Just as well we spent so much time outside yesterday. Although it remained heavily overcast all day, the temperature was just right and we felt motivated to piddle about in the garden. It's actually beginning, ever so slightly, to resemble a garden. And I have great pleasure in imagining it returned to its summertime green with bright splashes of floral colour. 

 Irving related to me what happened yesterday afternoon when he went out to pick up remedial lawn soil to redo our pathetic lawn. He passed a few likely sources, but decided on the garden shop at Canadian Tire because there was hardly anyone there. He first went to the cashier kiosk to pay for what he wanted; mostly bags of garden soil, grass seed and sheep manure. As she totalled his bill and he paid, she put in a call to the station where everything is stacked waiting to be picked up, to alert them that a paid client was coming and they were to assist in packing everything into our truck.

After driving the truck up to the station, Irving waited for someone to appear, but no one did. So he began collecting everything himself, hauling over the bags and arranging them in the box of the truck. Fully 35 bags of dirt, 25 litres each, and when he had finished, he realized that he'd forgotten peat moss. So he left the truck there, walked back to the cashier's station (everything is outside, the store itself is closed under the provincial lockdown) to pay for peat moss. While he was there, the attendant who was supposed to help customers load up their purchases came over, demanding to know whose truck this was, and why was it full of bags, and had they been paid for?

The cashier told him everything was fully paid for, and the customer would be requiring several bags of peat moss. Where were you? Irving asked of the attendant. No one called me, he responded. And Irving snorted, telling the fellow he stood right beside the cashier when she called in for assistance, telling the man he was a complete idiot. He was so fed up, he forgot about the peat moss he'd paid for, got into the truck and drove back home. The cashier had looked none too pleased with the officiously querelous manner of the attendant.

Rain began after dinner, coming down heavily, and when we awoke this morning it was an absolute deluge; perhaps not of biblical proportions but trying hard. And it continued all day. Not that it kept the squirrels and our daily-visiting raccoon friend away. Rain or not -- or more particularly because it was raining, the requirement to seek solace through food, just like us, is imperative.

Under the heavy rain the garden too is being nourished. I can actually see the difference, day by day. The backyard magnolia, much smaller than its front garden cousin, is beginning to open its blooms, too. The tulips are getting a bit battered, but they'll recover as soon as the sun finds its way back to its now-abandoned trajectory in the sky.

Jackie and Jillie don't really mind that we're not going out for our usual ravine hike. They've been racing one another around the house, instead. As long as we don't overlook the dire necessity of seeing to it that their afternoon vegetable salad is duly served, all is well with their world.

I decided to bake a cheesecake for tonight's dessert. There's lots of 'comfort' in cheesecake. And though the day started out with a 11C temperature, it slowly fell during the course of the day, just like the rain. It will go down to freezing overnight, so it feels chilly. From yesterday's comfortable warmth of 16C, to 0C tonight. So I baked a lemon cheesecake, and made a lemon curd to spread over it, and the end product has all the qualifications for a comfort treat.

With the house so dark, given the heavy overcast and continual rain, our stained glass windows glow beautifully. There isn't a window now in this house that hasn't been supplemented by stained glass. Irving's creative streak got full play over the years in drawing landscape cartoons that would become the stained glass windows, shutters and doors we've lived with over the years.

 

It's been a busy day. One of those days when you feel compelled to do things you've meant to get around to, and finally do. Irving has been outside most of the day. He and Daniel were busy sorting out who gets what in the garden soil Daniel picked up. That's for refurbishing the lawns that are in such dreadful shape.

And while he was out, Irving decided to take the double tarps off that were covering all the garden pots that had been emptied and assembled in one place to shelter them from the cold, snow and ice over winter. He already had taken all the coverings off the urns and the statuary. We don't cover them every year, but decided to, last fall. It's nice to see everything out again, anticipating filling the pots and urns with soil and plants.

