Never without solutions to irksome situations, my husband suggested last night that when we arose next morning we should plan to shower, set the table for breakfast, then all of us set off in his truck to acquire the flowering plants I was  hoping to be able to get yesterday only to find that though businesses are opening, and gardening centres were declared by the government of Ontario to be 'essential' (perhaps for peoples' mental health), there was so much time-consuming rigamarole involved in accessing most garden centres we had just given up.

The one place where we were able to find what we were looking for was packed with avid gardeners (though everyone managed to keep distance, wore face masks and gloves and behaved quite civilly) but had hardly any stock left in their greenhouses. A paltry few of the plants we wanted. We had never before encountered a situation like it; people so anxious to buy plants, both ornamental and food-bearing that they converged in such numbers that long line-ups to enable entrance to garden centres snaked around blocks.

We would, my husband declared, return to that country setting, avoiding urban and suburban areas, where we have always obtained our plants. Hoping that an earlier hour would prove more fruitful. And though when we arrived early, as it was, there were still many people milling about, yet two of the greenhouses were offering a greater choice and hadn't yet been entirely ransacked. I swiftly acquired all the bewitchingly beautiful flowering plants I wanted, despite finding some I planned for not being available. We dragged the loaded cart to the cashier, and we were done.

In the afternoon, after I had changed our bed linen and coverings to more appropriate spring-summer replacements, finished the laundry, done a bit of weeding of the grass, while my husband mixed soil, peat moss and sheep manure to begin filling our many urns and pots set out in the garden, we all went off for our afternoon hike through the forest trails. Jackie and Jillie had behaved so unlike their usual selves while my husband and I were busy outside; they simply stayed within sneezing distance of wherever we were, a refreshing change.

And so was our ramble through the woods. The influx of people not accustomed to a forest landscape but desperate to find an outdoors area where they could stretch their legs, breathe fresh air, revel in a different scene, has diminished to almost nothing. Now that recreational areas have relaxed their requirements and parks are open, people are returning to their usual pastimes, abandoning the forest trails. Bicyclists had forged new pathways where none had been before down the hillsides, no doubt doing their part for environmental erosion in their search for speed and thrills. They won't be missed.

Those we happened to come across were all people and dogs, that we've known for quite a while. Jackie and Jillie were enthusiastic about seeing some old friends. One in particular, a gorgeous Rhodesian Ridgeback, a shy and gentle creature, they especially were glad to greet.

And we were pleased ourselves to see a few 'firsts' for this spring in the ravine. The first of the red baneberry we've seen emergent, a long way from maturity but already bearing its floral spray to be transformed into brilliant shiny red clusters of berries -- deadly but beautiful in late summer. And another fruit-bearing plant, one more familiar to most people, wild strawberries have now begun their flowering period, and by mid- to-late June tiny, delicious strawberries will be shining in the sun piercing the forest canopy and glancing through the forest floor.

Just as we had almost cleared the dinner table yesterday evening, Jackie and Jillie informed us they had an inclination to go out to the backyard. So I continued removing our dinner dishes to the kitchen sink, and my husband accompanied our two little imps outside on a still-balmy spring evening with a gentle breeze and the setting sun. This, just before dusk began seriously arriving.

And then my husband called out to me to come over to the patio doors and look out. My reward was the sight of a wide sliver of bright pink sky painted on the horizon by that setting sun. Beyond beautiful, though not as spectacular as many we've seen in other years, but there will be other evenings when the sky presents in jewel colours, in a much wider scope that will take our breath away. It's that time of year. One of mother nature's gifts.

We'd had a busy day for a Sunday. When we were out on the street walking back and forth from our daily ramble in the ravine with our puppies we saw more neighbours out on their lawns than we would ordinarily see, and each lawn we passed was an invitation to linger and enjoy a conversation with people we've known for many years. At a discreet distance, observing the novel-coronavirus-recommended separation.

Lawns and gardens have dried out finally given a lull in the rain and warmer temperatures, wind and sun. People have come out of their confinement in their houses with rakes and determination to spend some time out-of-doors and prepare for spring clean-up.

When we arrived home, I set about preparing dinner. Rolling out bread dough, spreading it with butter, sprinkling sesame seed over, then grating cheddar cheese, folding the dough in thirds, turning it, rolling it into another rectangle, repeating the filling process, folding and rolling again. Then leaving it to 'relax'. While I chopped up onion and garlic into olive oil in a pot, sprinkled over fennel and cumin seeds and garam marsala to briefly saute. Chopped up tomatoes, zucchini and carrot, added that with the rinsed lentils, then boiling water and tomato paste, and let it all summer with a chicken stock cube.  Back to the dough, to roll it out for the last time, cut it into triangles and roll it into shape.

