No morning is satisfactorily completed without a post-breakfast roundabout in the garden. Jack and Jill are taken out to the backyard multiple times every morning. They cannot yet conceive of asking to be let out, of going out on their own recognizance as it were, to conduct any personal business without our being present and themselves initiating the procedure.

They do linger at the sliding glass doors in anticipation of being taken out, not of being allowed out on their own. They wait at the door for us to exit alongside them. When we don't, their interest in exiting the house is extinguished. When we do step out with them they're joyously exuberant, anxious to examine everything in view and whatever isn't in view.

They've both taken lately to relishing the new growth on one particular Alberta spruce tree that grows at the bottom of the rock garden; its tender new green appears to them, evidently an especially delicious morsel. It's beyond difficult to convince them otherwise. Their appetite for the strangest things continues to baffle us.

So we did the rounds this morning, as we do every morning, other than days when rain is too intense to hazard such an inspection without becoming completely drenched. Besides which, neither of them is fond of the rain, and Jillie will do just about anything to avoid having to go out during a downpour; not that we can blame her.

They've now grown accustomed to anticipating a prowl around the front of the house, as well. Under fairly strict supervision, given their propensity to dash beyond the lawn if they see anyone walking down the street. They appear to believe that it is their given duty to apprise complete strangers of their presence, to be friendly and neighbourly. And it's this penchant we're on guard for, even though ours is a very quiet street, with very little traffic.

When they're in the throes of such excitement they're not all that likely to heed our instructions to 'stop!' and 'wait!', so while pleading with them to return to our property it's necessary for us to run after them, scoop them up and bring them back. Needless to say they have no trouble outrunning us.

And if we scold them they reciprocate by enthusiastically licking our faces.

Jack and Jill appear to have adjusted their inner rhythm to travelling in the car. They are now permitted to sit with us at the front of the truck, since there's more room there and it's an automatic. That accommodation to their tender feelings of not being isolated from us has led to better behaviour on their part. So one might say with a fair degree of accuracy that they're training us quite well.

Having them in the front with us in the car isn't quite as comfortable, since it's a gear-shift and there's less room, but again, they behave quite well, so today we allowed that for the first time. Trouble is the 'first time' always sets a precedent that they don't forget, after which they feel it's an entitlement. That being said, it's a relief now that they no longer respond to riding in either of the vehicles by being nauseous. So it's a true bonus that neither one of them now brings up, distressingly, in the car or the truck.

We had a pleasant drive downtown, after our morning ravine walk. After yesterday's relentless all-day rain the sun has dried everything off. And though it still felt humid, there's a nice breeze. It is hot, though, no doubt about it, approaching 29 degrees, so they prefer not to be outside where the sun beats down in the backyard. The coolness of the house interior is far more appealing to the spoiled little black urchins.

They're not totally unfamiliar now with being carried along in over-the-shoulder bags when we go into shops as we did on our Byward Market expedition today. They're not all that well behaved, but they'll learn to accept being confined in a bag for the length of time it takes us to peruse a store interior for whatever it is we are in the market for.

Today it was art and antique magazines, as usual. We bypassed the cheese shops because we've so much cheese in the refrigerator right now, but did drop by the Rideau Bakery for some of their fabulous bread products. And at the market we stopped at one of the outdoor stalls where I acquired small pots of red basil, tarragon, and chives. I forgot to get parsley, but will have to attend to that on another occasion.

Ottawa most certainly is a green city, with parks running throughout the urban area, adding to the quality of life in so many ways, from freshening the air we breathe, to providing for recreational activities -- we always see lots of people bicycling or boarding or skating -- not the least of which is walking along within a natural preserve.

Jack and Jill don't much like the rain. If we take them out when it's raining they invariably rush under the deck, to stay dry. Can't say we much blame them. But when we first took them out this morning it hadn't yet begun seriously raining, just a very delicate drizzle. We've got raincoats we take with on our ravine walks for use when and if we encounter a downpour while we're out; they hardly need them on these occasions.

So instead of rushing to the dry area under the deck they rushed instead, in a concert of two enthusiasts to the rock garden that reaches from the front of the house to the back, on the narrow side of our lot. There to happily browse, though they had eaten their breakfast just a short while earlier.

Chewing on twigs, digging up the roots of violets, making off with the little Hens-n'-chicks, provides them with entertainment and a challenge to see what they can get away with before I rebuke their antics.

