When my husband planned to go out this morning to pick up a renewal of our prescription medications at the pharmacy, he decided he might as well use the trip to accomplish a few other errands, given that in the past few months we have almost entirely cut such errands out of daily routine in defense against the possibility of infection by the novel coronavirus.

Did I want anything, he asked? Well, not really. But he knew that I still meant to pick up another flat of annuals at some time when the planting rush was over and access to garden centres became less problematical and perhaps there would be more stock available. Since it was early in the day, he suggested that he would drop by one such centre and if there was no one about, he'd pick up a few plants. As it happened a rose shrub we had planted about three or four years ago failed to make it through this past winter.

When he returned, he showed me his gardening offerings, a new rose shrub, and eight begonias, a new 'gigantic' variety, to complete my bedding plans for this summer. He'd also been able to pick up a few bottles of wine at a grocery store that now stocks alcoholic beverages, since he had run out of wine a month ago and he enjoys it to complement some meals.

The new plants were begging to be planted, so I did just that. It's cool again today, and heavily overcast, and while I was out digging out the failed rosebush and preparing the site for its replacement, rain began. And it didn't stop. But it was fairly light, so I just proceeded with my plans and eventually got the rose planted and all of the begonias. I had no intention of leaving the new plants to languish in their pots awaiting transfer to the garden. Simply knowing they're there gives me the impetus to get out into the garden. And working in the garden infuses me with pleasure and enthusiasm.

And then it was time to wander out to the forest with Jackie and Jillie, where light rain is never a problem at this time of year, with a fully-leafed forest canopy to shield us. We prepared ourselves for rain, donning rain jackets. And off we went, the street quiet, no one about, the cloud ceiling low and dark. And as we descended into the ravine, the daylight receded even more, to resemble dusk, that period between full daylight and oncoming night.

Lilies-of-the-valley

The stripes on Jackie and Jillie's little raincoats become luminescent in the dark, so it's unlikely we'd lose sight of them even if they were off-leash. The rain has been agreeable for all growing things. The lilies-of-the-valley's white floral spray seems incandescently-white, their foliage sleek and brighter green, all colours enhanced by being lacquered by the rain, by the dusky atmosphere lending an emphasizing sheen to all the shades of the forest.

False Solomon's Seal

Once again, when our circuit through the trails was completed and we headed in the direction that would take us to the last bridge and the uphill trail home, we heard the sound of girls' voices, high-pitched, happy and giggling. The same group of young girls that we've been coming across the past week, once again assembled on the bridge buttress, seated on a colourful blanket, excitedly discussing the things that attract young girls, handing around their iPhones to show off photographs.

They cheerily acknowledged our passage, and turned directly back to their chatting. And then, an old friend of ours coming up a distance behind, paused briefly on the bridge to look over at the girls, no doubt puzzled by their presence, his old black Labrador settling comfortable down beside them, more than willing to keep them company and share whatever edibles they had brought with them for their impromptu social event.