March didn't rampage into 2023 this year, so it's possible it has taken that old adage: "in like a lamb, out like a lion" seriously. Hard to say whether we winter-weary people would rather have had the month enter like a lion and exit like a lamb. In any event, weather has never listened to us for advice. And it seems clear that the month decided to steal a march on its succeeding month. April, bouncing in tomorrow, will find it hard to match March's upstaging event on departure. So much for April Fool's Day.

March fooled us; what more can April do on arrival to shatter our expectation aplomb of spring? 

 

 We knew the forecast was for snow. And tomorrow is supposed to ratchet all the way up to 12-degrees Celsius. We'll believe it, as that hoary old quip goes, when we see it, feel it, revel in it. But of course the fly in that ointment is that accompanying that promised mild temperature will be rain, rain, spring rain. Which will wash away all the new snow that is accumulating today, since we're in the throes of a wintry-spring snowstorm.

I was busy in the kitchen this morning doing my Friday baking and usual Friday night meal pre-preparation, and there was no sign of snow, although the sky was overcast. But then, it began snowing lightly and soon the snow picked up appreciably and darned if, on the very final day of March we were into a spring snowstorm. No wind, it fell straight down, the atmosphere clouded with snow.

There's an upside to everything. What was beginning to look rather rude on the forest floor with the snowpack diminishing and revealing ordure we'd rather not confront, much less step in, has now been replaced by a growing new layer, freshening up the landscape. Not only that, but the colder temperature plus the new snow has made the forest trails much more boot-friendly. 

The snow swirled down like a semi-opaque veil, quickly covering the tree canopy which had been bare of snow for weeks. Jackie and Jillie sporadically looked like little snow-dogs, before vigorously shaking it all off from time to time. We may be prepared to bid adieu for another year to these weather events but when we're directly experiencing them, we smile with childish delight.

 

I  hurried through the day's chores and managed to get everything done before we left the house at half-past twelve. So that was good. I don't enjoy these appointments, it's why I put off having my eyes examined for as long as I did. For one thing, the pandemic intervened and it just seemed inappropriate.

Well before we left the house Jackie knew something was afoot.  So we were treated to his usual wary querying look.

Worse, their collective chorus of howls as we left by the back door. We've learned to inure ourselves against their pathetic claims of dire abandonment. When we returned several hours later they exprresed their gratitude for our return by leaping manically all over us. And we expressed our appreciation for their stoic suffering, by giving them little treats.

 

We had gone off for my appointment at the Eye Clinic to have my right eye punctiliously measured so that the corrective lens to be inserted could be tailored specifically for the dimensions of my eye. This doesn't happen when a standard lens is used, only with the newer more advanced lens that provides both near- and far-sighted corrections, though they don't take the place of corrective eyeglasses.

Little did I realize that the biometric measuring required the use of so many electronic photo-measuring machines, five in total. And nor were we prepared for the number of sessions we were exposed to, minutely explaining all the details about the cataract surgery I will undergo on April 20. Much less the covenants of understanding and permissions that had to be perused and signed; like legal documents (which they are in case of litigation) and witnessed as well.

 

This clinic is incredibly busy, people coming and going continually. People of all ages, though the ones that took our notice were the elderly and the infirm; people barely capable of crossing a room at more than a turtle's pace, others requiring walkers or being pushed about in wheelchairs. It's a modern, new building with all manner of corridors and specialized rooms, not all of which are occupied by the clinic itself.

Unsurprisingly, the establishment employs a lot of staff. Each and every one of whom must have been hired not only for their accomplished professionalism but as well for their demonstrable mastery of the social etiquette of cheerful kindness. They have unlimited patience, and go out of their way to make people comfortable in these surroundings. Mostly they are young women, knowledgeable and obviously well-schooled in the use and purpose of these sophisticated diagnostic machines.

 

We were glad to finally leave the premises, taking with us all the instructions that strive to ensure that everything will go well. It's a far more complicated process than the one I recall going through when my left eye underwent a similar operation in hospital, but without all the complex interviews, instructions, and preparations.

 

Later, out in the ravine with Jackie and Jillie, we shed all the stress of the earlier afternoon interactions.

It should have felt warmer than the atmosphere we found on the forest trails, but there was a harsh and cutting wind that did its best to ice over the 7C high of the day. Which didn't stop the ongoing diminishment of the snowpack, filling the creek with snow and ice meltwater.