Colour seems to intensify in these conditions. Green especially seems to glow. The bearded irises raised their floral stalks so quickly, it never fails to amaze; they're on the cusp of blooming. Our giant hosta has already begun to send up its flower stalks. Climbing roses have begun to set their buds and so has the climbing hydrangea and the peonies, promising a spectacular showing in a brief period of time. Siberian irises are in bloom and so are the bleeding hearts. Columbine and Canterbury bells are setting their floral buds.

The miniature roses in their little pots are in bloom, a nice punch of aromatic colour and form. Some of the nasturtium and morning glory seeds I planted have germinated nicely. A goldfinch was rummaging about behind the still-blooming magnolia.

Jack and Jill have had their hunting instinct awakened, absorbed from time to time in tracking and snapping at bees, mosquitoes and beetles that annoy them. Last night they had captured a June bug that required rescuing from their clutches. They seem at these times, like cats, playing with a captive audience.

They're so alike. They're both different. From one another, that is. Even as they are distinctly similar. It's really hard to imagine which of the two is the more inquisitive and adventurous of the two. Which is more mischief-inclined. We've decided they're both equally mischievous. And they act in concert with one another, in their mischief. It's as though they're carrying on a covert scheme that only a duo could carry off to great advantage to both.

When they're running off with something, like a violet that they've dug up, roots and all, from the garden, they scamper in tandem, the guilt and the exultation is equalized between them.  They do tend, whenever they're up to an escapade that they've been scolded for countless times before, to act as one. Although each doesn't need the presence and cooperation of the other to act singly; it just seems as though it's more fun for them to act as a team.

In the backyard they can romp and play wherever they like. At the front of the house, where there is no fence to enclose them and keep them safe, they're constantly closely monitored. They're getting the idea where they're permitted to poke about, and there's ample scope for them to do that without getting too close to the street. In the backyard, though, there are countless places to race about, on a wide loop, or a shorter one, or darting around or through obstacle courses, or cantering at great speed and exercising feints so one cannot catch the other. Sometimes Jack is in the lead, outrunning Jillie, and sometimes it's the other way around. We keep out of the way.

Often they'll stop long enough to challenge one another to a wrestling match, and each gets up on hind legs using their forelegs to grapple with one another, a very convincing show of flying fur, threatening growls and muzzles busily snapping in a great show of sharp white teeth, biting here and there for maximum advantage.

From the very beginning when we first brought them home to share our house, Jack indulged in leaping effortlessly onto the sofas. He still does that without even requiring a run to hoist him into the air; he simply lifts himself into an elegant arc and he's where he wants to be. Jillie, though, cannot imagine herself being able to make such leaps and she doesn't attempt to. This puts her at a distinct disadvantage when they play, because Jackie can easily get away from her, and she's unable to do anything about it.

He will leap up onto the sofa to tease and taunt her, or to escape the fact that she's gaining the fight-advantage. From his perch above her, he challenges her to try to reach him, and she cannot. She tries tiny leaps, stopping at the edge of the sofa, not believing she has it in her to make the required height to leap on the sofa, and emitting sharp little yelps of frustration, to Jackie's satisfaction.

When they're out racing about in the backyard, free to do as they will, each on occasion sails off on a twisting leap to evade the other, jumping well clear of one another's height, Jillie as skilled at this as Jackie, but she simply doesn't believe in her ability to perform such acrobatics when she's confronted by the need to do so; when it's simply a reaction, it works for her.

My husband has spent hours the last few days doing what he most enjoys; working with wood. He bought some undressed pine planks, thicker than dressed, of course, but perfect for what he had in mind. The doors to the larger of the backyard sheds, not my smaller garden shed but his storage shed, didn't fit to his satisfaction; it's a shed he constructed about six years ago and though he prepared the ground under the shed very well by excavating levelling and filling, it settled over the years and the result was that the doors tended to stick and became uneven. So he meant to replace them.

Despite which, on Thursday he insisted in preparing our dinner barbecue-style; baked potatoes and a paprika/olive-oil/cumin-dressed side of rainbow trout. I had only to prepare the salad and fresh fruit for dessert. And on Friday, again, he proposed used the barbecue, and because he's so curious about the limits to its use, which seem non-existent actually, he once again did chicken breasts dressed with lemon juice, oregano, basil, and garlic, and like the fish, they turned out wonderfully moist and delicious.

