It surprises us sometimes when we realize how many people we've met over the years hiking through the ravine trails. Many of those people whom we met 30, 20 years ago are no longer to be seen. But we recall and remember them. Many still circumnavigate the trails, just as we continue to. From time to time one of our acquaintances will inform us what had happened to people we once knew. Sometimes people no longer frequent the ravine once their companion canines are lost to time. Or they fall victim to a chronic health condition. Or they move away somewhere else. There have even been occasions when someone has posted an explanation of their absence on one of the forest trees.

Now and again we'll suddenly recall that it's been a while since we last saw a certain person, and then unaccountably they show up. There's usually a reason for their absence, but not always. We're always surprised when someone we haven't seen in a while turns up, and conversations resume as though there never was an absence. 

This afternoon we came across someone we knew years ago walking with a young woman and two very small children. We knew him when his two boys were in their early teens. The pre-schoolers we saw with him today were the children of one of those teens. It's bemusing on occasion to consider how swiftly time seems to pass. We become older and usually mellower. 

It seems obvious enough now, not just by the calendar, since it's the last day of February 2021, but by prevaricating weather patterns that spring is champing at the bit, just as we are to see its arrival. The series of snowstorms that barged into the landscape the past several weeks served to remind us that winter isn't yet done with us, but there's nothing new about that.

Today's temperature soared to 2C, balmy, a beautiful sunny winter day. Yet the forecast warned that rain is on the way; by late afternoon/early evening, chance of a thunderstorm and rain to follow. Milder temperatures bringing rain, not snow, will begin to make some headway on melting our winter snowpack. There's lots to melt, but it's just as it appears every year at this time.

In the dim interior of the forest the sun glows above the forest canopy and just on occasion throws its beams of light slanting through any gaps in the trees. Still, we look up to the canopy and see a wide, blue sky. And then there's an entrance of silvery-white clouds and before we know it there are no more slanting lightbeams illuminating patches of snow on the forest trails; from sun at the time we entered the ravine, to full cloud cover and incipient rain by the time we complete our afternoon circuit.

I had been looking for the miniature snowman that we tend to see at least once in he winter after a snowstorm, appearing on a corner of one of the ravine bridges fording the creek. Up to the present the snow man hadn't appeared. But today, there he was, perched on the corner of the bridge railing, surveying his kingdom. Whoever it is that invites the little fellow to reveal his presence every winter, assuredly it's someone with a good sense of fey humour.

And you wonder, does that person extend the invitation to widen the acquaintanceship of a shy little snowman out of the goodness of his/her heart, or because he/she anticipates squeezing a smile of appreciation from anyone passing by, content to remain the mysterious presence who befriended a lonely little snowman?

 

Poor us. Winter has departed and spring is arriving everywhere, just not here, where we are. Another snowstorm this morning. The third this week, actually. No sooner do we dig ourselves out of the latest  snow dump than another appears on the horizon. Trouble is, it doesn't stay on the horizon, it moves steadily over our winter landscape and unlatches the door to that low metallic ceiling that stores all those wondrously brilliant-white snowflakes and lets go.

The exercise, time and again, leaving us bemused. There is nothing quite as mesmerizing as focusing on fresh falling snow; there are so many permutations; light snow, clumps of snow, wet snow, dry snow, large flakes, minuscule snowflakes, swiftly falling, lazily descending, and they all have their singular characteristics. I keep meaning to take a photograph of an igloo that appeared one day on a lawn down the street. I don't believe it was constructed in the traditional Inuit way, cutting blocks of ice and setting them atop one another.

Our son who spends a lot of his winter out in the alpine reaches of British Columbia was once instructed in the fine points of igloo-building; there's a way to do it properly, and to manage that curve at the top. He's been involved on the rare occasion with igloo-building, once even slept overnight in one. This igloo down the street is very large. And it's also potentially dangerous, so we hope that the parents who built it for their young children are aware of its potential to collapse as soon as milder weather is here to stay.

