It felt absolutely glorious yesterday to be out working in the garden. Non-stop in a sense, since I managed somehow to find room to plant all the awaiting flats and pots of annuals that we'd bought in the days previous to my planting frenzy. For me, this is an exciting event. Each of the waiting pots and urns, and spare spaces in the gardens where the perennials permit me to plant a few annuals, represent a blank slate.

The choice is mine, of plant types, sizes, features, and colours. Sometimes I have the urge with certain pots to mix colours, and sometimes I opt to refrain from using any but one colour. But the need to place together various plants that complement one another is fairly constant. If the pot has a large enough capacity, there should be a central feature of some height, with others of lesser height, not necessarily size, surrounding it, and pinched in among them little fillers that will grow to produce smaller flowers like bacopa, or just foliage, like vinca, sometimes in a cascading manner.

At first the job seems almost overwhelming, since there's so much to do. And while that's happening I will often notice things other than that in the garden which require some attention. I try to be as methodical as I can but there are times my attention gets waylaid, and then I return to my original intention. It's fun, a bedazzling enterprise, even though the finished product can appear paltry because all of the plants are far from mature. The results are always satisfying, nonetheless, to see those bright pops of colour where none had been.

 As the plants mature in time -- sometimes surprisingly little time -- everything melds, seems to naturalize, look comfortable together. The architecture of the garden, everything textured and well-mannered for the most part (I tugged an intrusive Engleman's Ivy out of one of the garden beds yesterday, deep-rooted and many tentacled that I had thought I'd got rid of last summer; one of those unwelcome, unbidden guests that sometimes appear in the garden).

So yesterday the front-of-the-house garden pots were more or less finished. Now I've got to tackle the backyard pots. And that's where most of the canna lily roots, the begonias, the dahlias, the potato vines will be going, that I've over-wintered in the basement.

The day began with a nice cool morning and ample wind to keep us refreshed after the past two days of 30C-degree heat and humidity. I decided to bake a lemon cheesecake for Friday's dinner dessert and by the time I had finished that and a light clean-up in the kitchen, powder room and bedroom, my husband had completed filling up the pots and urns at the front gardens and began on the backyard pots.

We took a break to go out for our daily ravine walk and it was beyond pleasant, perfectly idyllic, the mosquito population nowhere to be seen, where in the past two days they were voraciously present. Where the days before we were bare-armed, yesterday we wore light jackets against the chill. And our two puppies had no need of supplemental watering with a take-along water bottle; given the lowered temperature their body heat failed to reach the panting crescendo they experienced on Wednesday and Thursday.

And what a treat! we spotted a male Mallard swimming along nonchalantly in the clay-muddied creek as though his presence was an everyday occurrence. For the past six years or so a pair of Mallards on their reverse-migration flight has stopped over at Bilberry Creek Ravine forest on their way to their ultimate summer location. A similar thing happens with a Great Blue Heron, briefly seen in the ravine down at the creek on its way elsewhere.

After our woodland ramble I had on my mind the need to satisfy my gardener's itch, so I set about to begin the hugely pleasurable task of deciding which of the annuals we've bought will go where. I've done this for so many years, and it never fails to fill me with excitement and anticipation of the pleasure it gives me.

It takes a while, but never too long, to decide which of the pots and urns will host which of the flowering plants and which colours and textures will complement one another sharing any of the pots. A more agreeable task I would find hard to imagine. I barely managed to begin with the number of pots semi-completed in their staged planting, most of them requiring additional filler-plants, but eventually it will all get done.

The plants are nowhere near mature at this stage. They will grow and they will thrive and they will strive to put out an endless array of beautiful blooms throughout the following months offering us the satisfaction of having our very own never-ending (but for winter) display of exquisite little natural theatrical moments.

