Spring is anxious to let us know she's arrived. Right on schedule. To make certain we're aware, she tasked a flight of Canada geese to fly close over the house, calling down to us and we hailed them right back. In the backyard there remains ample snow left to melt. But given the temperature highs in the low double-digits these past few days, the days of high-packed snow in the backyard are numbered. The garden shed roofs have dutifully shed their impossibly lofty collection of the season's snow. I could swear I heard a sigh: 'free, free at last'!

Maybe that was me. As ridiculously precipitate as it is, when I venture out to the backyard with Jackie and Jillie I peer closely to the just-vacated areas of the garden where the snow has abandoned its hold, to see if anything is yet emerging from the soil. How likely is that, since the soil is still hard with penetrating frost? And yet, regardless, there are a few green spears poking through, so there!

Last night we had the usual winter fare for Sunday evening. Hot, flavourful soup thick with pulses, vegetables and a tomato base. And sesame-seed-infused, cheese-encrusted croissants to go with the soup. Irving smoothed some pate on his croissants, but they're so cheesy (I used marble Cheddar this time) they need nothing added for flavour, a perfect accompaniment to the soup. As the weather warms, however, the soup will have served its purpose, and I'll be moving on to other, more weather-appropriate meal offerings -- heavy on salads.

We set out in mid-afternoon for our ravine trek, wondering if, like yesterday, we'd encounter few others out, given the conditions now prevailing in the ravine. The trails ascending and descending the hills are treacherous for the uninitiated and most certainly so for any unwary enough to appear without cleats strapped over their boots. Besides which, a lot of people don't much favour the sloppy conditions of melting snow-mush revealing hard ice beneath and where everything has melted, the emergence of muddy conditions as the soil is exposed and becomes saturated.

Jackie plows through everything. Jillie delicately side-steps the flooded areas, the muddy portions and we make an effort to do the same. We came upon some chickadees and nuthatches keeping them company, but heard no crows or owls today. The creek is riding high and full, charging downstream spuming and churning up the leda clay forming its bed. Looking up through the forest canopy our eyes are soothed with the cool blue roof of the Earth, no clouds, no wind, no cares.

It takes time to adjust -- or re-adjust as the case may be -- to living in deep cold again. This year of 2020 has been such an unusual, peculiar, horrifying year that everything seems off, just not as it should be. And that's from how just two people feel in a household that has been relatively speaking, untouched by the great tragedies of the global pandemic.

A kind of universal gloom seems to have settled everywhere. All is well nonetheless for those who are optimistic by nature, and for whose way of thinking leads them to believe that all difficulties given time will come to an end. We can be grateful for similar trust in the future, one that resolves itself  with the assurance that a reprieve will arrive to rescue the world from a universal threat.

While the thought of that threat hangs over everyone everywhere, it does so to differing degrees of constant awareness, and for those fortunate like us, the darkness is semi-remote, as though we are living through a time in history that will soon be history itself. But the subconscious presence of a suffocating concern over which we can do nothing but have patience does influence us in ways we may not recognize.

 The most we can do is follow that old adage of 'doing the best we can', coping. One way that humans do that is by comforting themselves and the most common type of symbolic comfort is through food and eating things pleasant to the palate that we call comfort food. Yesterday, another cold and windy day where the change toward winter penetrates both one's consciousness and the very marrow of our bones, we had a chicken fricassee for dinner.

Thank heavens for modern conveniences; freezers, refrigerators, stoves and ovens, central heating, reliable potable water to make cooking and hygiene that much more convenient. And a reliable food supply where produce untenable during winter months to procure locally can be shipped in from abroad. Garlic from Spain, mushrooms from Mexico, carrots from the U.S. were all part of the companion preparations for chicken from Ontario.The green beans from Mexico, the rice from California.

We woke to another dark day this morning, with no relief from the overcast conditions all day. Wind gusting to 60 kph, and threat of icy rain that failed to materialize. Today is laundry day which means a change of bed linen, only the 'linen', now is comprised of flannelette bedding for warmth and comfort under a down comforter. The cotton linens won't be used again until spring.

And we were grateful that the rain held off, though it's now scheduled for tomorrow. Temperatures just slightly below freezing and rain make for an uncomfortable combination, exacerbated by high winds, when contemplating adding quality to the day by planning an outdoor excursion. And where would we be without those outdoor excursions? Sheltering in place. An admitted need at this time, but self-confining to an uncomfortable degree for which there is a solution for we fortunate ones.