We have an awful lot of snow to melt, at some point. And that point may begin in the next several weeks, despite the ongoing snowstorms. When it begins to melt it seems to take forever. Some people take to trying to chop up the ice on their driveways, anxious to see them free of snow and ice, others shovel into the snowpack on their lawns to try to distribute the snow evenly so it will melt faster. The accumulated snow  tends to be much higher, needless to say, at the edges of driveways adjacent lawns where the snow is thrown or blown when driveways are cleaned out after snowstorms, and they can attain considerable heights.

 

Today's storm blew itself out after 1:00 in the afternoon, and Irving fired up the snowthrower to ream out the walkways in the backyard for Jackie and Jillie, then proceeded down the side of the house and the walkways at the front of the house. By the time he was finished the last of the snow descending also completed its mission.

We decided to wait awhile before heading out to the ravine -- to give others the chance to get out on the trails and tamp them down a bit. As things turned out it was a little more difficult tramping through the snow on the street to get to the ravine entrance than through the trails in the forest. They had indeed been nicely tamped down by many boots before ours entered. Yet for the hour-and-a-half that we made our way through a short circuit we saw few other people.

The snow is deep in the ravine, undulating gracefully over the hillsides in smooth, bright-white comforters. The trees and forest shrubs are all thick with snow, a dazzling sight when eyes are accustomed to seeing dark brown tree trunks against the lofty white of the forest floor, and instead encounter white everywhere. Branches and boughs are brought low, groaning under the weight and depth of snow they now carry.

But at the same time there was a brisk wind, particularly in the higher reaches at the canopy level and it was doing a fine job of releasing snow from the trees, falling in wide arcs thick with descending snow. We became well covered with snow, walking beneath trees that suddenly shook lose of their snow burden.

When we left the house the temperature had risen from morning's -6C, to -1C, and a light sprinkling of rain stopped us in our tracks on the way up the street; should we continue or return home? It's cold enough to be very unpleasant if we got very wet; so is it going to rain heavily or not? The dark clouds moving quickly across the sky gave us no hint of what was to come. But suddenly the sun came out from behind those clouds and they quickly scudded off, ushered away by the wind to reveal that wonderful blue of a clear winter sky.

 

 

Sometimes you buy taste duds for the table and you're uncertain what to do with them. Fruit and vegetables that just aren't up to par. It was like that when we bought some navel oranges that looked appealing, while we were awaiting the arrival of the huge luscious navel orange crop that comes in from Florida at this time of year. These oranges, however, were absolutely without taste. Barely even an orangey taste; no sweetness, juicy but without any distinction.

Grin and bear it and eat them? Hmm. Not when we acquired those others, finally, to tempt our taste buds as morning wake-ups. I've made muffins in the past with ground-up oranges and they've been good. But that would use only one orange.  How about a recipe that would use three of those nice-looking and yech-tasting golden orbs?

So I grated the zest of several oranges, and Irving squeezed the juice and some pulp out of three of them, and the way forward to making a very nice dessert was opened. Orange squares, how about that? Tangy, light and full of taste and texture, with a little bit of help from other ingredients. A nice top-up to tonight's dinner.

First the crust, comprised of 2/3 cup of Becel margarine, 1/4 cup of brown sugar, 1/4 tsp.salt, 1/2 tsp.baking powder, 1 tsp.vanilla, and a brimming cup of unbleached white flour. Patting the resulting dough firmly into a prepared baking dish, it got baked for 20 minutes at 350 F. Then the filling, starting with a cup of granulated sugar, three very large eggs, the grated orange zest (2 tbsp.), 1/4 cup flour, and a cup of fresh orange juice (it took three of the oranges) whipped together and poured over the baked crust. Back into the oven for 40 minutes until the filling was nicely firmed up.

Not long after that came out of the oven and a chicken soup put on to cook, we took ourselves out to the ravine for our daily hike under a bright blue sky and beaming sun that was melting the snow off the canopy over the deck, even at -2C. The street had been plowed, but it was tougher making our way over the still-snow-filled street than on the trails in the forest.