He had also decided he'd like to try baking bannock bread on the barbecue, so I prepared the dough, and he baked the biscuits in a cast-iron frypan, sitting on a brick on top of the briquettes, lid closed. It took them a half-hour to bake and brown nicely; he tended to his sawing of wood and dinner, alternately. I'd baked a blueberry pie from frozen berries in the morning and put a chicken soup on to cook as well. Then all I had to do was put together a salad of (microwaved) cauliflower, cocktail tomatoes, snap peas and sliced cucumber.

Summer does spell easy living. Even though the temperature last night dropped to the freezing mark. Leaving me grateful that the garden weathered that drop; quite the contrast to last week's 30-degree daytime temperatures.

There's nothing quite like a spring forest to enchant and surprise anyone strolling along trails to enjoy the freshness of incoming foliage on surrounding trees as the forest canopy fills out with amazing speed to its full flush of green.

As for the surprises, they exist in minute discoveries. Glancing right and left beside the trail pathways reveals the presence of nature's little gifts in living colour. The early spring volunteers enjoying the sun's warmth before the canopy is fully flushed and their space on the forest floor becomes too shaded for bloom, begin to erupt in a joyful celebration of eternal renewal from winter sleep to spring awakening.

The succession above the forest floor, in blossoming trees like Hawthorne, Cherry, Apple, Serviceberry and Honeysuckle have their counterpart below as multifarious ferns begin unfurling their fronds, and wildflowers join the free-for-all of release from slumbering soil.

False Solomon's Seal

Beginning to bloom we see False Solomon's Seal, in the Bilberry Creek ravine, and red baneberry along with foamflower, Jack-in-the-Pulpits, trilliums, dandelions, trout lilies, strawberry, coltsfoot, ground ivy and dogtooth violets. Our very most unfavourite plant is also now in evidence, possibly the most primitive of all forest plants, used in medieval times as an abrasive for vellum; horsetails.

The most exciting to us are the Jacks; we transplanted several in our garden years ago and they've grown to tremendous proportions, far larger than the originals we took from the ravine. They've thrived incredibly well, as have the foamflower, and somewhat less so, the purple trilliums. They're a prized addition to our garden, pleasing us just as much as sighting them in the ravine.

Jack-in-the-Pulpit

But the ravine remains our special getaway into nature, a gateway to both physical exercise and the opportunity to bask in the natural world surrounding us.

foreground: Trout Lily

Red baneberry

The bridge construction workers are just about finished, finally. We've had some very nice conversations with them over the months they've been working in Bilberry Creek ravine, from the most miserable late-fall and early-winter days to these current wonderful spring days, but this marks the very last day they will be working in there. They're winding up operations completely.

They've finally finished the bridges and the approaches to them; they've done whatever they've committed to in ameliorating the mess made of the trails, and they're set to depart. Latterly, when we've come across the small crews on break, they've had the opportunity to play with Jack and Jill, eager to see anyone new, and willing enough to cavort around them.

They're moving off to another job awaiting their efforts, and although we liked the men who worked here, we won't be sad to see them go, because of their connection to our inability to use the trails with the complete freedom we're accustomed to, because of the large machinery with their deep rutted tracks running amok through the ravine, and the many trees that had to be removed to accommodate their passage, and other trees wounded when the machines have 'run into' them.

It's lovely to have the trails all straightened out now and some of them packed well with gravel over the large rocks that had made our passage more ankle-tripping than it need have been. Since it turned out to be such a lovely day, with full sun and a warming over yesterday's chilly atmosphere with its strong winds, we saw plenty of others out with their dogs, enjoying the landscape in the woods.

There was the  young fireman with his two dogs, walking several neighbours' dogs as well, including a shy female pit bull, muscle-packed and young enough so she didn't quite listen to his commands when she rollicked through the trees and into the creek with another young dog, part pit-bull, shepherd and who knows what else; but a serendipitous melding that produced a beautiful animal; both female and both fully invested in play.

Our two were of mixed minds; happy to see the other dogs that towered over them, willing enough to sniff about and run at one another, but a little too delicate to be fully involved in the kind of rough-and-tumble that those two were engaged in. They had to settle for watching the antics, like the other little dogs, the fireman's own, unable to match the vigour and muscular strength of the larger ones.

As it happens, it was he who had informed us about the veterinarian hospital service that we used when we crossed the border into New York State a month ago to have Jack and Jill neutered and spayed, and we thanked him for his advice. He has a booming voice that can be heard everywhere in the ravine in his normal speech pattern, a young, robust and lovely young man whose mother we had known many years earlier.