This is the time of year, as the weather begins to warm and signs of spring are everywhere that Irving begins to feel restless. A lifelong condition. It's why when our children were small, they were introduced to a wide range of outdoor places that most children never even suspect exists. When, as soon as we could manage to afford it, we would haul our little family of three small children to lakeside cottages where they learned the pleasures of outdoor living.

 

It's the time of year when, for the past several decades, we've been accustomed to visiting, once in late spring, again in mid-fall, a cottage site in New Hampshire, in the great White Mountain range, with easy access to mountain trails. On arrival we would do grocery shopping to last a week. And it always struck us how odd it is that we can step into any supermarket in a countryside location in the U.S. and find a small section devoted to Jewish cuisine.

 

In contrast, even in the nation's capital, Ottawa, it's the rare supermarket that will stock food for Passover. And those that do are located invariably where a larger, rather than scattered demographic of Jews tend to live. Comparing that to the fact that most supermarkets now devote large sections of their food selections to ethnic cuisines; East Indian, Chinese, Japanese, and Middle East-Muslim communities signifying the visible minorities living in Canada, whose actual presence we don't tend to see that frequently as we shop. A strange anomaly.

 

 

Well, although spring is here, it's a tardy spring. The great warming transition we wait and long for is taking its time this year. It's been too cool, too windy, too rainy. Well, April, after all. May will be a game-changer. We're just impatient. We haven't been to New Hampshire for the past two years because of COVID. At age 85, I do miss the enjoyment we took in our hikes and drives around the national forest.  But now I think of those times as the past, and there are too many physical obstacles in the way of our returning. Not the least of which is the drive, the packing and unpacking.

 

And numerous other details all of which add up to physical exertion and psychological concerns. I don't think the 7-1/2-hr drive to our destination is a trifling thing for two 85-year-olds, especially when only one of us is driving. Nor is the physical exertion involved a light matter to be fluffed off. Oh well, Irving is convinced that none of these concerns are obstacles to forging ahead. 

 

A lovely day today, mostly sunny, not as windy as yesterday, but cool. We took ourselves out to the ravine in the early afternoon because Jackie and Jillie felt earlier is better than later, today. While traipsing through the trails in the opposite direction to our usual, we came across more hanging Easter eggs, each one bringing a smile, though Jackie and Jillie couldn't care less.

 

We took our time and ambled along since we decided we had time and to spare for a much prolonged tramp today. So we came across the full gambit; dry trails, trails steeped in muck, trails with a bit of ice still left, and trails where we came across others out enjoying the day and the sere landscape. 

And then, just as we crossed the last of bridges before heading uphill to street level, Irving called me back to stand where he was, in the middle of the bridge, looking up toward the creek. They're back, he said, the Mallards have returned. So that truly is a harbinger of real spring. The migrants have returned. We retraced our steps, back over the bridge and over to another part of the trail system that would bring us in closer proximity to the creek. 

And there they were, Mr. and Mrs. Mallard. One of many such pairs. Some of which stop over to rest during their long migratory return to Canada following their winter sojourn in southern climes to avoid our harsh winter conditions. Last year a pair remained around the ravine's creek for well over a month. So long, we were convinced they were nesting there. They eventually left, however, though they might have gone no further than the Ottawa River of which the creek is part of its watershed.