Our two-day heat spell has passed. Yesterday's second day of 30C-plus-degrees was exhausting. Not quite so much as the day before which had the addition of high humidity, but close. The saving grace was the wind, much more emphatic than that of the day before. And heralding a change in the atmosphere, which finally arrived around 8:30 last evening, with a satisfactorily noisy and drenching thunderstorm. Which gave us a wonderfully cool evening and a comfortable sleep.

First of the wild apple blossoms

We were hot and sweaty throughout yesterday's walk in the Bilberry Creek Ravine woods. Our two little dogs, Jackie and Jillie were notably less enthusiastic than usual; their curiosity muted, their antics less emphatic as they trod alongside us. It was useful that we had remembered to bring along a water bottle for them; their haircoats are black and the sun's rays affect them more than other dogs with lighter-colour coats.

The further we got in the ravine the hotter we got, but at the same time more enthusiastic.

And that was occasioned by the sight of the wild apple trees beginning to blossom, quite surprising us, as they always do. And then we saw the first of the dogwood shrubs going into bloom, or close to it, as well. So everything is popping up, perhaps not quite 'on schedule', but nature appears to be flexible in her scheduling. We've yet learned to do the same thing; we procrastinate instead -- is that the same thing, the human touch?

But that wasn't all that yesterday's woodland ramble revealed to us. We looked for the usual patch of foamflower and discovered it had been pretty trampled on when work crews came in to cut down the dead ash trees that had succumbed to the Emerald Ash borer. Still, we did see some of the dainty little flowerheads, and were delighted at the sight.

What else did we see? Finally, the beginning of the flowering of the Lilies-of-the-Valley. They carpet the forest floor, as do the Trout Lilies, but like the latter the former send up few flowers, most of the plants seem sterile. But there they were, a few little bursts of dangling bell-blossoms.

And then we came across a Jack-in-the-Pulpit that was considerably advanced, quite more so than the few others we've seen popping through the soil, since in this one that we hadn't before noticed, the hooded petal could be perfectly seen, even though we had to gently lift the hood with the help of a slender bit of twig to reveal its full, striped-purple glory!

And perhaps the strangest sight of all, that of a fair-sized poplar that beavers had taken down last fall. The tree remains as it was when it fell, a silent testimony to nature's blueprint where her creatures alter their landscape to make use of what they require to flourish. The long trunk is completely separated from its base; beavers are accomplished harvesters. We noticed a week ago the strange sight of this fallen trunk being covered in a light blush of green.

The tree had been felled just before winter struck, in late fall, when presumably its sap would have descended in preparation for winter. In early spring it would not have been remotely possible for the sap to rise, for the tree to replenish itself and sprout new foliage. Yet there it is, the foliage has matured now to the point where it matches the progress of other, hale poplars. The will to survive. Unfortunately it will not, for it cannot.

Once spring finally hits its stride -- roughly about this time of the month, mid-May -- after April's proverbial showers, all growing things have received sufficient encouragement and assurances that it's safe to make their presence, to poke their way out of the soil, delighting us with their appearance. The gardens at our home now appear as anxious as we are to begin the process of negotiating for space and bloom time.

Unfortunately, many blooming things like our magnificent Magnolia trees have a window of bloom and no longer. The high winds that usually accompany some of these days make short work of the splendour of the wildly pink blooms ornamenting the trees, ripping them apart, and depositing them on the grass below.

Yesterday was a scorcher, one of those anomalous days when the weather takes a steep rise in temperature, and today will be a repeat. We'll have to take a water bottle along on our usual forest walk for Jackie and Jillie; yesterday we were grateful that another dog-walking acquaintance of ours had the foresight to do just that for her Golden and our two little sprites were even more grateful at her generous offer to refresh them.

Yesterday, my husband worked until noon filling up the garden pots and urns. It was much, much too hot and humid to do any kind of physical work under those circumstances. But he's as it again this morning, and we'll have to wind down as the morning progresses into the afternoon. It's a time-consuming job, but one that is necessary to enable us to begin planting the annuals we've bought in abundance.