Melanie was out raking her lawn, it's a wide, sprawling corner property and she has lots to rake. Irving got out his electric thatcher and took it over to her, explained how it's used and left the rest to her. She's quite an amazing woman; nothing fazes her. She, in fact, has always done just about everything around the house. Now that Mustapha is so ill, she looks for a bit of relief from the tension she's constantly under, taking her mind away from her constant state of inner turmoil over her impending loss.

With but one single exception we've been fortunate to have really wonderful neighbours. We've known one another for so many years, and there is a social environment of trust and appreciation between everyone. There are notable gaps in that social bonhomie wherever new people have bought homes on the street when the original owners, moved over the past decade for a myriad of reasons.

We've decided not to use all of our huge garden pots any longer. They represent a lot of hard physical work, filling and emptying them. Planting them is just sheer pleasure, as it watching everything mature and blossom. But at 84 we're getting too 'mature' to continue that physical slogging. We've offered the clay and the glazed pots to our neighbours, reducing the number we'll have left to care for.

Irving decided to drive the truck over to the nursery at Canadian Tire to pick up peat moss, sheep manure, grass seed and more garden soil. In his absence Jackie and Jillie and I went out to the garden to do some puttering about in the backyard. I planted some Gladiolas, Toad lilies, Dahlias and Asiatic lilies. It felt so good to be doing that once again. Jackie and Jillie sniffing about wondering what I was busy with.

The grape hyacinths are now blooming, delightful little spring surprises, just like the scilla, which bloom earlier. The clematis vines are putting out new shoots and the roses are continuing to prepare for their June show-off; no flowerbuds yet of course, but lots of foliage.

It's been a heavily overcast day, rain pending, but waiting until this evening. It's also been an extraordinarily mild day with a high of 16C, perfect for doing things out-of-doors. Just to be safe we wore rainjackets when we accompanied Jackie and Jillie to the ravine in the afternoon. We don't see much in the way of wildlife in the forest, though we know it's there, from skunks to rabbits, raccoons to foxes. The coyotes have moved off and we're grateful for that, since it allows us now to have Jackie and Jillie off leash. 

One of the little raccoons that visits us daily surprised us earlier in the day, because it was so early in the day when he came around. Most often they're on the porch after our return from our ravine hike, between three and five in the afternoon. This little fellow was munching away on Cheerios at one in the afternoon, full daylight, comfortable and focused.

More trilliums are opening, their bright crimson flowers flashing in the dun landscape of the early spring forest floor. While I was taking a photograph of a  trillium, a lovely apricot-coloured Labradoodle came around wondering what I was doing, and he became part of the photograph I took of the trillium.

When we returned home, the sight of the larger of our two magnolia trees at the front of the house beginning its bloom arrested our eyes. There are hundreds of blooms, some beginning to open, the rest with swollen buds, just covering the tree. Under the tree is a Sargenti crab, and it will begin blossoming soon, as well. And under the crabapple tree there's a Japanese quince and in another week it will be full of tiny orange flowers.

The magnificence of nature's spring awakening.

Routine is important in our lives, it's how we discipline ourselves, maintain order and relegate unpleasant tasks their time throughout the day, while also maintaining the appreciated events in orderly fashion without undue thought. For me, every day of the week has a specific routine relevant to that particular day, and most of it, needless to say, is in the sphere of house-keeping, as well as the regularity of meal preparations and leisure-time activities.

I'm invested in so many things, those that should and must be done and got over with, and those that bring satisfaction that one looks forward to. I like to get all the 'have to do' things out of the way in the early part of the day, leaving me free to engage in the 'would like to do' things that I anticipate and take pleasure from. Sometimes you just have to upset the order of things, and reverse order when the only other option is to forego one in favour of the other.

Today the weather forecast was for rain. But earlier in the day, though it was firmly overcast the rain held off. We had the option of treating the day as usual, allowing me to get all the household tasks done before embarking on our usual relaxing-but-vigorous tramp through the forest trails or taking our pleasure first and then returning to complete the labour-intensive part of the day. No contest, sometimes it just works out that way.

So, geared with rainjackets and stuffing Jackie and Jillie's in our pockets, we left the house several hours earlier than usual. As we left, rain had already started, but it was very light. If it were later in the season and the tree canopy had already filled out, that kind of light rain would have had no significance. As things turned out, the rain continued for an hour as a light patter, and since there's quite a bit of forest overhang on the trails even minus foliage, we kept fairly dry.

