We realized when we woke yesterday morning that overnight rain had fallen. Rain that the landscape badly needed, and quickly soaked up. Although there were ample signs in the backyard that it had rained, we had our doubts about how much had fallen. The amount of water in the birdbath usually gives us a good idea since I had emptied it the day before. And it was barely a quarter full, not even that. But looking around the garden there were a few surprises; for one thing that the snake's head fritillary that I'd planted so many years ago, had been spreading its territory a bit in the rock garden. There are now three plants, and the original for the first time has sported two flowerheads.

A look around at the pots sprinkled around the gardens at the front of the house revealed hearty, happy plants recently 'watered' by nature, and no complaints were heard from any of the luscious begonias or any others occupying space in the varied urns and pots. I've been anxiously peering at the garden where our three hibiscus shrubs are located, one of which I transplanted to the back garden a month ago, but nothing yet to be seen indicating they'll soon spring into life.

Entering the ravine with Jackie and Jillie we soon discovered an entirely different landscape; everything, the trails, the forest floor, the full new foliage, completely drenched. Leaving us to wonder how that might be possible. It appeared as though the rain that had fallen concentrating its volume within the precinct of the forest, permitting lighter rain to fall outside its confines as a bit of an afterthought; however absurdly unlikely that might be.

And oddly enough the hordes of mosquitoes that had been devouring us in the last week under the glare of the sun on dry days and no humidity seemed to have retired their immediate ambition to drain us completely of blood. They were few and far between. We never use mosquito repellent and though the stings are excruciatingly itchy and we try not to scratch, by the time we return home from one of our daily outings there is rarely a time when we feel the impact of countless mosquito bites; no longer do they itch, and nor do we see signs of having been bit, no raised little lumps, nothing. We have inured ourselves.

Wild apple blossoms

The rain that appeared to fall so heavily in the ravine, produced quite a few surprises for us. That old, surprising overnight phenomena again, for suddenly where we weren't even aware of flower buds appearing on the wild apple trees, yesterday their branches were flush with fresh new flowers. And the same for the cherry trees, beginning to drip with their compound flower heads.

It was a hot day, the temperature reaching to just a tad under 30C, but in the shade of the forest canopy the heat was tolerable, especially with the presence of a gusting breeze.  The surprises awaiting us continued to show themselves. And as I bent closer to obtain a better impression of what I was witnessing, and drew my camera close, I discovered where most of the mosquitoes were biding their time. Striding along the forest paths the mosquitoes were somehow kept at bay.

Wild ginger

Bending over a wildflower flaunting its lovely form and wonderful colour was an invitation for the mosquitoes to suddenly emerge, swarm and attack, and they did, with a vengeance. So each of the photographs I took came with a price. One I was temporarily willing to accept, although not with a glad heart. In fact some pretty foul language found its place in my mind. But nature is nature.

Red Baneberry

Clumps of ginger are now fully formed and beautifully green. They're preparing to flower as June approaches. And though I've tried year after year to find one of those flowers, dark wine-red, small, fuzzy and growing very close to the stem of the plant, shielded from view by their foliage, they're shy and difficult to see. It takes determination, to hazard a guess in early-to-mid-June that within and under, hugging the forest floor, a flower  may be hiding. Once in my memory my constant peeking under the foliage resulted in the discovery of one of those flowers. But I keep trying.

Lilies-of-the-Valley

Red baneberry produced a sudden burst of growth, bouncing out of the soil and speedily taking shape.  And almost overnight, it seemed, their white compound flower heads were appearing. Where before they seemed almost anonymous in the growing crowd of green bracken on the forest floor, suddenly they're easily distinguishable, thanks to their flowering.

White Trillium

I clambered down one of the hillsides to look for white trilliums in the expectation that I would finally see some in full mature flower. And though there are much fewer of them this year than the last two years, my expectation was well met by a proud few plants flaunting their brilliant white flags. Foamflower too this hear are fewer in number. Where previously we had seen good-size colonies, this year those colonies appear to have been reduced substantially.

Foamflower

And lilies-of-the-valley too are finally sending up their little tinker-bell floral stalks, the most delicate, easily-overlooked tiny sprays that in garden plants are far more robust and exude the most divine fragrance for the brief time of their flowering. I've taken quite a few photographs of Jack-in-the-pulpits, with their distinctive floral 'hood'. But the thing about that single-petalled flower is that it bows gracefully over the bowl of the flower and in so doing, hides the beauty of its purple-green striped interior.

Jack-in-the-Pulpit

So I carefully bent over, gently extended thumb and index finger to grasp the top of the petal and raise it to open the interior to view and reveal the treasure within. Then, as mosquitoes did their utmost to reward my enterprise, converging on my face and my hands, I took the photographs I sought, released the petal to fall back to its introverted position, and shooed the pests away.