Yesterday after our afternoon ravine trek through the forest with Jackie and Jillie we realized on our return home that a raccoon was ensconced on the porch nibbling away at the nosherie left out mostly for our neighbourhood squirrels and birds. So we diverted Jackie's and Jillie's attention elsewhere (they can actually smell when the little critturs are on the porch even when they're dozing in the family room far from the front door) and quickly went into the house to wash their dirty little paws from all the mud on the trails thanks to incessant rain.

I went straight out after they settled down, to do some tidying up and planting in the garden. The raccoon faced me as he daintily picked up one little piece of cereal after another and momentarily stood still, his attention arrested on me. I glanced at him, then went about my business. I planted some dahlia roots, another toad lily, some liatruses and then set about digging out dandelions.

I was out for about two hours, just enjoying being out in the garden, feeling good about the day and particularly doing a few things in the garden that gave me great satisfaction. I hope that the corms and bulbs that I'd bought over the winter, boxed in colourful cardboard displaying colour and type of plant will result ultimately in mature plants by mid-summer. Halfway through my efforts the raccoon had entered the garage through the lifted door and was persuaded to leave. And he sauntered back to the porch to finish up what was left.

Soon after I returned to the house interior, complacent about all I'd accomplished down came the rain again. The garden, at the very least, has been well irrigated this spring. And it rained again, heavily, overnight. When we entered the ravine this afternoon the already-saturated forest trails were thick with mud, slippery and dark in colour on a heavily overcast day that threatened rain but held off until mid-afternoon.

Cool and windy, we remain firmly entrenched in jacket weather. When we return home it takes forever to free Jackie and Jillie's little feet from the indelible effects of the mud; the basinful of slightly soapy warm water that we run before we embark, soon becomes dark and grimy with mud and minuscule bits of gravel. There's no avoiding the mud now, it's all too pervasive, reflecting the ongoing rain and its volume.

But the rain is doing wonders everywhere, vegetation responding to the warming, wet conditions reminding them that they need no longer remain underground and it's time to emerge. And so we're seeing ferns coming up and unfurling, and violets beginning to bloom alongside trilliums and tender, tiny, bright  green leaves appearing almost overnight on the understory of shrubs and tree saplings.

We decided to go off on another trail before leaving the ravine. Just a short diversion that takes us to the other end of the main creek running through the bottom of the ravine. We'd seen returning waterfowl in the creek and heard that a Great Blue Heron was about, but hadn't yet seen it. And suddenly, there it was, standing in a bit of a meadow beside the creek, its tall angular figure so pale blue it was easy to overlook its presence, despite that standing there its full height is almost the same as mine.

It appeared unperturbed by our presence. Jackie and Jillie hadn't noticed the bird, from their perspective of vision it would have been hidden to their eyes but surely not their sense of smell. We stood as still as the heron, marvelling at its presence. After a few more minutes of watching its inaction but striking presence, it suddenly spread its wings and lifted off, flapping to the top of a nearby pine.