We saw no need to hamper our puppies' freedom with putting their raincoats on, so didn't. They too weren't really getting wet and didn't mind the light rain,though they tend to balk at being out in real rain. Despite the rain, light as it was, we were surprised to see other people about on the trails. Evidently choosing to get out for some fresh air and exercise, and evading the certainty of heavier rain falling in the later afternoon. For sheer mind relaxation and eye-pleasing scenery there isn't anything quite like a leisurely tramp through a wooded landscape.

We had taken a slightly different route to cut off one of the loops we normally take and shorten the entire circuit; not by much, just marginally, when my eye was caught by the sight of a trillium whose nodding little flowerhead looked different. When I crouched low to have a closer inspection my suspicion turned out right. Not a crimson flower like most of the trilliums starting to bloom in the forest  this spring, but a Painted Lady. Or a Striped Lady, as these more rare types of trilliums are called.

I know where a tiny patch of three trilliums come up together year after year, and they're not bright red, either, but pale pastel pink. I look out for them every spring but it's too early for them yet; the plants are in evidence but the flowers unready. But the Painted Lady is a different one altogether, infrequently seen. I can recall only once before, years ago, seeing one blooming at Bilberry Creek.

 

As we moved along the rain began to pick up noticeably and up came my rain hood. By then we weren't far from the last long hill to ascend to street level. I stopped briefly at the creek, watching the rain dimple the water, before we finally all headed back up and home again.

 

We got up with the alarm this morning just after seven -- truly barbaric to interrupt a peaceful sleep -- so we could leave the house early to do the food shopping. By the time we leave the supermarket, the parking lot is beginning to fill up, although one hardly notices the difference in the almost-empty-of-shoppers store, but we encounter few others shopping at an early hour, which is the point of the exercise. Hasn't everyone become averse to the near presence of others?

Things seem to be going from bad to serious locally with news that people are suddenly dying at home with COVID, the transition from feeling poorly to becoming alarmingly sick so swift that they don't even have the opportunity to get themselves to a hospital before they die. India's situation is horrible, Ontario's is increasingly frightening when we're not even close to the disaster India is facing.

Soon after we returned home, Irving saw Lynne, our next-door neighbour, scattering soil on our lawn. Where Bell once again excavated last summer, then hurried filled in the excavation, had someone put some topsoil over, and grass seed, in the spring, the entire area collapsed about four inches deep. Irving is planning to order soil to begin the task once again of levelling off the lawn and re-seeding it. He had it just perfect after the first time they dug into the lawn two years earlier to repair faulty connections, then they dug the area up again to repair their cables properly.

Lynne said they had extra bags of soil, and she thought she'd begin working on our lawn, and of course Irving expostulated that it isn't her work that should be repairing our lawn, but our own. Lynne and Daniel and have been doing things like this lately; all winter they shovelled our porch and walkways free of snow.  We've lived side-by-side for 25 years, and they've lately adopted us, as it were. They're meticulous about the care of their property.

Dan came over later in the morning for a chat and it was agreed he and Irving would go together, using Irving's truck to pick up bags of soil, rather than order a yard to be dumped on our driveways; much easier to handle, and cleaner. And the job would be done. 

It's turned out to be another fantastic weather day; wide blue sky, a beaming sun, light wind in our approach to May. I went out soon after breakfast to do a little puttering about in the backyard, getting rid of some weeds. And then I planted a few perennials; divided a few just-emerging hostas, and enjoyed myself tremendously.

Then I later finally finished cleaning the kitchen cupboards and the double-glazed (19th C.pine Canadiana) buffet in the breakfast room, as part of my spring cleaning ritual. And it was time to get ourselves out to the ravine with Jackie and Jillie for a tramp through the forest. Never without my camera. The forest landscape in a sweeping glance looks dry and bare and unattractive. But look up and the maples are sporting their immature tiny red leaves, the poplars are just beginning to pop little yellowish leaves, the understory shrubs and saplings are far more advanced in greening up.

