Nature is , as usual, taking a convoluted route toward spring. Seldom does she agree to move directly and firmly from late winter to early spring. Rather than the highway of non-stop destination, she takes unpaved back roads that frustratingly seem to lead back to where we came from. Yesterday was wonderfully balmy with a light breeze, occasional sun and a temperature of 20C. Today, however, we stepped back several weeks in the transition, the temperature stuck as12C, with a brisk wind under completely clouded skies.

 

It was such a lovely day yesterday that we favoured a much longer hike in the ravine. We saw the first of the fiddleheads, as ferns begin unfurling on the forest floor. Chickadees and nuthatches were enjoying the day, just as we were. We sighted another hairy woodpecker hard at work, and mistook a hawk roosting on a branch of a pine for an owl, until several crows rousted it from its perch and it flew off into the forest interior.

 

More of the trilliums have begun blooming; bright pops of crimson on the otherwise still-sere transitional landscape. In the forest creek where the water, while not yet crystal, had begun clearing from its clay-occluded state of the week, more or less confirming our speculation that work is being done upstream that has impacted the water quality of the creek the ducks were in residence.

 

We came across someone walking two delightfully impish and tiny puppies; the male a Maltese and the little female a Yorkie. They were so small that our two small-breed dogs virtually towered over them. The little Maltese kept flopping over on his back, wanting to be played with, and tummy-rubbed.

 

Today, we took a shorter route. I had put a small roast in the oven for dinner before we left. It was quite late, since today is one of my regular house-cleaning days. Yesterday, after our ravine  hike I took the time and the opportunity while rain held off to plant the gladiola and dahlia bulbs I've been anxious to put into the ground. Today I took a brief time off from cleaning to zip outside and unload the used coffee grounds I've been collecting on our blue and our pink hydrangeas, hoping that this would encourage the production of blooms in a few months' time. It worked last year, somewhat.

 

 

Sure enough, once out in the forest we could see that the creek was once again full of clay. On previous occasions we'd looked for the Mallards and it became clear they had absented themselves. Today, however, they were serenely floating about, the female ducking her head continually underwater for algae, despite the quality of the water.

 

Jackie and Jillie were oblivious to all the distractions that took our attention. Their focus is, unfailingly, on the messages that other dogs in the community who venture through the forest leave as community news. 

 

My gardener's heart exulted when this morning dawned brightly and heightened temperatures seemed in the offing. Today, after all, despite the long-range weather forecasting warning of rain for the following four days, would be giving us a respite. My intention to plant the gladiola and dahlia bulbs could proceed after all. And then the rain could erupt and all would be well in my little gardening world. First things first, though; we would take the puppies out for a prolonged ravine hike in such glorious weather. 

The workout would do us all well after our Saturday morning indulgence in having too much to eat for breakfast, in a completely relaxed mood. What could go wrong, the sun was out, not a cloud in the sky, the temperature was steadily rising and was already nudging 20C, and nature called! On such a lovely day we agreed we would take our time, choose a longer circuit, mosey about and make the most of this opportunity.

 

And so we did. Mind, for the most part the interior forest landscape is muted. Drab. Vacant of much of interest on the forest floor. Yet there's a faint mist of green over the forest canopy and tender green shoots tinged with red are steadily making progress. Wild raspberry canes are looking lively with green shoots, the hazelnut shrubs have lost their catkins replacing them with green shoots, red florets falling from the maples have been replaced with green, honeysuckle shrubs are greening and it won't be long before they flower.

 

And the emerging wildflowers; we planned to skirt the patches of forest floor where we know the wildflowers tend to erupt, just to see how they're faring in this in-between time of frosty nights and rainy days interspersed with sun and occasionally moderate daytime temperatures. Jackie and Jillie leading the way, we meandered here and there. We ogled the landscape and they zeroed in on alluring odours.

The first of the foamflowers are beginning to make an appearance, and trilliums are popping up, along with trout lilies here and there, but we were headed for areas where they were less random in appearance, where they tended to colonize certain areas. Before that occurred we ran into a fellow forest hiker who had asked us how to visually identify hawks and owls, and we had advised him to look about at a certain area, where we'd seen an owl roosting the day before. He had looked, he said, but found nothing.

