun opening its flowers, the petals thick-layered and lusciously pink, with purple-tinged alliums complementarily opening beside them. At the very front of the lawn where the long garden bed that snakes from the walkway to the house down to the street, we usually plant zinnias and marigolds after the tulips have bloomed. Not this year; while we were able to get marigolds, there were no zinnias to be found; everything in short supply and being snapped up by people anxious to plant gardens now that so many people have the jobs on hold temporarily or are working from home.

Jack-in-the-Pulpits in a bed of foamflower in the garden

When I got out into the garden later in the early afternoon it was with the intention of filling a gap in one of the borders, to separate a select hosta and re-establish that portion where I had weeks ago dug out an immature shrub that was doing poorly and to re-locate it to the back garden. While doing that, I thinned out the holly bush that has grown so huge over the years, as well as a few other ornamental trees, yews and a crabapple.

We bought the only 'annual' plants we could find at the one open market we had accessed which had plenty of violets and pansies and perennials but not the plants we were looking for. What they did have was a familiar looking option, plants that looked like Mandevilla vines with their distinctive trumpet-shaped flowers, and indeed close cousins to them, labelled Dipladenia. So we bought them and hoped for the best knowing that they'll grow vertically but not horizontally.