 

A more pleasant way to spend a few hours is hard to imagine. Just watching Jackie and Jillie immerse themselves in the pleasure of strolling the paths lifts our own spirits. As does the presence of other dogs taking their own afternoon runs through the ravine who come by to visit now and again. They hear Jillie calling to them and often in the far distance looking through the forest to other trails, we can see a dog or two speeding their way through to join us briefly before heading back to apologize to their human companions for temporarily abandoning them.

 

There are days when disheartening news just seems overwhelming, casting one into an mindset of hopeless fear of outcomes. The world seems in turmoil. Misery everywhere. Threats, violence, hordes of people leaving their countries of origin in hopes of finding better lives elsewhere. Others living in stable nations find discontent with what they perceive as a government move to deprive them of the metrics of civilized life, and rebel. In some countries those rebellions elicit a response dangerous to survival. In others, the government implores the angry multitudes taking to the streets with their grievance to help restore calm and all will be well.

And then there is our own personal life. Where all in actual fact, is serene. We have everything we need. We feel that each of us is to the other the sun of our universe and find in that, sublime comfort. We can, between us, calmly discuss the earth-shaking events that erupt all around us; earthquake disasters, and wars afflicting humanity. And here we are, insular physically from all that threatens the well-being of others living in foreign lands.

Still, that disturbing news of ongoing conflicts and the suffering of innocent people cannot help but move others in non-involved communities to tears. We hug our safety and security close and thank fortune for all that we have in our lives. To be deprived as so many are, is unthinkable.

We think instead, as we must, of the pedestrian matters in our lives requiring attention. Such as the care and comfort of our two little dogs. And take them out with us for their daily afternoon exercise and run-about in the forest awaiting our entrance. Today, milder temperature above the freezing mark has softened the ice-and-snow-covered trails and we heed our footing in conditions that can topple the balance of the unprepared.

The sun came and went, languidly moving in its springtime arc across a blue sky with fleecy clouds. The snow illuminated by the sun's piercing rays through the tree canopy, poses a hindrance to complete landscape awareness. My eyes water under the sun's insistent glare reminding me that I should have worn sunglasses.

Our little dogs romp about happily. It's no struggle for them to ascend the ravine's hills, as it is for us. When we top one of the hills, we wait awhile. The ascent demands endurance and energy, both somewhat diminished with age, as we continue slipping backward for every step forward. Jackie and Jillie politely wait for us to regain a normal heart rate and we forge on. 

 

You can discover something new every day. At my age you think you know all the little tricks that make life easier, but sometimes you discover you really don't. I posted a photo a few days back on my Twitter account asking if anyone else had ever come across a bunch of bananas that were rock-hard and refused to ripen. And I received immediate answers. One from a friend who lives somewhere in the tropics who actually picks her bananas off banana trees. On one occasion, she said, she picked a bunch that failed to ripen and she ditched them.

Another two friends gave me an immediate solution, though I hardly guessed it would turn out to be that. Place them, each of these friends said, in a brown paper bag. I was skeptical. And where would I get a brown paper bag? Then I remembered that years ago I had put some aside in case I'd ever need them. I originally used them to store glass outdoor ornaments like hummingbird feeders over winter. The bags are so old the paper has become stiff and crackles and tears easily. But in went the bananas and this morning I selected two that had turned a mellow yellow.

 

Another thing; last week I thought I'd add a spoonful of honey to the yeast dough I was preparing for dinner rolls. The honey accented the dough beautifully, even though I had also grated cheddar cheese into the dough. The two made a luscious combination. And the buns, which I rolled into croissants, were really good. This week I repeated the combination but used unbleached flour which might have made a difference because finished bread products with unbleached flour turn out differently, not as light as ordinary bleached all-purpose flour. I had brushed them with egg and the result was beautiful in appearance and even better in taste.

 

 

They were meant to go along with a pea-bean and vegetable soup for dinner. The still-croissants and the hot soup perfectly complemented one another. I had made an egg salad for Irving to have with his rolls, but I had two bowls of soup and two croissants and that really did me in. Just enough room left for strawberries and yogurt.

Today's one of my busiest days; house-cleaning. So we were late getting out to the ravine for our afternoon hike with Jackie and Jillie. A perfectly gorgeous day, with the temperature nudging up to 6C, and brilliant sun. Despite all the snow I went out with J&J without a jacket to the backyard and it felt heavenly. When we did finally get out to the ravine, we could see that there were gaps in the snowpack on the forest hills where enough snow had melted due to rain events and melting snow to reveal the bare earth here and there. So we're on our way.

