Spring had never been Eloise's favourite season. It was too wishy-washy. Never absolute. The weather got better or worse, but was never really good or bad. The naked raspberry canes and muddy grass left her feeling like a kid in the back seat, asking “Are we there yet?” except she couldn't see who she was asking. But every now and then there was a day like this one, warm enough to sit outside, she and Artie in their Muskoka chairs, he with his homemade root beer, she with a cup of herbal tea from last summer's garden, each with a dog or two curled up beside them, and usually a lap cat each. Artie called it “sitting on the porch” in spite of the fact that they couldn't even see the house from here. The shrubs were just tall enough when you were sitting down to make it invisible. All they could see was the woods to the right and the garden to the left. It was too early in the year to get seriously busy, but they'd started planning. The tomatoes were just comi