Yesterday afternoon in fact we went out to another local but rural greenhouse complex operated by yet another local family for generations where bedding plants and annuals can be found that are robust and well cared for and there we acquired additional flowering plants; zinnias, more lobelia, petunias, dahlias, impatiens and portulaca among them.

Now, we won't have to compete with those who will be crowding greenhouses on the weekend in a mad dash to begin planting their gardens. We'll be able to take our time with the arrangements that appeal to us with the intention of growing the best gardens we've ever yet managed -- a yearly aspiration that appears to satisfy its own goal.

Our well-being, psychologically and physically is so intertwined with the types of weather conditions we are exposed to, it's amazing what mild temperatures and clear, sunny skies will do to our temperaments, our sense of wellness. Not so surprising, after all, since we are nature's creatures. What is surprising, is that so many of us don't fully appreciate the extent to which we are dependent on such conditions.

Our meandering about the forest in yesterday's daily ravine ramble, disclosing the new appearance of Jacks-in-the-Pulpit and the flowering of baneberry, the presence of more of the pink trilliums, spiked our appetite to begin our spring planting of annuals.

For us, as with so many house-holders who take pride in their modest little gardens, these new spring conditions call out for reaction on our part, and we're only too eager to comply with those urges. So off we went yesterday afternoon to the place where we normally select the first intake of our annual flower collections meant to fill our garden pots and urns.

First, of course, since they have over-wintered emptied of last summer's soil, the various and numerous pots and urns have to be filled with the usual mixture of dirt, peat moss and bagged, aged sheep manure. After which a little bit of blood or bone meal will be added for fertilizer, and then the planting can commence.

It was an absolute delight to walk among the offerings at the greenhouse, where we are familiar to the proprietors, a hard-working local family whose seasonal stock is vigorous and superior to the annuals sold at the usual venues of the big-box and grocery stores.We selected begonias and marigolds, petunias and lobelia, canna lily, vinca and geraniums and more. They represent the start. We'll gradually acquire more as more is needed.

We have stored down in the basement, begonias, canna lilies, potato vines and dahlia roots and corms and in the next week or so they will be brought out to be dug into the gardens where they will thrive, and placed as well into the garden pots we keep in the backyard gardens.

This is an exciting, anticipated time of year for us. The beauty that results is its own exquisite reward, greeting us each time we glance outdoors from within our home, or when we wander through the garden, touching up and tidying and generally admiring the vigour and tenacious of various plants, those that overwinter in our harsh winter climate, and those we pamper by storing downstairs, along with the semi-hardy annuals meant to flourish during those months of the year that present no challenge to their existence.

Finally, the bursts of relentless rain  have stopped, and we've now enjoyed two full days of milder temperatures and sun. The magnolia trees in our gardens, front and back, have been encouraged by the presence of the sun to burst open their buds and display the full glory of their hot-pink petals covering the trees, hundreds of them, most fully appreciated.

With yesterday's stiff wind and the sun beaming down on the landscape, the ponds of stormwater that drenched the forest will now finally dry up. But they're taking their time and that will mean we can anticipate an early presence of mosquitoes, and lots of them. In fact, during our woodland ramble this morning there was ample evidence of their nuisance presence.

On a more felicitous note, today we saw the first of the Jack-in-the-Pulpits emerging from the saturated soil, and others won't be far behind. Their characteristic shape is what drew our attention, tiny as they yet are, and on close scrutiny the undeveloped hood can just be made out. For the first of these wonderful spring flowers, a few days' time will reveal the entire plant. The rest, scattered throughout the forest, will make their presence eventually, but now that we've seen the first few we're assured of seeing many more.