At no time is the sun more startlingly appropriate in a landscape than of a winter afternoon following a snowstorm as it beams its fiercely bright rays through the forest trees. The camera of your eyes takes a memory-flash of the landscape for future reference as you remark you've never seen anything more bright and beautiful -- with its promise of spring not too far beyond.

Fittingly for such a beautiful day we met up with quite a number of hiking acquaintances and their dogs, from an old black Lab that was happy to embed himself into the deepest accumulation of snow sinking fully half way into it, moving his massive head fondly on the snow, opening his mouth to gulp one swallow after another of the cold, wet stuff. To the three border collies from the same litter, always together, attentive to where their humans are at all times and like working dogs tending to be aloof to all others.

Invariably on these days when we return home and  hoist Jackie and Jillie up on the washer and dryer in the laundry room, we use stiff bristle brushes to gently rake the snow off their legs, dry them, and send them off to race through the house in an excess of energy and happiness.

It was still snowing heavily when we went up to bed just after midnight; the witching hour for a backyard that looked as though it had been dumped into an immense vat of vanilla ice cream. All the pathways had been newly shovelled, Irving just finishing up when I took the puppies out for the last time before bed. And it was mild, still above freezing at 2C.

 

Overnight the temperature dropped and it would keep dropping all day, bit by bit. Peering outdoors to a completely snow-frosted landscape we looked up to see a wide, clear blue sky, the sun illuminating the thick depth of snow blanketing everything. And we felt immensely cozy and comfortable in our warm house, with breakfast beckoning this morning. 

When we eventually took ourselves out to the ravine, we were breathless with wonder at the spectacle before us; every possible surface was deeply inundated with snow. Because it had been so mild yesterday when the snow was steadily falling, the quality of the snow was such that it clung tenaciously everywhere. So that by this morning when the storm eventually wore itself out, the landscape had been completely immersed.

Making our way downhill into the ravine presented no footing problem; again the snow's texture lent itself to firm footing, despite its depth. Although we saw few others out in the indescribable beauty of the forest, it was clear from the condition of the trails that many had indeed been out at some time during the day, earlier than our foray in early afternoon.

The sun blazed its bright warmth through the snow-drenched canopy, creating other dimensions of drama to an already startling landscape. Branches and boughs brought low with the weight of snow. Wind gusts urging the branches to release t \heir burdens. Long skeins of bright white flakes embroidering the air as they created wispy arabesques of bright light falling to the cushioned forest floor.

Jackie and Jillie amply demonstrated the power of their olfactory senses, noses to the snowpack, veering here and there, picking up messages and irresistible aromas we can only begin to guess the identity of and then only feebly. They prance through the thick layers of snow with a joy known only to animals that have never seen fit to alter their habitation to take them further from nature.

Their noses come up bright white from the sniffing/snuffling frenzies they engage in, their legs above their rubber boots become thick with snow, their gait is swift and their intent is obviously to see whatever may be around the next corner, or up the next hill, or down in the valley. All their senses, smell, hearing, visibility so much superior to our own. 

As for the succession of scenes in the changing landscape as we tramped through the forest trails, the presence of the snow from yesterday's storm was overwhelming in its capacity to alter a familiar place we know so thoroughly lending an air of elegance here, mystery there, curiosity here, and poignancy in flashback memories of other years, long ago when at all times of day and night the forest called out to us and each foray represented a fresh exploration of nature.

 

Should anyone wonder why it is that Canadians are so consumed by the weather, this is one reason; the extremes and unpredictability of Canadian winters. No sooner had we cleaned up from yesterday's all-day snowstorm, than we're encountering another one directly afterward. Well, of course we can  handle all of this, Canadians are accustomed to snow, snow and more snow.

Ottawa, the nation's capital, gets lots of it. So do two other capitals in countries known for emphatic winter conditions; Moscow and Ulan Bator. Ottawa comes third in both the temperature and the snow volume department, evidently. 

Of course more snow was forecast for today, after yesterday's dump. Snow is delightful actually, it charms the eyes and brings out the child in everyone, recalling memories of delving deep in the soft, velvety, bright and elusive flakes of snow, so malleable, so cold, so useful as a plaything, from throwing snowballs to making snow forts.