 

And just then, two crows rustled by and nearby another more rounded, larger form with striped wings flew through the trees, then descended directly into the creek. None other than the barred owl whose presence we had been discussing. We'd never seen owls other than securely roosting on trees in the forest canopy. The owl rose from the creek, moved swiftly from one vantage point to another, briefly pausing at each, then flew off.

The further we proceeded the more the opportunities presented. As for example, a large (relatively speaking) hairy woodpecker busy nearby, and countless chickadees flitting about in the forest interior. And, of course, the sound of crows. A sound that we both enjoy. Then the colonies of trout lilies began to appear, and it was surprising to see that unexpectedly some were bearing flower buds, since so few of the plants among hundreds of them, tend to flower.

 

Anticipating a blush of newly-opened purple trilliums, on the other hand, while there were ample numbers of trilliums, none appeared to be convinced it was time to fully bloom. Still, it was satisfying noting their presence and the early abundance. Until we finally were greeted by a pair fully blooming, as exceptions to the majority. 

 

Ascending back to street level, we stopped awhile to speak to a few neighbours, one of whom was chopping wood for next winter's storage. Others passed by with the intention of making as most of the opportunity to get out while the weather held, as possible. And I was anticipating planting summer-blooming Dahlias and Gladiolas into the ground, their corms would be well watered by impending rain. When suddenly the first drops heralded the rest of the day given over to rain, and my opportunity passed.

Today has been a day of pleasant surprises. First one occurred when we saw it was 9C this morning, not the 0C we had yesterday morning. Which inspired a sunny breakfast with a big smiley-face and the anticipation that we'd enjoy a beautiful spring day. Until we looked at the paper which gave the forecast informing us that the wide blue sky that had shone uninterruptedly last night, hosting a brilliant spring moon would cloud over by afternoon, dismissing the morning sun as high winds picked up and rain began.

Since we had an afternoon appointment at the veterinarian clinic, we decided we'd go out earlier than usual with Jackie and Jillie to enjoy a long circuit through the ravine's forest before the weather turned. Even though we were out early, clouds had moved in, the sun was cloistered and the wind turned the mild temperature slightly tempestuous. Still, mild enough that Jackie and Jillie needed no sweaters for comfort.

 

We weren't out long before we had a surprise visitor; Millie suddenly appeared before us, eagerly greeting the Cookie Man and offering to relieve him of some of those cookies weighting down his pack. He was happy to oblige, we hadn't seen her in such a long time. Even Jackie and Jillie were happy to see Millie, since if she was getting big cookies, they could cadge little ones for themselves.

 

Even with the wind and the disappearance of the sun, the temperature had nudged up to 18C, so the day demanded we make the most of our opportunity to enjoy a fine midspring day. We are so familiar with the terrain that we know where to look for wildflowers that tend to colonize specific areas on the forest floor. I wanted to see whether the trout lilies had begun to make an appearance, even the trilliums. What we did see is that the lilies-of-the-valley that had already erupted in the areas we most generally frequent had yet to make an appearance anywhere along the larger circuit.

 

But the trout lilies, although not yet in flowering mode (and they wouldn't flower unless the sun was out to begin with) were there in abundance, and to our great gratification so too were the purple trilliums beginning to make their appearance in other familiar areas. 

 

 

The forest floor on the forest plateau above the ravine where we soon found ourselves, remains saturated from all the rain that has occupied our days of late. Assuring us that before long our walks will be accompanied by hordes of mosquitoes, not  yet in evidence.

 

Our morning adventure had more in store for us, in spring flora and fauna appearances. Up in the forest canopy we could hear crows assembling and calling. And looking up in their direction, where some were settling on the trees, nearby there was a barred owl in residence. We hear the  owls on occasion, but haven't actually seen them for quite awhile. But there was a fellow, looking down at us. We returned the compliment, then moved on.

 

Approaching the forest creek, preparing to mount one of the bridges, we looked for the presence of the Mallards, and found them too in residence. Mrs. Mallard, as usual, busy eating algae, with her mate paddling next to her. They too were making the most of a beautiful day. And nor were they the only ones for not far from their aquatic picnic lunch, we saw a flash of black-and-white and realized that a Hairy woodpecker had entered the scene, busying itself on a tree trunk, perusing it up and down for the best vantage point it could domineer for its lunch.