 

The creek is running full, and roaring over impediments on the way; fallen tree trunks and other detritus littering the runway. By the time we had gone out, the sun had gone in. But halfway through our hike out it came again, illuminating the landscape and we felt grateful it had seen fit to drop by again and greet us on this lovely day.

 

Just before we left the house I had put a pot roast on to simmer in our absence. I tried something different with it, too, as it happens. I still had most of a bulb of fennel and I thought why not cut it up and include it in with the roast, along with tiny potatoes and chopped tomatoes? When we returned the fragrance of our dinner welcomed us back home.

 

We're in spring. Spring that is, in the calendar year. Spring mode and mind as well, in eager anticipation of all that spring brings in renewal. We've been viewing a monochromatic white landscape for so long it's as though we're on the verge of forgetting what other colours look like in a landscape. Truth to tell, we're seeing the snowpack recede, but slowly. It's barely noticeable and we know how long it takes, year after year, for winter to finally grudgingly leave and spring to assert its fresh, new presence.

 

 

We also know, born of long experience that winter isn't over until it's over. And it's over when it eventually slinks off to nurse the grievance of under-appreciation. The piles of snow on our street reach high, accumulated over the winter months. Over people's gardens the snowpack remains about three to four feet in height, but where the lawns meet the road the snowpacks tower over me. They will take a long time yet, to melt. But here and there the effect of the sun sitting higher and warmer, along with milder daytime temperatures hovering at freezing are doing their work.

 

 

Yesterday came word that another snowstorm is on its way. To begin today and carry on through the night and into Sunday when the temperature is set to rise and snow will turn to rain; that's the forecast. By midday today, no snow. A few south-eastern states in our neighbour to the south have been hit by extremely high winds causing havoc and it is that weather system that began moving steadily toward Canada.

 

When we entered the ravine around half-past two this afternoon, all was calm. Frigid, despite the thermometer telling us it was 0C. And an icy wind as well. Fifteen minutes into our hike through the forest a few lazy snowflakes twirled out of the sky. And before we knew it we were engulfed in a blizzard of snow, windswept and icily smacking our faces. Jackie and Jillie's bright little blue and red coats, along with their topknots were soon covered with snow.

 

We saw only one other person out, with two dogs, like ourselves. Sightlines were obscured by a thick veil of snow, sometimes falling in thick clumps, but otherwise falling so thickly as though some giant hand had suddenly yanked an opaque curtain over the landscape, it was eerily beautiful. All around us the landscape was being converted back to winter, a pristine layer of new snow over everything.

The trails that had been so sloppy yesterday with melting snow and ice, today were firm and icy making for a much improved footing climbing and descending hills. Th exquisite beauty of the landscape was breathtaking. Winter telling us how much we'll miss it when it's really and truly gone.

The telephone jarred us awake this morning at 7:00 a.m. We're accustomed to getting nuisance calls throughout the day at awkward times, mostly sales pitches for services we have no interest in whatever. The CRTC once asked people to register with them years ago, if they wanted to stop these unwelcome calls, but it never did manage to do anything about their nuisance-frequency. Mostly, we wouldn't answer them, or just pick up the receiver and slam it back down. Asking callers to cease and desist does nothing; they're just unwitting cogs in the machinery that employs them.

But Irving picked up the phone and listened to a canned message from the Ministry of Transportation informing him for the second time that his test for his driver's license renewal scheduled for this morning as an over-80 driver had to be cancelled 'due to circumstances beyond their control. He would be advised at a later date of a new scheduling. Tiresome, to say the least.

At 7:00 in the morning the bedroom should be flooded with dawn's early light, but this morning it wasn't. Instead, it was so dark we could have been convinced it was 3:00 a.m. So we knew it was raining. Not just any rain, however, but freezing rain. And it rained and it rained. The freezing rain turned to just plain old cold rain when the thermometer struggled up to 1C. We were certain we'd have no opportunity to take Jackie and Jillie out for a walk; the weather forecast in the newspaper simply noted 90% rain.

But by 3:00 p.m. the rain suddenly stopped.That was our signal to get out for some fresh air and so we did. Looking out at the front garden we could see that the trees had a thick coating of ice. The forest would be dripping, we knew, and just in case the rain started up again, we geared the puppies up for rain. But the rain was over, and it had no intention of returning, at least for the duration of our forest hike.

