There was Margaret, on her daily toddle around the block, waiting for me to reach the end of our driveway, spade in one hand, a dug-up begonia in the other. I was heading toward the garden adjacent the street curb, planning to replant the begonia from its original, overgrown site. So we stood there awhile, she and I, discussing family, events and happenings. She wanted to know how our trip to New Hampshire had gone. It wasn't nearly the length of time it took for her and Chris to drive several months back to Nova Scotia.

 Like me, Margaret doesn't drive, so it was left to Chris to manage that two days' drive. They usually make that trip several times a year to visit with family. She told me she had started a little flower garden at their place. Neighbours had offered cuttings and corms from their own gardens, and she was pleased with the results. Unlike Margaret, frail as a dandelion head who appears that any light gust of wind might tumble her over, I detest walking on the street and rarely do. So I would never make my way over as a pedestrian to her street. She, on the other hand, like most of the people in the community, has never been through the forest trails.

It hardly matters, we agree, how one takes physical exercise of any kind; whatever the preference, it all adds to one's health. She told me her osteoporosis condition is improving; medication, exercise and diet all helping her enormously. When she left I returned to my original intent, and transplanted a few more wax begonias to the back garden, then watered everything. Everything as in the gardens and the garden pots. Despite all our rain on an almost daily basis, everything seemed parched.

Earlier we had taken Jackie and Jillie out for an afternoon tramp through the ravine. Irving had gone out in the morning to search out a new set of handle/lock for the backyard fence. The one in place these past 30 years has begun behaving erratically. On his return, off we went. We had anticipated a sunny day, overcast in the morning; that's what the forecast was. Instead, we had the reverse.

But we did have the ravine to ourselves today. Absolutely no one out other than ourselves and our doughty leaders, Jackie and Jillie. After we had concluded our hour's circuit of the forest trails, we approached the creek to see if any goldfish could be spotted. Instead, what we saw was an early blooming stand of Queen Anne's Lace. Already! Not to be believed. I made my way down the bank to make certain my eyes weren't deceiving me, and sure enough, that's what it was.

We could also see across the creek and up on the bank oposite, the appearance of several more Black-eyed Susans, joining the original that Irving had spotted several weeks ago. Far too early for those beautiful stalwarts of the summer garden to bloom, as well. They had originally been seeded for a pollinating meadow in one stretch of the ravine and had gradually made their way, re-seeding themselves over the course of several years, alongside the bank of the creek, opposite us.