 

So many geographic areas of the world are facing prolonged drought situations. In Western Canada longstanding drought conditions led last year to the worst wildfire season on record. And from all indications of the current situation there may very well be a repeat. I read this morning over a leisurely breakfast of French toast that in Kenya, ongoing drought has led to the death of herds of cows. There has been a long association with milking cattle in parts of Kenya evidently, particularly among their pastoral people. Increasingly, and steadily, Kenyans are beginning to change their traditional farming from reliance on milking cows to milking camels, animals equipped by nature to withstand drought conditions.

 

Our area in central Ontario has no such problems with a lack of rain this spring, even though we had a very low snowpack over the winter months this year. Spring rain has made up for the sparse snowfalls. We're never short of sunshine, so it's safe to say, for now at any event, that we're fortunate in having enough of both to balance things out nicely while Climate Change continues to alter normal weather patterns just about everywhere in the world.

We barely managed a quick, short circuit in the ravine yesterday with Jackie and Jillie before the rain which had randomly stopped, started again on our return home. In between rain events the brilliant spring sun poked its way through dense clouds now and again. So we needed both raingear and sun glasses.

 

This morning, no rain came down. One thing about all the rain, it's greened the grass up wonderfully well. The wild rabbit that we usually feed through the winter months along with others of our wild neighbours appears for the first time that I can recall, to be eating our tulips; not the bulbs but the hopeful green spears that appear long before flower heads are raised. We've been looking forward to seeing the bright colourfully insouciant heads of the spring bulbs. The rabbit hasn't touched the scilla and those tiny bulbs are blooming, but I have my doubts about the tulips.

 

There isn't too much at this early juncture to be seen in the forest. Lots to be heard, though. Crows are gathering in little groups, and their calls ring through the forest canopy. On occasion we'll hear the owls in deep discussion with one another, and yesterday we saw a downy woodpecker, while today the treat was a nuthatch and chickadees. New sprouts of green growth are beginning to appear, and the Red Maples' flowerettes are now everywhere on the forest floor.

 

Halfway through our circuit this afternoon, Jillie's enthusiastic barks alerted several of her longtime friends of our presence. Suddenly the pair of Doodlesomethings hoved over the horizon and came stampeding down from an upper trail to inform us that they've unaccountably missed us lately; where've we been? And did we remember to bring along cookies for them?

 

 

 

It  was a bit unusual for us, but last week the pantry and refrigerator were so stuffed, we decided to forego our usual weekly shopping. Instead, we just dropped by Farm Boy to pick up fresh fruits and vegetables and a few dairy products and left the shopping at that. By this week it was clear we had managed to  produce an empty refrigerator calling out to be restocked. As it happened, we also had an appointment at the groomers for Jackie and Jillie.

First things first; we always take our pups out for a good recreational romp through the forest before these appointments, and then feel they're ready to be bathed and coiffed. They know the routine and recognize where we are when we pull up in the parking lot. This time they were to have a summer shave, given our return to milder weather from the winter months when their hair is left a bit longer for warmth and comfort.

 

When we left them there, off we went to do the shopping. And it was a whopper; we found we needed just so much to return the kitchen to a plenitude of everything to keep us hale and healthy for another week. Came to a tad under $300. That included close to $30-worth of grocery staples that we buy weekly for the area Food Bank. Returning home with both the pups and the groceries, a typical scenario ensues, where Irving trims a head of cauliflower and although by then I've given them their afternoon vegetable salad, they also yearn for bits of cauliflower, followed by one new cookie-treat apiece.

Finding a place for everything represents another challenge, but soon the refrigerator and the pantry are both full to bursting, and then my thoughts turn to dinner. A dairy meal was decided and my favourite to boot. A macaroni-and-cheese casserole would do nicely. So I cooked up some macaroni noodles, then prepared a choux into which milk, butter, flour, ground black pepper, dry mustard, shredded sharp cheddar and dried parsley along with sliced green onion went. Immersing the cooled macaroni in the choux, that represents the first layer. Over top of that went frozen green peas, then a tin of chopped-up pink salmon, another layer of noodles, and finally a sprinkle of more grated cheese topped with fried onion and into the oven it went for a slow bake.