It wasn't until after dinner last night when Irving went out in the dark to shovel the pathways for Jackie and Jillie in the backyard, thinking that would be it. Despite snow coming down all day from morning to night, we only had an accumulation of about 7 cm yesterday. And the temperature overnight was absolutely balmy. It was still 1C this morning, and rose later in the day to 2C, delightfully mild.

Surely the snow would turn to rain? Nope, nothing of the kind. Great, huge snow clusters is what we got. Stunningly beautiful, and helping to build the snowpack on the roofs of our two garden sheds in the backyard to a height respectably similar to every other winter we've experienced. It isn't the snowiest winter we've had by any means, however.

Out in the ravine there was little evidence of wind, and it was comfortably mild. Vision was somewhat occluded by the heavenly transformation of the landscape into one of those fanciful little snow globes that transfix children. When it snows like this the sky has a metallic cast; it resembles aluminum or pewter in colour, but is actually reflective of what the ground looks like; a chalky white shade. 

In between the white ceiling and even whiter 'floor' there is the atmosphere itself looking as though someone has draped a giant white veil over the landscape, shortening down sightlines and emphasizing the fairytale aspect of a winter forest. Strangely enough, despite the mild temperature, the exquisite beauty of the landscape, the excellent footing, few others were out in the forest as we were.

Utter serenity prevailed, a hushed quiet over everything. Jackie and Jillie still found ample enticements through messages left by other dogs alongside the trails that kept them focused first on one side of the trail, then the other. Slender twigs had come down from the weight of the snow on the trees, and they're like irresistible candies strewn about for two little dogs that fancy them as chew-treats.

Evergreen boughs hung low with the burden of snow, its quality more wet than lofty. From time to time a section of accumulated snow would plop away from an overburdened branch; fine as long as we weren't under it. The milder weather is bringing squirrels out of their semi-hibernation. This morning our resident pair of cardinals were singing in the backyard, their brilliant crimson feathers stark against the white sky.

It got as close to fun as it ever might, doing the food shopping early this morning. A damp, windy morning, albeit with an unusually high temperature, heading to a daytime high of 2C. The last thing I look at when we pull out of the driveway is the garden buried deep under a season's accumulation of snow. In some places the snow is banked up to my impressive height of five feet; mostly the snow cover has attained about four feet in height. It will take awhile to go. But then it'll take a while for spring to arrive, to begin with.

I was pulled out of garden-gloom this morning at the supermarket! There were annual bulbs for sale, A quick pick-me-up for any frustrated gardener and winter-weary shoppers. Just to see the brightly coloured floral labels is enough to quicken the senses. So another peony will join our garden, a box of Asiatic lilies, (the most beautiful of all lilies), two phlox shrubs, a giant dahlia and a few seed packets. I immediately put my creative imagination to work, planting them all in just the right place awaiting their presence. And I can hardly wait. But I'll have to.

Something else I've never seen before, packaged fresh thyme from Colombia. I've tons of dried leaf thyme and in the summer it's a breeze to grow your own, but this is different. I was planning to prepare an eggplant casserole for dinner tonight, and I knew I'd use the thyme in it. The casserole is  comprised of layers of sliced, quick-olive-oil-fried eggplant layered with tomato slices, sprinkled with oregano, and covered with grated mozzarella cheese, and over that a tomato sauce; repeated twice. I haven't done an eggplant casserole in ages.

Today is our 'day off', when we just do the shopping, and the rest of the day consists of whatever we feel like doing. At some juncture we always feel like heading out to the ravine for our daily prowl through the forest trails. This day it was a little earlier than usual. We had decided that since it was such an incredibly mild day that we'd trek out a little further than usual. In the snow yet again, as it happened. The snow not quite as pervasive as yesterday's; falling lightly. Its quality between flurries and a snowfall.

