What with the still-fresh change in turning the clock forward an hour, the annual 'spring-forward' ritual of Daylight Saving time, and waking up an hour earlier than usual to be able to get to the supermarket just as it opens, we lost two hours of sleep this morning. Still adjusting to the time change, this is a double whammy. But the purpose was essential to us; not to find ourselves surrounded by a store-full of other shoppers during this time of increasing COVID cases under the influence of the newly-introduced strains proving to be more infectious, and according to the latest research, more deadly. 

It was -11C when we left the house to do the shopping, but no wind and full sun. By the time we set out to take Jackie and Jillie for their/our usual tramp through the ravine, the temperature had risen to a very comfortable -1C. Which meant just sweaters and boots for them and no winter coat on top, and lighter outerwear for us, as well. There are now large patches of ice on some of the trails, necessitating some care. And likely the reason why so few people are now coming out to the ravine.

That's due to undergo a change soon as the weather slowly changes into spring mode. I bought a package of ranunculus when we were shopping, which is hugely dependent on that change in the weather. All those bulbs I've collected in the past several weeks of eager anticipation of planting season are anxious to be put into warm, moist and rich garden soil. I won't even strain my imagination at this point trying to figure out where I'll shoehorn them all in to the gardens, where there's enough sun to accommodate them. That'll look after itself in the not-too-distant future.

For the remainder of the week the temperature is set to steadily rise. Just in time for April. By the time April arrives we'll have altered our season-psychology to ignoring the last vestiges of winter and leaping ahead with delightful things of spring garden surprises. Of course, surprises erupting out of the forest soil as well. When we passed one portion of the trail and looked into the undergrowth we could see a small patch of earth that is certain to become enlarged with warmer weather. It's where trout lilies happen to grow in large patches. Soon.

The snow has been reduced to a certain degree, and a few days to follow of milder weather will do wonders to the forest snowpack. We'll see a few pairs of Mallard ducks stopping by briefly on their way further north, returning from southern winter vacations. At least one Great Blue Heron will come around and excite us by its presence for a week or so before moving on. And there will be other returnees, from bluejays to grosbeaks to entertain us with their presence while the forest turns itself back to its anti-winter green facade.

We'll be curious about whether the ash trees in the forest will make a comeback. Last summer we saw some ash saplings struggling to get on with life. The Emerald Ash Borer destroyed most of the ashes in the last several years. But there are some trees still struggling to wake from their nightmare of endless sleep. When ashes are dying and then dead, they shed great pieces of bark until the trunk is completely bare of its bark. 

Even so, last year, the trees whose roots remained alive sent sap up to the lowest quadrant to reactivate life, in the process sending out improbable new branches so low on the dead trunks as to almost touch the forest floor. Whether they will have survived this winter and begin growing again will create a fascinating spectacle of the inherent drive to survival of all species of creation that nature supplied her creatures with.

 We took our time on our jaunt through the forest trails; no reason to hurry ourselves, much less Jackie and Jillie on this beautiful afternoon in the closing week of winter. Next week the calendar tells us spring will officially arrive. Everything will begin coming alive again, once the snow is gone and the ambient temperature has risen sufficiently.  We'll be anxious to see the first green shoots emerging from the warming soil, the first faint glimpse of green hovering over bare branches and green replacing white as the dominant colour in the natural world.