Strangely enough, the raspberry and the thimbleberry canes are faster in producing their foliage than many other shrubs, like dogwood and hazelnut and honeysuckle. They're more noticeable at this time of year because they stand out amidst the barren appearance overall, and demand attention. Finally, the trout lilies have begun to flower, their delicately shy little heads nodding toward the warmth of the sun.

The trilliums are seeing more of their blooms fully extended, blazing bright red on a forest floor where dappled sunlight scatters its radiance freely before the forest canopy becomes dense with foliage, denying the sun entry. The tiniest of the woodland violets are now beginning to bloom and the coltsfoot, the very first of the wildflowers to begin blooming a month ago, are still in evidence.

The sharp eye of a young woman walking with her two little girls caught the movement of a raccoon in a tree, and she was kneeling in front of her children, pointing their eyes in the direction of the raccoon as we approached the ravine exit, after the completion of our circuit. One of the very rare times when we've seen raccoons in the forest ourselves lately, although years ago we did see them more frequently. Now, however, we see them daily on our porch, scooping up the squirrels' Cheerios, nonchalant about appearing in public in the daylight hours.

The book most recently occupying my bedside table and my attention before dropping off to sleep is titled Africa Explored: Europeans in the Dark Continent 1769-1889, published about 40 years ago. We've got tons of books in our personal library, books amassed over the years and meant, eventually to be read. This is one of them and it's a fascinating account of African exploration in the 18th and 19th Century. 

Irving once read primarily detective novels, but he's more or less abandoned the genre. Now he reads history, both ancient and modern, books on psychology, on Greek legends, Arctic and Antarctic exploration, and often passes what he's read on to me. I have my own 'interest list' of books to be read, but invariably when he describes his impression of what he's read, it's intriguing and I end up reading what he's finished, often.

We're both interested in how people react to their circumstances, and what those circumstances are. In this book some familiar names crop up, like Mungo Park, James Bruce, Richard Burton and John Speke. French and British explorers, German and Dutch explorers. Curiosity in the general public about Africa was large, and Europe's expeditionary nations were anxious to establish new trade routes and new trading partners.

The book's author, Christopher Hibbert, a historian and biographer, chronicled events of the past quite interestingly. And with liberal use of archived letters, diaries and memoirs quoted throughout the book there is a clear sense of authenticity. Most of the explorers developed a fascination with and love of the continent even though they fell desperately ill frequently on their travels and many, along with their companions, died of the effects of viruses known and unknown.

Impressions are of huge interest; when travelling through the African interior and coming across tribes that had never before seen a white man, the indigenous people felt pity for these white people, that nature had been so unkind to them. Many of the women and children were terrified at the sight of a white man, fearing he bore a strange new illness that might be infectious.

The Islamic ('Moorish') influence on much of Africa was noted. And it was revelatory reading of the hundreds of different African tribespeople who were active slavers. In almost every village there were slaves, used as servants. There were descriptions of hostile tribes, but most were anything but; gracious and helpful instead. From the memoirs expressions of gratitude and friendship exuded between the white explorers and the black tribespeople. Conflict, however, was constant, with one tribe hunting another, burning down villages, killing conquered inhabitants, and taking slaves.

There were so many slaves that the explorers with their retinues were often urged to buy slaves for themselves. Not necessarily what the explorers had in mind, though they took on accomplished slaves to serve with them in their exploratory endeavours. Chiefs of large villages had numerous concubines, often slaves, in their harems. And it was more usual for men to have more than one wife, than not.

So these intriguing thoughts and revelations put me to sleep at night, lately. And when I awake in the morning, it's to another beautiful spring day. Like this morning, beautiful but icily cold. The temperature was -1C, and the wind blasted cold and piercing. But the sun was out and despite the cold everything in the gardens is coming along nicely.

