It's been two days now that we haven't had any rain. Although we didn't mind the rain, we don't mind either that it has stopped. We were amazed at the ongoing heavy downpours and clapping thunderstorms. But there were intervals when the rain did hesitate at times and we dashed out for short circuits wearing rainjackets, with Jackie and Jillie. Twice we were caught in the rain. Once, the rain was light enough that the forest canopy kept us fairly dry. The second time it was another story. But that too we didn't mind.

 

On those days, despite the heavy overcast conditions there were brief moments when the sun appeared, even giving us glimpses of its warming presence during light rain events. Yet even though the rain has been quiescent the last several days, the sun has become elusive. And it's been cool, as well. We've gone from 30C+ last week to 13C this week. Today the temperature struggled up to 20C, but without the sun it felt fairly cool.

 

Cool enough to warrant light jackets, although we only carried rainjackets for the puppies, rather than burden them with wearing them in mere anticipation of rain. On these days with the cooler conditions, overcast and windy, we haven't seen many other people out trekking the forest trails. But yesterday and today, an adorable little pug we see on occasion, hearing Jillie's barking came rushing over off another trail to await cookies.

 

The thimbleberry bushes are now getting into full bloom, and the flowers really are beautiful, pastel pink and some verging toward hot pink. Already where the blossoms have faded, we can see the fruit beginning to form. As with the hazelnut shrubs; their post-bloom nuts are in the formation stage, and judging by observation of previous years, long before they're fully formed the forest squirrels will have enjoyed them.

 

The Jack-in-the-Pulpit flowerheads are beginning to fade. We're accustomed to the vegetation having its day, then fading, but when on occasion we come across an animal of some kind that has seen better days, it somehow seems more meaningful, and an aura of sadness settles over us. Today it was a bumblebee, slowly making its way across the forest floor; its days of flight obviously over. We watched its pitiful progress briefly, and moved on once it managed to pass over into the vegetation beside the trail.

 

When we got back home, I decided to stay out awhile, after cutting up their after-forest salads for Jackie and Jillie. Anticipating that treat they run amok through the house, chasing one another and vocalizing in a rhapsody of expectation. They make quick work of the snap peas, cucumber, bell pepper and grape tomatoes. Once each of them has finished, leaving tiny bits in their bowls, they switch, each going to the other's bowl to lap up whatever is left there.

That's when I went out to the backyard with a compost bag, to snip off the spent wands of the irises; it's the turn of the day lilies and Stella d'oro now. And though most of the peonies are fading, others are just maturing their blooms, as are the roses. I cut back some dead branches of the Purple Smoke tree, that has been so slow in leafing out this year, but couldn't reach some of the taller ones, so I left them for Irving to do.

 

At that point in the late afternoon the sun decided to come out, after all. The garden pots could use some drying-out. The flowering annuals are beginning to look slightly stressed from all the rain. Likely their roots need some relief. I had tidied up in the garden at the front of the house on Saturday, not that it won't be long before the same exercise will be in repeat in a few days' time. It was mostly the walkways at the front that needed cleaning up after the storms had blasted foliage off the trees standing above the gardens. But doing that does give one a sense of accomplishment when the gardens look a trifle more neat and looked after, before everything runs amok again.

 

In my enthusiasm to bake a cherry pie, I pitted so many cherries I ended up with more filling than a small-capacity pie-dish could hold. Cherries were on sale when we'd gone shopping earlier in the week, at a very attractive $2.95-lb, so I just poured the bag into a sieve and began pitting the cherries yesterday morning. The filling was much too generous for the 8-inch pie dish I prefer using just for the two of us, and a 10-inch pie dish went into service when I prepared the pie dough.

The finished pie would have made 6 ample slices; instead the pie was cut into four pieces, and Irving and I made quick work of our servings, setting aside the other half of the pie for a dessert in several days' time. An indulgence of ample proportions. The pie was excellent; its filling comprised of the halved cherries, sugar, cornstarch and cranberry juice set to simmer until thick, adding butter and almond essence, was delicious. And we were well and truly stuffed.

Yesterday was a day of torrential rain events and a few prolonged, violent thunderstorms. We had managed to get out in a brief lull before breakfast, the rain resuming the minute we arrived back home. The garden was absolutely drenched. Just as the forest, in our trek through a short circuit, was a brilliant emerald-green, lacquered by the rain, so was the garden; roses and peonies in particular brought low by the weight of the water on their blossoming flower heads.

In the ravine, rainwater mixed with the clay scrubbed up from the creek bottom, rushed downstream, a maelstrom of water thrashing over the rapids, carrying with it fallen debris from overhanging trees. Everything looked brightly burnished, although the sky was heavy with clouds awaiting the opportunity to deluge the landscape below anew. We could hardly believe we'd been able to catch a brief hike despite the live threat of thunder.

Today, more rain, and plenty of it. The temperature had cooled down enormously from its series of 30C successive days. Early in the afternoon, despite dark clouds overhead, a brief lull of sun smiling through cracks in the prevailing clouds persuaded us we might be able to enjoy another brief run through the forest trails. Once more, the creek roared by us hauling branches and other woody detritus whooshing downstream. We heard a murder of crows not far off, and assumed they were harassing an owl.

When we reached the ravine heights from whence the sounds came we could see the crows crowding the sky, but try as we might, couldn't see the location of the owl in the trees soaring above us. We did have a visitor of a more domesticated variety, delighting Jackie and Jillie no end at the extra opportunity for cookie handouts.

When we had left the house there was a light shower in progress, light enough that the forest canopy would keep us dry. We wore rainjackets and two little rainjackets for Jackie and Jillie were stuffed into one of my pockets. We'd gone three-quarters of the short circuit we were on when the atmosphere grew darker and a heavy rain dispelled any notion we might escape a soaker. On went the puppies' raincoats and on we went, the clay base of the trails running with rain.

Despite their little raincoats, Jackie and Jillie were pretty soaked by the time we got them into the house. Out came their towels for a much-needed rubdown. As much as they detest getting caught out in the rain and coming away dripping water, they love the attention the towelling gives them as their little snouts and ears get smothered with the soft towels and they revel in being carefully rubbed dry.

And then they run through the house like little demented goats in anticipation of their usual afternoon snack consisting of fresh vegetables; cucumber, snap peas, bell pepper and grape tomatoes cut up into a little salad for them. They can hardly contain their excitement, leaping around me until their bowls are deposited on the floor; pink for Jillie, blue for Jackie, little bowls with immovable rubber bases.

 

 

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.