To add to the excitement, the first flowering of a baneberry shrub(let) drew our attention. They appear to have suddenly appeared out of the soil, just like the Jacks. The white, fluffy compound flower will eventually produce a cluster of bright red, shiny berries in late summer, early fall. The small clusters are so piercingly bright they present as a jolt of colour in an otherwise-verdant landscape. They're not meant to be eaten, unlike the thimbleberries and raspberries that also proliferate in the ravine, since the baneberry is, as its name suggests, deadly.

The spring woodland violets, yellow and mauve, are now in full evidence, with spreading clumps here and there populating the forest floor. Among them now are the strawberry plants shooting out of the soil, some of which have begun to flower, those bright and beautiful little white flowers that will become deliciously sweet strawberries by the end of June.

We've also seen the first of the wild ginger clumps beginning to emerge. Not yet taking on their full size and shape, but presentable all the same. It's the rare occasion when we hit it just right in mid-June, peering under the foliage close to the stem of the plant, to see the small, fleshy, dark red flower in boom, so shy it hides from notice.

None of the Lilies-of-the-Valley have yet bloomed, though their lovely, glossy foliage clusters everywhere around the base of the forest trees. It shouldn't be much longer before they begin to dangle their delicate little bells.

That's the thing about our forest walks; we can never be sure what we'll see. There are always surprises to delight us. This morning, on the very last portion of our circuit, Jackie was alerted to the presence of what was to him something unusual; a bird, rustling about on the forest floor. His attention to the bird's presence in turn alerted us, and we saw a small blackbird, its plumage of iridescent blue on the top of its head and its sides brilliantly illuminated in the sun, as it scrabbled  about foraging for insects, indifferent to our relatively close presence.

 Last week one of our neighbours came by, a neighbour who lives across and considerably down the street from where we live, but whom we know fairly well. My husband was outside, cutting the grass on the front lawn, and two other neighbours who live even further down the street and on the other side of our home, had stopped to talk with him. The neighbour who last joined the threesome lives directly next to one of the three houses grouped together which were evacuated several weeks ago by order of the city in recognition of their perilous condition whereby the slumping hill the backyard of their homes back onto was crumbling, and affecting their property and potentially the foundations of their homes.

She had noticed she said, that a few days ago large cracks in the soil had been appearing, similar to the ones that had been seen before the hillside had begun its slide into the ravine. Living right next to the quarantined houses she and her husband had been informed there was a possibility that they too would have to vacate their house, but for the time being the city and the engineering company they had hired were waiting to see whether further deterioration would occur. With the new presence of yet another warning, she said, it now appeared more likely they would have to leave. Stunningly sad and alarming news.

The fact is, though we thought that with the incessant downpours now in decline the dangers would also decline, that appears not to be the case. It seems that a hillside opposite the one that had originally begun slumping too was sliding into the ravine. And that has affected homes on another street nearby where houses also back on to the ravine.

Today, while I was doing my usual Monday house-cleaning the doorbell rang. Outside was a young woman, casually dressed, with a noteboard and some electronic equipment. She introduced herself as someone tasked by the engineering company representing the municipality, to take electronic measurements on the exterior of all the homes on the two streets affected by the landslides. To determine, if in the future any kind of damage occurs, whether it resulted from the work being undertaken by the construction crews working in the ravine.

They are, of course, nowhere near our house, let alone close to the street. Perhaps this represents an excess of caution; at the very least the municipality and the construction company performing due diligence to ensure that the work they're undertaking with heavy machinery doesn't impact deleteriously on nearby homes. It was entirely optional for the homeowner to agree to allow their property to be examined for any structural faults that might be present before the work is fully undertaken. And to decide whether they would permit an electronic review of the walls of their home from the interior as well as the exterior.

With the use of a small, hand-held camera, obviously a very particular engineering device that had ten hours' worth of memory whose function was to assess structural integrity, the young woman went through our house, checking every floor, then went outside to do the same to the exterior. A completely sobering experience, in total.

On the positive side, I drew her attention to the flowering magnolia tree in our garden, a note of bright beauty against a blue sky on a weather-perfect day.