Despite which we were engulfed in frigid showers as soon as we entered the ravine because the trees were steadily shedding the ice that had amassed on branches and evergreen needles throughout the episode of hours of freezing rain. What fell on us didn't feel like rain, instead plops of frozen ice-water kept up a steady patter on our coats.

Well shielded from the rain by their boots and coats Jackie and Jillie didn't mind. Underfoot there were tiny balls of ice that resulted from the snow succumbing both to freeze-up overnight and rainfall. In some areas the trails were frozen, and that's where Jackie and Jillie were slipping and sliding because of their boots, though they remained unpertubed and plodded on. Our boots sunk into the frozen mash more than their tiny weights would.

The forest stream was flush with meltwater and rain, rushing downstream in a noisy assertiveness of near-spring conditions. There were a few others out, like us, with their dogs, but not many. Those that did venture out were grateful that the opportunity had presented itself. Both for their own recreation and for their dogs' chance to enjoy the ambience as they do every day.

Branches of trees hung low-slung with the weight of the ice limned over needles and branches of conifers. In the heavy overcast there was a light rainfog like a thin veil of grey-white. Branches and needles were thick with ice that glinted and gleamed, that shone despite the forest gloom. All of this has its own beauty in a landscape hedging between winter and spring.

 

We don't share many cheerful conversations, my sister and I. Not that there aren't occasions when one or the other of us cracks some wry humour as fuel for laughter. But her health has really degraded over the past ten years. She mentions frequently that her physical condition is eroding swiftly. Today she admitted she hasn't been out-of-doors more than five times in the past year, and I'm aghast. She increasingly has trouble walking, her sciatica nerve has intervened to cause her discomfort and pain with movement. Her lungs were compromised when she cooked over hot oil in their family business, a fish-and-chip store ages ago. She suffers from brain fog, can't remember things and words continually elude her. Other than that, she's just fine.

Actually yes, in a sense she is. Her sense of humour hasn't abandoned her, nor has her curiosity about the world and her awareness of all that is happening. She's four years younger than me. She reads 'talking books' because she is legally blind, though she does have some vision. She's exhausted, she told me, as a result of Long COVID symptoms, acquired through one of the vaccine inoculations she had.

 

All this brings into sharp focus how fortunate we are to be able to do all that we manage with relative ease. And to enjoy a good quality of life, something that of circumstances beyond her control  eludes her. My brother-in-law, a Holocaust survivor, now does all the house cleaning and the cooking, something that evolved over the years. He's capable and competent and they manage to get by.

 

I have a habit of reviewing the bill that tallies our weekly grocery purchases. A habit I've acquired. It also helps me to see how much we've spent buying non-perishable food for deposit in the Food Bank collection every week. This week I was surprised to find a number of errors. The cashier, one of several we're friendly with and fond of, had explained to us how fatigued he was, having worked longer hours than usual. What I saw on the bill was obviously a result of his fatigue in a number of items we were charged twice for. There was a time I would have saved the bill, circled the errors and brought it back a week later for reimbursement. I don't do that anymore, and certainly will not this time, to spare him embarrassment.

 

Yesterday was such a superbly beautiful day, nothing could have tarnished it for us. It just serves to bring home to us our great good fortune in life. Today wasn't quite as beautiful, but pleasant regardless. A little colder than yesterday, with overcast skies with an icy wind. But nothing detains us from agreeing with Jackie and Jillie that it's time to venture out for our usual hike through the forest trails.

 

And that's what we did today. Despite night-time freeze-ups, the snowpack is gradually, but appreciably shrinking. The creek in the ravine is running full and rapidly, swollen with snowmelt, as modest as it yet is. The temperature had risen to -1.1C, so the trails were in turn solid, icy and partially slushy. Where did slush prevail? On the hillsides, of course, yielding slippery conditions and a challenge to make headway.

There were crows cawing in the distance, and we wondered whether they were harassing an owl. We passed an old fallen tree trunk that had been down for over a year, and were surprised to see that a Pileated woodpecker had been at it. We'd have thought it would have been abandoned of any larvae, but evidently that majestic bird knew otherwise. The snow under the trunk was heavily littered with the long, thick shards of wood typified by that woodpecker's handiwork.

It's hard to believe the amount of carrot that our little visiting Benji can polish off in a day, but he manages. Four largish pieces are placed out every afternoon on the porch and another four on the side steps of the house, and when Benji comes to visit, afternoon and evening, he gets right down to business. On occasion he will just sit on the porch, a contemplative little wild rabbit. He looks serene and satisfied and we take careful steps not to disturb him. He's a treat for the eyes. 