Today, a meal that requires far less preparation; omelettes, vegetable salad and leftover blueberry cheesecake, because we've been busy all day. Cleaning the house, clearing away detritus from the winter outside on our own lawn. And then finally, heading out with Jackie and Jillie leading the way, to the ravine for an afternoon hike through the woods. Not as warm as yesterday, absent the sun and the wind brisker this time around. It seemed very warm while we were in the backyard doing some yardwork, but on the street and then in the ravine it was considerably cooler.

We all took our time moseying about, noting how dry suddenly everything looks. How deep the fall foliage appears on the forest floor. How monotonous the colour in the landscape before  any leafing-out takes place; were it not for the presence of conifers with their dark green needles the landscape would look even more bleakly sere than it does. But the trails are finally beginning to dry, not as muddy as they have been.

And as soon as we move into May we'll be met with one welcome surprise after another as the spring wildflowers begin to emerge bringing form and colour to the landscape. A natural routine that couldn't be more familiar, but guaranteed to excite us every time it recurs. Trout lilies and trilliums, violets and strawberries, foamflower and Jack-in-the-Pulpit, Solomon's seal, anemone, daisies, apple blossoms, honeysuckle, and more....

No better time than today to make the 100km drive out into the country to see our daughter and granddaughter. They live in a century-old log home, extended and upgraded over the years from its time as a local schoolhouse. Our daughter's 58th birthday is several days' off, and our granddaughter's will arrive at the end of June. Who knows how often and when we will have this opportunity again... Our daughter had made re-usable face masks for her parents, and we would be picking them up, while dropping off birthday gifts for both.

So. soon after a leisurely breakfast, we packed up Jackie and Jillie and left for the trip. Oh, no, we didn't quite. We harnessed our two little black imps and made for the forest to first give them and us some fresh air and exercise close to home. The outdoors looked enticing from the indoors. A clear blue sky, the sun penetrating its warmth through the house windows, promising a day far different from yesterday with its full overcast and chill wind.

We had a hint of just how cool it was and what kind of blustery conditions prevailed, however, each time we went out into the backyard. And it was no different when we entered the forest, and by then clouds had moved in, so we had both overcast and sunny intervals throughout our hike through the trails, shoved along by the wind. We keep looking for signs that foliage is soon to appear, but nothing as  yet has revealed itself.

For a Saturday, the trails were surprisingly empty of anyone but ourselves. Likely because more people were out shopping since on Easter Friday stores were closed and Sunday they would be, as well. We had no complaints whatever though, traipsing along the trails, maintaining body warmth by the energy expended, compensating for the rampaging wind.

On the highway, driving through the city and finally attaining the countryside, we could see a faint haze of yellow at the tips of willow branches, and atop maples the unmistakable bright red of new buds. From a distance as we drove along we could also make out a faint green mist over some trees that seemed to disappear the closer we approached to the trees as we drove forward. Farmers' fields were still drenched by the melting snow, the soil already having absorbed all it could.

But in some fields there was the unmistakable shade of bright green coming up through the soil, seeded in the fall for a spring silage crop, so no doubt about it, despite the prevailing cold, the stubborn wind and sometimes-absent sun, spring is moving steadily ahead. As when we were on the forest trails, the highway, usually packed with traffic, was quiet with the occasional car or truck sharing it with us.

When we arrived at our daughter's house, she was out pottering about cleaning up the gardens closest to the house. Our granddaughter was out with their newly-adopted dog Lili. LIli and Sara who is now 14, the last of the original ten-pack our daughter had, have a large tall, chain-link enclosure to romp about in when they're not out on the trails on our daughter's 6-acre property. We exchanged the face masks our daughter made for us, with the gifts we had brought for her and her daughter. We maintained a physical distance, trying to ignore that distance for the emotional closeness we shared.

And then, we left, our daughter and granddaughter waving us off, and we, driving back through the small village of Pakenham, and over their famed five-span bridge fording the Mississippi River which was in full spring flood, stopped briefly. We parked beside the bridge to watch the mesmerizing drive of the river, its splurging and spraying and foaming as it rose and descended like a living thing -- which, in essence, it is -- a tributary of the much larger Ottawa River.