There's a bit of spring magic in the air. Not always -- we're still early in the winter month of March --  but on these days of milder temperatures and full sun the atmosphere is wholly suggestive of spring. We can see the snowpack shrinking. And that's an odd thing. When we mention the height of the snowpack just in passing, to ravine acquaintances they seem startled and begin to look around as though to acquaint themselves with something they hadn't before noticed. We can feel the difference and we can see the difference in the height of the snowpack bringing us to a level that is attained only in late winter.

 

 

It's obvious when we're standing on one of the bridges fording the creek (Bilberry Creek specifically), that snow, tamped down hard from a long succession of snowfalls and peoples' boots, is roughly two to three feet in depth on he bridge floorboards. It's obvious when we look at the sideboard rails of the bridge that many of them are buried deep in snow. The top rail is actually of a height that equals my own, it's just short of five feet in height normally. To look over into the creek from the bridge I have to left myself on my toes.

 

 

Now, on the other hand, I have several feet of free sight. There are landmark trees that stand out for one reason or another and now, hiking the trails, we can readily discern that we're standing a lot taller on the accumulated height of ice and snow. It will take a while for the snow to melt. And it won't be doing that really seriously for another few weeks. By the first of April there will still be ample snow left in the forest. But it's a start toward spring and the renewal of everything green.

 

 

When we were out in the ravine today we found a light slick of ice had formed over the snow. Tissue-thin, and a little slippery. The result of emerging warmer days and still-freezing nights. Soon, sap will begin rising from the tree roots. For the most part however, the storm that left us with another 25 cm two days ago has added a top layer, but on it, the warmer temperatures are having their effect; a pattern is forming of small softly rounded dimples everywhere. The snowpack is beginning to denaturize.

 

At this point, the landscape still looks almost pristine and certainly enchanting. Before long it will look anything but; grimy and dishevelled, nastily untidy with litter of all kinds. That's when we have to step carefully in avoidance of unsavoury spots here and there. We're not there, yet. So a nice, relaxed hike was in order for this afternoon.

 

 

I popped a still-frozen, well-seasoned Cornish hen into the oven before we left. We were late, thanks to Monday house-cleaning. Seems we were just as late Sunday, when I put a lentil-vegetable soup on to simmer and on our return back home, rolled out dough for fresh rolls to accompany the soup. Same thing today, I'm preparing to bake an egg-noodle/raisin pudding to accompany the hen, along with broccoli and sliced fresh pears and plums for dessert.