Cleaning day, as usual for a Monday. But when that was done, we went out, all of us, for our afternoon circuit through the ravine. We no longer see the ducks, they've departed. And although one of our friends saw a Great Blue Heron, we haven't. Holding ponds upstream of the creek have been opened the last few days and the result has been a huge presence of water streaming through, roiling up the clay bottom and creating a muddy look to the creek. Little wonder the Mallards left.

We noticed that raspberry canes weeks ago were putting out their foliage, and today we realized that the thimbleberries are doing the same. So it may be a good year for soft berries in the ravine; time will most certainly tell. We're seeing more little clumps of woodland violets beginning to bloom this time the pale mauve coloured flowers.

Jackie is feeling a tad under the weather today, so he lingered close behind us as we negotiated the trails today, while Jillie as usual ploughed straight ahead and we had to keep calling for her return. Still, when we arrived back home afterward, Jackie was moderately agreeable to having a small bowl of cut-up cauliflower and halved grape tomatoes. He wasn't interested in his breakfast, but he may be hungry enough at dinner time to let me know all about it.

Last night Irving called me out to the backyard while we were preparing to go up to bed, around midnight. He wanted me to have a look at the moon, closer in its current trajectory working toward a 'pink' moon, and lower in the sky, so that it appears larger and brighter. I always grab my camera for these occasions since you never know what kind of photo might come out of the sky.

We're more accustomed to seeing those rare and beautiful 'harvest' moons in the fall, a similar type of projection of the moon in its ellipse around the Earth.  When the moon seems to hang more intimately close to our planet and appears eye-googlingly huge. It's always a little exciting to see these anomalies that imbue your spirit with a fillip of pleasure.

We (involuntarily) exchanged yesterday's sun for a heavily overcast sky today. But we don't place orders on the type of weather we get, we just get it.  Still, it's almost as mild today as it was yesterday, though the absence of sun does make a difference. To yesterday's high of 15C, today's is 13C, not that much difference, quite balmy in fact.

Tulips, emerging  hostas, anemones, snakehead fritallaria

But from the early morning forward rain was imminent, and took little time in arriving. Light rain for the most part, but thunderstorms also on the horizon. After breakfast the puppies and I took a little stroll around our small backyard garden. The tulips are just on the verge of opening. Hostas are beginning to come up. Clematis vines are sending up a few sprigs of green here and there. The lilies and irises are going full blaze. And the roses are leafing out nicely. Our little Japanese maple looks pretty healthy this year. Usually there's some puzzling die-back in the spring, but there's no sign of that yet.

 The tiny blue-flowered scilla have a fairly long bloom and they've naturalized, appearing in places where they never had been before. One of the saxifrages is in bloom, up at the top of the rock garden at the side of the house, and the periwinkle growing lushly there are now beginning to flower.

Soon afterward it began to  rain and it looked as though we'd be out of a ravine hike today. At the usual time of the afternoon when we tend to prepare to take ourselves out to the ravine, the sun appeared briefly. Jackie and Jillie got a little excited and let us know they were ready to get out on the forest trails. Telepathically, of course. I'd read an article yesterday about 'dog telepathy', where people claim to be dog psychics capable of communicating with dogs, and relaying those communications to the dogs' humans ... for a fee. And here we assumed that dogs and people picked up from one another communicative signals from body language. verbal recognition and other repetitive hints, all along.

Sure enough, there was a brief lull in the rain and it looked from a cursory glance at the sky, as though we could make a break for the ravine ... wearing rain jackets of course, and taking the puppies' along with us. Each day makes such a huge difference now in the development of green in the forest; tiny leaves become larger, more appear where there hadn't been any the day before. Everything is accelerating.

We're supposed to go down to -3C, with a wind-chill factor of -13C tonight. Well, we'll put on the fireplace after dinner and get nice and cozy. This is the typical Ottawa spring; one warm day followed by a cool, rainy, windy day. 

We decided for a shorter circuit than usual given the darkening sky. About 20 minutes into our circuit I began to feel drops falling on my head, heavy enough to trickle down through my hair. Not many, though, just lazily falling now and again. We picked up our pace and soon, while on the ridge, heard thunder rolling through. Good reason to walk a little faster.