 

For today's ramble through the ravine we had a brisk wind, sun and 12C temperature which felt cool enough for gloves. This time the creek ran clear, unlike yesterday when it was turbulently thick with clay and detritus, for some reason. The Mallards were absent from sight yesterday, but happily thrashing about and steaming down the watery passage today.

 

The trails that were so muck-slick just a few days back, to the extent that Jackie and Jillie carried thick layers of mud plastered onto their little paws, were finally beginning to dry out. Cleaning them up after our hike took no time at all, unlike the numerous passes we made with a soapy sponge earlier in the week. The forest still looks colourless, awaiting the arrival of warmer temperatures urging the growth of new foliage. 

 

We were approached by a beautiful Weimaraner, which we see on occasion, but he paused only briefly before rushing on again to catch up with his running companion.

 

That universal malady of spring fever is when we get a little giddy as nature moves us further away from winter and closer to spring, tempting us with premature expectations of summer's arrival. And then we become somewhat complacent when a series of beautiful sunny and warm days please us so mightily that we're certain the corner has been turned with finality and cold days are behind us for another year.

 

The gardener's mind turns to solutions to garden problems. When the blue and the pink hydrangeas fail to bloom, while the Annabelle hydrangeas thrive, blooming madly and replicating, the solution might be coffee grounds, so begin accumulating them to sprinkle over the recalcitrant roots and see what happens. Discover that even home remedies occasionally have their place. For the present, admire and cherish the earliest of the garden blooms, like the tiny starry-blue scilla, and next will come the grape hyacinths. There's new life on the roses, the lilies are shooting up, and so are the irises.

 

 

Yesterday's high wind and cold temperatures left our taste buds clamouring for body-warming comfort food for dinner. Out came the bread dough I'd prepared on Friday, to be formed into whole-wheat croissants to accompany a herb-savoury vegetable soup. There's nothing quite like luxuriating at the dinner table over warm bread and a hot and hearty soup to instill a sense of 'all's right with the world' sense, despite the startling news emanating from other parts of the world informing us that elsewhere the world is roiled by hostile threats. 

 

But nature reserves the divine right to change her mind. And suddenly the balmy days are gone, exchanged for what we were just celebrating having been banished. It's cold again, with miserably aggressive winds and unending rain. This morning there were patches of blue sky, soon inundated by rainclouds. But in that brief interval, sun eclipsed by clouds but rain holding off, we dropped everything and dashed out to the ravine for an earlier iteration of our daily woodland circuit.

 

 

We noticed that the bright red florets of maples have begun detaching and falling to the forest floor. Like the brighter plumage of male birds, it's these red florets representing the male pollen of Red Maple trees. Another of nature's rites of passage and vegetation fertilization. We also saw that the patch of Partridgeberry ground cover has finally emerged from its blanket of desiccated fall foliage, surprisingly still bearing their bright red fall berries.

 

 

Understandably, the forest floor was well and truly drenched from incessant rain events. On the ridge of the ravine in particular standing rainwater has created a pot-holed morass of muck which Jillie quite daintily skirts whenever possible, while Jackie for the most part just trudges through unless he's following as we duck through the woods on alternate options to avoid the mud.

 

 

We come across just one friend of our pups, eager to advertise his presence in the expectation that there will be rewards for being a beautiful boy with good manners, and  he is not disappointed. When conditions are wet and cold in the forest many residents in the wider community tend to put off their otherwise-frequent forays into the woods; committed woodland hikers accustom themselves to occasionally inconveniences in the greater interests of the benefits that accompany these ventures.

 

The woods are always a place of serene contemplation, a destination promising a relaxed physical jaunt, and the frequent revelations of some of nature's casual secrets meant to be enjoyed and appreciated.

 

 

 

 

Another gorgeous spring day of balmy temperatures and full sun. But for a brief interval when clouds moved in to presage rain. Rain, in fact, did its best to fall, but it struggled without much success. We had just entered the ravine to begin an afternoon circuit through the forest trails when fat drops of rain hit our heads. The question: proceed as planned, or retreat to the dry comfort of the house? We just kept moving downhill, all of us in agreement that we'd risk a soaking.

 

As we moved close to the creek on a path paralleling the waterway, we could see those typical wide circular wavelets that transpire when heavy drops hit water and thought, so be it. The protective cover of the forest canopy, even bare of foliage, kept us fairly dry and then the dark clouds passed, overtaken by bright white counterparts and the rain ceased.