What wasn't much of a treat today was to discover how wicked Jackie can be, the little trumbelnik. We went out to do our weekly food shopping after breakfast and he was mightily unpleased. So much so that he left a symbol of his displeased state in what I can only surmise was a bit of vindictiveness. Not that we noticed for a while. 

It has been a sublimely beautiful late winter/early spring day. Mild, topping out at 4.5C, and with full sun and just a bit of wind. Truly an early spring day. The sun so enticed Jillie that she was determined that sitting by the patio doors in her bed full in the bright warmth of the sun, wasn't enough to satisfy her hunger for the real thing. So out she went, to sprawl out on the deck, soaking in the warmth and brightness under a beneficent disc of bright gold. 

When we decided to get out for our afternoon walk we discovered Jackie's little punishment. He had peed directly into one of my boots. I let him know just what I thought of that kind of antic although it was long after the crime had been committed. So Irving strapped cleats over my hiking boots and I wore those instead. It wasn't until we were actually out in the ravine during our hike on the forest trails that Irving realized one of his boots had received a similar treatment. Jackie is in the dog house.

It takes a lot, however, to blemish pleasure in a perfect day. The footing in the ravine was fine, part of the time we were hoofing it in an atmosphere approaching, but not quite reaching slush-state. Still, ascending hills was a challenge, for all the slip-backs. And when we reached the crest of the hills we stood awhile, resting before carrying on. 

Altogether, another delightful foray through the forest trails. Arrested now and again by tableaus of pure beauty with the sun sparkling off the still-beautiful snowpack, and seeing dogs, large and small, enjoying the atmosphere, thoughtful enough to include their humans in their uber-pleasant afternoon jaunts through this place of sterling natural beauty.

 

Irving enjoys getting a break from the house far more than I do. He becomes restless often and decides to go out for one reason or another. Yesterday he needed to pick up a prescription, and while he was out he did what he most enjoys; shopped. He brought home a zillion-seed bread for the evening's grilled cheese sandwhich to go alongside the vegetable soup simmering on the stove. Two bags of cooking carrots because he ran out of carrots for our visiting wild rabbit. Two bags of navel oranges to join the half-dozen already in the refrigerator, and two containers of nuts; one mixed, one of cashews, my favourite.

 

Oh, and because they were on sale, two long-sleeved sweaters, and three sleeveless summer ones, for me. He thought that would cheer me up because I hadn't been feeling quite myself the past several days. I most certainly felt cheered up. That's so typical of him. Enveloped by a warm feeling of gratitude in thankfulness that you're so valued and cared for is an undeniable cheer-up mechanism.

 

And then, because I hadn't noticed it, he turned my attention to what was happening out-of-doors. We'd had a really pleasant hike through the ravine hours earlier. One of those spring-is-in-the-air type of days, with a mild temperature of 3C, light wind albeit overcast. But when I looked out I saw a howling wind and blizzard conditions, snow flying everywhere. Totally unexpected. But then, the weather is notoriously unpredictable here.

 

The temperature had fallen below freezing by the time we went up to bed, and it was snowing again when Jackie and Jillie last went out. Bare areas on the walkway in front of the porch were once again snow-covered. When we came down first thing this morning, a  howling wind and freezing temperature of -7C greeted us. So I decided to put the sun back into Sunday, cutting up and sectioning two large oranges for breakfast alongside a smiling banana.

 

That must have inspired nature to change her tempestuous mind, for before long out came the sun. The clouds had decamp0ed and the sun rode high and bright in the sky and remained there for the rest of the day. So that when we went out with Jackie and Jillie for our afternoon hike through the ravine, the bare forest canopy allowed the sun at its new angle, to shine right through the forest. It was glorious, despite the lingering chill.

 

Not many people out on the trails; we saw none, in fact. But one of Jackie and Jillie's friends did come by for a visit, responding to Jillie's interminable barking when she senses someone else around. That's the signal for any dogs familiar with us to come running in anticipation of cookie handouts. 

Jackie and Jillie were bundled into their heaviest winter coats and little black rubber boots against the return of icy weather. When we arrived back home they romped and rumbled about everywhere chasing after one another, barking happily in anticipation of their usual vegetable salad treat post-ravine hike. Before we had left the house I put on a lentil-bean vegetable soup to begin cooking in our absence. I had chopped up a celeriac root for a change to put into the soup, and gave them each a slender stick of it. They were puzzled and declined; not their usual fare.