It's at this time of the year when we feel most acutely that winter has gone on far, far too long. We need a break. Spring has already arrived in Vancouver, our son tells us. The cherry trees are beginning to blossom. Before long the rhododendron, the camellia shrubs in his front garden and the flowering quince will all be covered with an abundance of exquisite blooms. At a time when we can only daydream that our time too, will arrive. Eventually.

Winter is notoriously loathe to leave the comfort it derives in settling deep in our landscape every year. It refuses to be pried from its perch, playing the grumpy old man with certain entitlements that age confers. Expecting dewy-lipped, bright-eyed spring to hang about hopefully backstage, whispering, 'go already! please go! Oh well, that's likely not spring doing the urging, but us. 

I'm beyond curious to see -- all in good time, of course -- which of the spring-blooming bulbs will be bursting through the warming soil when spring eventually does arrive. I think of them and wonder ... Surprise me, garden! Nurture and coddle, cuddle and convince those bulbs to break through the spring soil and raise their beautiful flower heads. Please!

Well, it's still winter and we must have patience. There is the consolation that winter, albeit in its 2022 dotage, has provided us with beautiful landscapes. And they're still intact. The forest snowpack is deep and broad and startlingly white. The contrast of the stark, dark trunks of sleeping trees is dramatic, appealing to our sense of aesthetic and celebration.

And the cold, needless to say, entices us to fill our bellies with warm, comforting food. Last evening we enjoyed the baked beans I had prepared, and that had simmered for hours, breaking down the chopped tomatoes I had used this time, into a nice, thick sauce that melded with the other ingredients. A little vegetable salad to preface the main course, and raspberries and mandarin oranges to follow.

One meal that Jackie and Jillie weren't particularly enthusiastic about sharing with us. We were out with them this afternoon for our afternoon hike through the trails under a cloudy sky that began spitting light flurries while we were there. The wind still blew through the upper story of the forest canopy, shifting what was left of yesterday's snow from branch to forest floor.

Jackie and Jillie had the opportunity skip-and-trip about with some of their friends they met on the trails. And of course they all enjoyed cookie snacks to round out the experience. Whatever would they do without the opportunity to be out in a natural setting of this kind? They might not be aware of what they were missing, but the quality of their lives would certainly be diminished.