So gathering Jackie and Jillie, we all prepared for our outdoor excursion. With this intemperate weather we no longer have to cope with the presence of an unusual number of trail hikers from the wider community; an excess of cold and wind is a deterrent to them while it is not an inconvenience for us. We met up with a total of two people and two dogs. One we've long been familiar with, the other not.

 Otherwise we were in our own private landscape, a forest in transition between late fall and early winter, awaiting rescue from the dim appearance of a perpetual dusk, where towering forest trees reach to a metallic-grey sky, a high wind ripping through the forest canopy.

Sometimes I really have to wrack my menu-storage brain to come up with something different and interesting for dinner. Our extremely unexpected late-October icy weather is still continuing. We enjoyed quite hearty meals the last few evenings, and I wanted something a little lighter but still to be wedged into the comfort food category and I thought of latkes. The kind of meal that my husband always enjoys. In the same category as cheese blintzes. So, latkes it would be.

Easy to prepare, and that was certainly in its favour. All it takes is potatoes, onion, eggs, salt and flour. And olive oil to cook the potato pancakes in. I used three quite large potatoes, a large onion (we like onion to introduce itself with assertive gusto), salt, pepper, two large eggs, and a scant quarter-cup whole-wheat flour. I served a robust vegetable salad of lettuce, cucumber bell pepper, snap peas, carrots and tomatoes to preface the meal. Which my husband dutifully ate, (slipping a few choice bits of bell pepper to Jackie and Jillie under the table which I of course didn't 'notice', he thought, despite that they'd already had their own little salad after their meal).

When we'd come downstairs first thing this morning to take charge of the day, it was only to discover that the day had already taken charge of itself and us while it was at the process, informing us that we'd better get used to its new aggressive attitude. In this instance, a hard frost once again, with the remnants of a light snow that had fallen while we were still snoozing. Oh, and a dreary, black-cloud-ribboned sky. But it wasn't raining, either. And the forecast in the newspaper for today's weather said that 8C would be the high this afternoon, a bit of cheerful news after yesterday's high of 2C and high wind. The wind tamed its instinct for excess today.

So we were both busy after breakfast, me with some house cleaning, my husband finishing up the installation of one of his project upstairs and we were cheered to see that the house had brightened considerably because the sun came out for a brief visit. We invited it to stay around for a few hours but it demurred, obviously had a prior appointment elsewhere.

Off we headed to the ravine guided enthusiastically by Jackie and Jillie wearing their winter halters. I'd washed and put away their summer halters for the season, and ditto for their lighter sweaters. They were dressed today in Christmas colours which people always like to remark on. We'd bought those sweaters years ago for two reasons: 1) they are warm and woolly, and 2) they were on sale post-Christmas season. 

The fallen foliage covering the trails is now fully tramped and dark and slippery, an uneven pathway of disintegrating cellulose. On either side of which the forest floor remains steeped in still-faintly-colourful foliage fast turning crisp and degrading, but far more attractive than their trail-tromped counterparts. Last night's frost had temporarily frozen the wet mucky mess of clay-and-leaves, but rising temperatures (all the way to 8C! today) had melted those ice crystals and created a slippery slurry that warned, take care! when ascending hills. And so we did.

It's a tamed, forlorn-looking forest now. Sightlines in the absence of the foliage is greater and at the margins of the forest where the trails loop closer to its outer edge, the form of houses on streets surrounding the forest can be seen, dispelling the imaginary notion that we're in a wilderness area. We'll just have to put up with that for now. Just as well we leave that well behind for most of our circuit which takes place a distance from those streets and where the bush is wider and deeper.

Plenty of squirrels about, chasing one another, curious about our presence on occasion, and busily engaged in securing anything edible that can be stored against winter. Sometimes Jackie and Jillie stare at them with curiosity, occasionally they make as though to leap after one, but unlike in their puppy years barely make the effort. Birds that remain in the boreal forest throughout the winter months, like nuthatches and chickadees and woodpeckers, are seen and heard now and again.

As we trundle along, my husband and I, we discuss between ourselves impressions we take away from reading the morning newspapers. We subscribe to two, a local and a national newspaper. Sometimes our impressions and takeaways converge and sometimes they don't, and then a lively discussion can ensue, each of us expressing our individual opinions, the reasons for same, and rarely moving the other to agreement. It's a satisfying exercise in the art of the debate.

