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.