The footing on the trails was perfect, a replay of yesterday. Gone the slippery conditions, enabling all of us to stride ahead with full confidence. The milder temperature is opening up the creek again. We could see that dogs that had been looking fruitlessly for open water, slithering about on the ice and puzzling over the strange transition, had been in the small portion of the creek where the ice cover had melted; their tracks deep in the snow and coloured a light mud, as they sprang up the creek bank and back onto the trails.

We miss the sun but on the other hand, the snow does wonders for the landscape, etching it beautifully in white glitter. We'll miss that wonderful winter landscape once the snow begins its long melt and the trees begin to come alive again and we hear more birds' delightful spring songs as they celebrate the seasonal alteration, treating us with the spectacle of their joyous presence.

We knew that snow was expected to return some time today, and so when it began this morning we weren't surprised. What did turn out to be surprising was that the snowstorm became an all-day affair. It began around 7:00 am and is now set to continue until 7:00 pm. Not that there will be much of an accumulation, likely no more than 6 - 7 cm in total. Although the snow looks dense as it flecks the atmosphere, it's light in nature. It took little time in covering everything though.

We had sad news from our granddaughter this morning, that their rescue dog, one of ten they actually had at one time, is gone. She was our granddaughter's special companion, coming home with her when she was nine years old and the dog, a rescue, between one and two years of age, according to the vet who examined her. So she's disconsolate, miserable with the loss, haunted by the sight of Sarah peeking around every corner of the house, even while she's no longer there. She was a German-Shepherd mix, intelligent and stubborn and friendly. 

The emotions are raw soon after such a loss, and there's not much that can be said to alleviate the pain of parting. We know that, because we've been through it ourselves. The old bromides of it'll get better in time don't serve much purpose when someone is steeped in the pain of loss. When the other dogs went in their time she took it stoically although each loss was a shock. This time, however, the loss is too close to her heart. And it's not something she really wants to talk about. It happened, it was expected, since she had reached 16 years of agedness and it was time for her to go.

Sarah left, Lily right

Our two little rascals were truly excited this afternoon, turning about in circles of anticipation when I'd finished washing the floors on cleaning day. They know the ritual; as soon as the house-cleaning is done, I clean myself up, and change my clothes and that's their signal that we'll be heading out to the ravine. And we did that, into a windy atmosphere of snow being whipped about, and having to drag our boots through the accumulation on the road before we got to the ravine entrance.

At least a few other hikers had been out before us breaking trail, though the oncoming snow had continued to fill in their tracks. And the thing about this snowfall is that it's quite different than the several that had preceded it. Those snowstorms had taken place in a much more icy temperature which affected the texture of the snow. Which was why we were slipping endlessly in the days following the earlier storms. Today is a mild day by comparison, with a high of -4C, so the snow isn't as dry.

Although the snow isn't clumping, and it's light in character, it's not the least bit slippery and traction is good despite the new depth of the fallen snow. All of which made for a really pleasant jaunt through the forest trails. On a perfectly lovely winter day. It was mild enough that though the wind was intrusive it lacked that icy bite, and we appreciated that enormously. 

We also appreciated that since it's a Monday we didn't encounter too many others out on the trail. We did come across two boys around thirteen years old, one of whom we've seen out before with his yellow Lab, a big, loping, inquisitive and friendly dog. The boys had obviously arranged to meet one another in the ravine to share a tramp-through on a beautiful winter day. When they came to a junction of trails, a minor trail leading down from a major trail, they parted company, each to go their own way.

The odd thing was that the dog followed his human's friend, rather than remain with the boy he lives with. The boy waited at the top of the hill for his dog to return, as we took that trail ourselves, descending to yet another trail that would ultimately lead us over another bridge and a long hill to ascend to street level. When the dog failed to return, the boy followed us down the hill, over the bridge and up toward where his dog had followed the boy's friend.

Finally, when the boy reached the dog and put him on leash to lead him back from where they had parted with the boy's friend, the dog balked, wanting to continue following the friend. A puzzling little scenario but likely one with a rational explanation. The boy patiently returned to the direction the dog insisted on, and as we gained the top of the long hill, we looked back and could see them down far below, preparing to ascend the hill we  had met them on when the parting of the two boys unleashed that little puzzle.