 

So much for Environment Canada confidently predicting that this fall would be somewhat warmer than usual. We've since had no end of rain events, and temperatures more likely to relate to early-to-mid-November than mid-October. Mind, on the positive side we've also received our seasonal allotment of sunny days, so that fairly well balances things out. That balance can be seen in the spectacle that awaits us of glittering colour in the forest, displays of kaleidoscopic brightness both on the forest floor and on those trees that have not yet lost all their foliage.

Cold enough for headgear, cold enough for gloves, cold enough for well-lined fall jackets and correspondingly-warm thick socks tucked into hiking boots. These days call for more substantial, body-core-warming meals. So yesterday that turned out to be a vegetable-thick beef stew, introducing a winter menu in October. And while I was at it, I decided to bake cheese croissants to accompany the stew, a good combination, and if proof were needed, my husband leaving not a scrap uneaten.

To further balance things off, yesterday's bright skies led to an heavily overcast morning, elongated into the afternoon and finally, the evening. Cold, wet rain, lots of it. To challenge an already-sodden landscape to absorb even more moisture. To burden trees with the weight of rain bringing down even more colourful leaves. Robbing us steadily of the full picture of a landscape transformed into a blaze of ethereal colour.

By the look of the weather we were led to think there would be no outdoor adventure through forest trails for Jackie and Jillie today. Normally they wouldn't care, but for some reason they became quite excited and activated when they picked up signals that we were waiting for an opportunity to burst out of the house to advantage a trail expedition of raincoat-wearing dogs and their people at the first opportunity.

When the rain merely dripped from the canopy over the deck we took it as a signal that the time had come. My husband had earlier driven his truck to the garage to have it serviced and the tires changed to ice tires, then walked back home. He'd do the reverse again in the early evening when work was completed on the truck. Back and forth in the rain, but for reasons known only to him, another rainy day chosen to get that work done.

By the time we found ourselves in the ravine, watching the creek as it coursed noisily and stretched wide with an overabundance of muddy water giving ample evidence that the overnight and daytime rain had caused it to overflow its banks on its way downstream, the rain had lightened considerably, even while the ambient light in the ravine remained dim. The combination of dim light, rain and our adjusted eyesight illuminating the landscape beautifully, colours standing out demanding to be noticed.

It was obvious that this would be but a short lull in the rain. So though we made no effort to pick up a leisurely pace, we did concede distance, making this a shorter-than-usual ravine circuit. Not that Jackie would notice; he doubles his walking distance at any given time with his nervous energy expenditure, back and forth, one side to the other, just so much of interest to investigate, while his sister maintains a more sedate pace, only occasionally joining him in a sudden spurt when he makes an effort to dash after a squirrel.

When we did finally complete today's circuit, ascending the hill to street level, there was a sudden burst of rain that quickly declined and settled into a light, fine drizzle. Which would soon enough develop once again into a deeper, more deliberately serious rain event to round out the afternoon.

 

Rain, rain, go away, Jackie and Jillie want to play. A child's wistful chant with some notable liberties taken. It's one of those days. Rare enough in its intransigence to shut us out of our daily ramble through the ravine trails. No let-up at all. Just a few reluctant, quick dashes to the backyard, then back into the house as soon as fleet little paws can take them. And us.

Good rub-downs with towels follow. Jackie and Jillie most definitely do not enjoy the rain. Much less having their hair wet, their body temperature slightly lowered with exposure to such inclement weather. Larger dogs don't much mind, small dogs do. And these two certainly detest it -- all the more so when the temperature is well on its way to being too cool to be wet.

The temperature stood at 4C when they went out for the first time this morning in the rain and graduated eventually all the way up to 10C, after repeated, very brief visits to the great outdoors as seen in the limited confines of our little backyard. The only positive thing about having to go out on such days is the unmitigated pleasure of a good rub-down afterward.

It's a rare day when we don't get out for our daily walk through the forest trails. We tell our little dogs one day won't make a difference. They'll get out tomorrow and enjoy it twice as much. They gaze at us with the skeptical manner of those who know better. On the other hand, they'd prefer by far to pass the opportunity to get out for a walk in this kind of rain. Too heavy for their little raincoats to be of much benefit.

 So they languished at home, while we were busy cleaning the house. Because we were so busy outside  yesterday on that cool, windy but rainless, overcast day cleaning up the gardens, house-cleaning day was put forward to today. What made up for all that exhausting outdoor work was the pleasure of a quiet Thanksgiving dinner, when we had turkey breast, tiny yellow potatoes, broccoli and cranberry sauce. 

