Here in Stratford, Ontario, Spring has most definitely sprung. The municipal swans are on the river, the robins are bobbing around everybody's lawn, and the red-wing blackbirds are buzzing unwary walkers who get too close to THIS IS MY TREE -- PISS OFF! I spotted the first band of intrepid Asian tourists downtown last week, and the actors (members of the Stratford Theatre Festival company) have returned, like the swallows to Capistrano.

This being the heart of hog country, the unmistakable pong of pig poop is in the air most days, so the pork producers are hosing out their barns.

In this halcyon period between the disappearance of snow and the arrival of the first car-trippers, there is still parking for locals within hailing distance of the nice restaurants and coffee shops. We enjoy it while it lasts.