It was so pleasant being out, though. The air felt fresh and clean and striding along the trails always gives us a sensation of freedom. Someone in shorts and a tight top passed us, a runner, but we saw no one else while we were out. Another roll of thunder and then there was rain. Still light, but steady. By the time we exited the ravine and walked through to the street, the pavement was dark with rain.

When we reached our house the rain was on the cusp of becoming a serious downpour, the clouds above were darkly bruised, and yet it appeared as though the thunderstorm had bypassed us. Though there will be ample opportunity for other thunderstorms to hit their mark since they're forecast for the evening and the night time hours. More magic.

 

It's the kind of day that absolutely calls to you to revel in it. It will not be ignored, it cannot be bypassed, it is too glorious, too inviting, too seductive not to notice the blue of the sky the brilliance of the sun and the intimately caressing quality of a mild spring day. In this household the invitation was gratefully accepted. Windows flung wide, household tasks dispensed with hurriedly, two little dogs assured that yes, we'll be out there with you in just another minute.

 

They're fine on the deck, sunning themselves, but only for so long. They want us out with them, too. So they can follow us about, curious about what we're up to, and then realizing nothing of much interest to them, they wander off and poke about doing what interests them. Mostly checking out the wildlife smells left from nocturnal visits.

They had entertained themselves earlier in the morning barking furiously at the squirrels on the porch. Now, it's the squirrels scurrying along the backyard fence that take their attention. They haven't noticed that the squirrels tend to ignore them, as little pests destroying the peace and tranquility of a perfect day. As a sound challenge to the exquisite trills of the neighbourhood cardinals, Jackie and Jillie's excited verbal emanations lag far back in the popularity queue. 

 

They behaved themselves nicely when we went around to the front of the house where there is no fence to ensure they remain where they should, on our property and far distant from the road. At seven years of age, we have hope they will learn it is forbidden to rush onto the road even when compelled to by someone passing by with a dog.

I busied myself sweeping up the organic matter left from last fall and added to over the winter months and early spring, then cutting back some dead canes on shrubs and trees while Irving released the stone urns and statuary from their winter coverings, until everything in the gardens looked reasonably tidy. It was invigorating work, just doing things in the garden, feeling the sun and the wind, enjoying the mild temperature, a simply perfect combination. And admiring the buds-before-blossom of the Magnolia.

Then we ambled up the street toward the ravine entrance and descended into the forest, Jackie and Jillie free to wander within sight, called back when they got too far from us, particularly Jillie who has a tendency to trot on ahead in a most businesslike manner, seemingly oblivious to the distance she creates between us. She hesitates when she's called back, but decides to return, and nuzzles my calf as she walks for a brief period of time directly behind me.

 

They're quiet today, for a change, even when they see the occasional other dog, familiar or not, rather than barge straight ahead in a confrontational style, yapping continuously. A more dignified, respectful manner that we have no idea what we can attribute to, but happy with it. We look in vain for the sight of a small bright flower head, but no, the trout lilies are withholding their blooms despite the warmth and the bright sun. Their window is narrow, but not impossibly so, until foliage obscures the sun from their growing places on the forest floor.

 

But as we go on ahead and the trail turns we begin to scrutinize the ground for blooming trilliums, where they tend to pop out of the soil. Some areas are exclusive to various types of wildflowers, some are indiscriminate in the company they keep; while lilies of the valley tend to cluster around tree trunks, woodland violets will pop up anywhere.

 

But there they are, finally, the scarlet trilliums are open here and there, even as new ones keep emerging. The bright red flower heads usually pointed downward like shy visitors when they should be lifting their heads with pride like the white trilliums do. We're happy to see them in bloom, small crimson heads nestled between bright green, broad foliage, smaller than their white counterparts yet perky and bright.

 

We decide, since it's such a beautiful afternoon and there are vanishingly few others about surprisingly, to take a longer circuit than usual and Jackie and Jillie see no reason not to remain out on the trails for as long as we all feel inclined to. Although the violets are not yet populating the forest floor in any abundance, we see one small grouping with the most minuscule of white blooms, a gorgeous little corsage, courtesy of Mother Nature.