My husband insisted on mopping up gravy with one of the little egg-loaf braided breads I had baked the day before. And for dessert we each had one of the double-chocolate cupcakes left over from Friday's baking. I wasn't able to find small tins of pumpkin so decided against baking a pumpkin pie yesterday.

After cleaning the house -- our usual once-weekly ritual -- I decided to make a noodle-cheese-tuna-green pea casserole for dinner. Where yesterday's meal was a favourite for my husband, today's will represent mine. I made a butter-flour and milk choux seasoned with powdered mustard, paprika and freshly ground pepper, melted grated old Cheddar into it as it cooked and thickened. Mixed the drained cooked noodles into the choux, added the green peas.

Then layered it into a large flat baking dish, with the contents of a tin of tuna between the noodle layers. Over that I lightly scattered breadcrumbs, and then more grated cheese, to bake until bubbly-hot. Served with a fresh vegetable salad, and poached pears for dessert, that's tonight's dinner.

And the message from Environment Canada to all of us in Eastern Ontario affirms what that little Woolly Bear caterpillar a few days back was trying to convince us of; don't despair, the weather is due to change and mild will soon be in the air: "One more night of patchy frost. In September and October, and maybe even until Remembrance Day or mid-November, we think the flavour, the personality in the Ottawa Valley should be warmer than normal. There's a lot of heat stored in the lakes and the rivers and the land", said the chief environmental officer of the modelling results. Sheesh! They could just have consulted that little caterpillar...!

This means, among other things, that we'll now have to re-adjust our meal plans back to summer-mode. Yesterday's cold temperature turned me toward a more body-warming-satisfying meal. I roasted a Cornish hen. I made a noodle-egg-raisin pudding for dinner. Sumptuously warm and comforting as befits an early fall day that went out of its way to convince us that late fall had precipitately arrived. 

Not that it's very warm today, and not that some of the garden plants don't look extremely peaked. Which is to say, touched by frost, shriveled, miserable. But not all of the plants by any means, many of them holding up and proving there's more life in them yet. Despite which I continued with the cold-weather mode and prepared a hot-spice tomato-lentil soup and cheesy croissants to accompany the soup. For dessert, a blueberry crisp, and it too will be warm. 

Tomorrow? Well, according to the forecaster we could be in the 20s. A born skeptic, I say prove it. On our way toward the ravine for our late morning ramble through the forest trails, we could feel the warmth of the sun probing our backs. But though Jackie and Jillie decided to shed their little tee-shirts, we ourselves wore jackets. And once we were in the ravine, making our way through the trails, we regretted not having brought along gloves.

On our way up the street to the ravine entrance, there was the sound of geese high above. A watercolour-clear blue sky and streaking across the sky in a very businesslike manner, a formation of migrating geese. Absolutely nothing is as nostalgic as migrating geese, particularly when they're headed south. Romantic and pleasant while also pensively sad; goodbye summer, hello autumn, take your time, winter. And as we approached the forest, its fringe laid out below before us, we could see in plain living colour that amidst the dark green of the evergreens, poplars and maples beginning to change.

It was, as usual, lovely in the forest, the sun scattering light through the forest canopy, light wind bringing down the occasional dry-and-yellowed leaf. Never let it be said that dogs don't have excellent memories. Our two were excited to greet a young woman with her Brittany spaniel; not because they love the other little dog, but because the young woman whom we haven't seen in quite a while, once had dished out treats. As she did again today.

This is the time for asters, and they're everywhere. White, pale mauve and bright pink or purple. Medium-sized, minuscule and large. Oh, of course, also pilotweed. The Black-eyed Susans are still in bloom, but they confine themselves as do the Himalayan orchids to the forest glens, where ample sun illuminates their growing spaces.

Later, in mid-afternoon we had appointments for our puppies at the Veterinary clinic nearby. That place is a Five-ring circus. Although every-other parking space is to be kept vacant, even so, vehicles kept driving back and forth for the hour or so we were there. The drill is: sit in your car, with mask on. An attendant rushes out to welcome you, and take the particulars of your appointment. You wait. Eventually others come along to take possession of your puppies. You wait. Eventually they are returned to you.

They are scheduled for physical check-ups and for their yearly shots, but not those that are to be given every three years. The veterinarian comes out after attendants return your puppies, to discuss the examination, her findings and recommendations, and a long chat ensues, very friendly and informal. And then the ordeal is over, but the puppies take quite a while to settle down after the trauma of separation.