 

 

Jackie and Jillie would certainly be puzzled if we were to have reversed our intentions to enjoy the peace and serenity of our usual traipse through the woods. They barely heeded the thick raindrops, mostly because few hit them. These are the same little dogs that hesitate and balk to exit the house to the backyard when it's raining. Out in the forest, they're tougher, prepared to rough it out a bit for the pleasure of romping about here and there and inhaling the exquisite fragrances of nature and springtime.

 

 

We found the Mallard pair still in residence, close to the outtake of the forest creek, dipping and diving for algae and whatever else they plan for breakfast, lunch and dinner. They pay no attention whatever to our presence, although the male on occasion seems to glance in our direction. They're too busy fishing about in the water streaming with edible microscopic life forms.

Later, when we were preparing to exit the forest, we suddenly saw on its perimeter, bright sparks of new colour and looking closer identified emerging lungwort in bloom. Obviously seeds from the early-spring-blooming garden plant (pulmonaria) must have drifted over from a nearby garden; or dogs might have carried the seeds in their haircoats or paws, even people tracking through with seeds on the ridges of their boots.

 

They're perennials and flourish in the rich soil of the forest floor, poking their way up and through the desiccated mat of last year's autumn foliage - that of the year before that and ad ifinitum. The same plants in our garden have just emerged but they're a long way from blooming.

On our return, with the sun fully renascent, we stayed out for an hour or so to begin unwrapping our multitude of stone urns, garden pots, and garden statuary. They've been covered for the winter months to spare them from the effects of snow and ice, frost and defrosting that take place over winter. Sheer bliss to be out there in these weather conditions, busying ourselves tidying up, lifting the plastic coverings, liberating the garden from the last vestiges of winter.

 

They know what they know and what they know they dread. Everything is fine as long as we're putting on boots and the jackets that hang in the cupboard in the mudroom. It's when we go over to the clothes cupboard in the foyer that they pay careful attention. And the shoes, that too. They know in all likelihood they're going to be left alone at home. That we'll be abandoning them. We speak reassuringly to them, assure them we'll be back home shortly. And whenever we do return, they're cosseted and given treats.

 

To no avail. It's Jackie who does the detective work, and Jillie who awaits his verdict; he poking his head around the corner of the family room, peering at us studiously as he watches us in the mudroom preparing to leave. When his suspicion becomes a certainty, he joins Jillie in the family room and together they chorus their misery in high-pitched howling; perfect unison. Each howl begins on a high, plaintively piercing note and gradually the decibels lower, and then they start again.

 

 

When we know we'll be going out in the afternoon without them we always ensure they have a good vigorous run through the forest trails beforehand. And so, off we went with them early in the afternoon of today's balmy temperature of 19C, under an ocean of blue and the warmth of the sailing sun. They had a good trot-about, and we once again congratulated nature on presenting us with a perfect day.

 

We took a trail that partnered with the creek. The reasoning being that such a lovely day that pleased us so mightily might certainly have a similar effect on the Mallards, thinking they might grace us with their presence. And so they did. The pair was in residence, and we watched as the female dabbled incessantly, her back-end raised while her head and neck immersed in the swiftly moving creek, eating microscopic plants and insects alike. The male seemed more interested in keeping watch.

 

 

She is drab, her feathers brown-mottled by comparison to his bright iridescent-green head and bright orange feet, paddling along beside her. Soon, he  joins her in exploring the under-water aquarium breeding algae and other tasty bits of nutrition beloved of ducks. She seems to hover in place while she's dabbling, while he vigorously paddles. They gradually make their way upstream.

 

Jackie and Jillie don't seem to notice them. They've other fish to fry. Exploring, for example, not only intriguing fragrances, but delectable items they find on the forest floor. Including twigs which they both find irresistible, chewing on them as though they are actually edible. Edible items are those that Irving brings along in a little pack, and it wasn't long before Jackie and Jillie were joined by some of their friends knowing Irving for a reliable source of dog cookies.

Before we left the ravine, I turned back to look beyond the creek, at the forest canopy. Just then a large grey-blue form rose and floated through the air, and I realized that the Great Blue Heron had arrived back at the creek along with the ducks, on their reverse migration. The heron was soon lost to sight as it soared and filtered itself through the trees.