We're not yet prepared to surrender the comforts of winter. As in exchanging the comforter on our bed for a lighter cover. It's just too comfortable, given that the night-time temperatures still bear little resemblance to the moderating highs of the afternoon. We enjoy feeling snug and warm in bed throughout the night, and although I did suggest it was time to change over to spring bed coverings, the oppositional growl from Irving quickly persuaded me otherwise. For the time being.

Likewise with our meals. For the time being at least, we remain wedded to our enjoyment of comfort food. So last night we ate one of those really sturdy meals comprised of a beef stew heavy on onion, garlic, mushrooms, carrots and potatoes. Ladled over buckwheat groats, and green beans served on the side. With fresh strawberries for dessert. It all went down very well. Jackie and Jillie kindly offered to help us with the difficulties inherent in disposing of the meal.

It had rained all day yesterday. No let-up in the rain whatever. Not our puppies' favourite choice in weather. Jillie had to be continually persuaded that she had to empty her bladder at some point during the day. The prospect of rain falling on her, her tiny paws becoming wet is just too much for her to bear.

In the evening, there it was. That sound. To make certain that we'd heard it, Jackie barked warningly to bring our attention to the fact that we were experiencing the first thunderstorm of spring. In fact, there occurred a series of thunderstorms throughout the night, with heavy rain accompanying the fury of the thunderclaps, the emphasis of the lightning strikes. All of which we tend to enjoy.

We figured that the all-day rain topped by the thunderstorms would certainly finish off the snow in the backyard and front gardens. And it almost did. Snow remains, but a tremendous amount of the snowpack has now disappeared. We can see tulips beginning to emerge from the newly-liberated garden soil, and even lilies. The corkscrew hazel in the backyard is drooping with catkins. Climbing rose canes are turning green. 

It surely won't take but a week or so for the rest to depart. And then I'll be squinting carefully at the ground, at shrubs and trees to spot the first signs of return to life. Now and again a flock of geese will call down from above as they make their return migration. Irving heard a song sparrow yesterday, so they're returning.

We anticipated that conditions in the ravine would be emphatically heading toward spring. We hadn't been out yesterday because of the rain. We weren't surprised to see how much snow had melted. On the trails leading into the ravine the snow that had covered the ice buildup over winter had melted, leaving only the ice, so it's tricky ascending and descending the hills; it is a ravine, after all. That trickiness is the primary reason that we saw few others out on the trails.

The other reason is the messiness, great standing pools of water, slush, mud and a singular gaunt unattractiveness of an early-spring landscape. Everything looks dark and sere and will continue to appear that way until new life begins to appear, along with wildflowers and foliage. There are for the time being large puddles appearing here and there on the plateau portions of the forest, while on the slopes of the hillsides meltwater flows steadily downhill and ultimately into the ravine's creek, now thrashing and boiling away with runoff.

Yet it's amazing how quickly the thick snowpack surrenders to the change in season. And it's equally amazing how thirstily the forest floor absorbs the melted snow. Gratifyingly for committed hikers it's also surprising how quickly the morass of muck dries out under the influence of the spring sun and milder temperatures, taking us steadily deeper into spring.