An unexpected snow day was what yesterday turned out to be. The forecast was for light snow amounting to no more than 2 cm. What happened instead was an all-day snow event. We're tough, we can take it. Aside from the fact that it was a mild day, a beautiful late winter day and the snowfall was gentle, though persistent throughout the day.  It just didn't stop, and that wasn't consonant with the forecast.

I was still fast asleep when Irving slipped out of bed, got dressed and went out to shovel out the backyard pathways for Jackie and Jillie, and then do the same for the front of the house. When he was finished and prepared to go back into the house, Jackie and Jillie were there, waiting at the sliding glass doors for him to let them out into the backyard. When they all came back upstairs to the bedroom I was still asleep.

But the snow had finally stopped, and we were in for a beautiful day. The sun began to emerge to set fire to the snow, gleaming and glinting under its glare.

Yesterday evening, we thought it might be a good idea to use up what was left of a container of 35% whipping cream before its 'best before' date, to accompany the chocolate brownies I had baked for dessert. Although the brownies were richly chocolate they weren't sweet, and whipped cream dolloped on top had its appeal. The added bonus was that this morning at breakfast, Irving used the last of it to top off his coffee. 

The sun played peek-a-boo with us all day. The temperature had fallen to an acceptable -2.5C, and a brisk wind had come up by the time we felt prepared to get out for a prolonged hike through these newly-wintered woods so readily accessible and awaiting our arrival. The street snow plow was just going down the street as we happened to be going up.

It's a huge, ungainly looking apparatus, resembling to us nothing so much as a giant praying mantis. The front half looks as though it's ready to keel over. The operator gave us a friendly wave, as we stood waiting inside a neighbour's driveway to safely let it pass. Jackie and Jillie emitting growls of suspicion all the while.

Things have changed enormously from when we first began our daily meandering in the ravine decades ago. At that time, it took a week after a fresh snowfall before the trails reached the condition we now find them in mere hours after the snow has stopped. Years ago we would either break trail ourselves, or use the extremely narrow initial trail left by someone else before us having broken trail.

Now, so many people in the wider community use the trails -- mostly as a result of the pandemic lockdowns and people looking for something to do with themselves other than remain locked into their homes and going slightly stir-crazy -- we're always assured that the main forest trails at least would be in fair condition and less exhausting to negotiate.

During the winter months with the copious amounts of snow that fall in this region, beautiful snowbound winter scenes are guaranteed. They represent unforgettable encounters with nature. Something one never tires of. Something that, despite seeing them year after year, snowfall after snowfall, never grows stale. One doesn't become accustomed and bored with exquisite beauty. It will always take one's breath away.

The early morning sun glowed incandescent-bright, illuminating a changed landscape that had resulted from overnight snow. The landscape, having surrendered its vegetation and foliage to the cold of oncoming winter appeared dry, drab and unappealing, colourless and uninspiring. Now that the winter-prepared gardens void of form and colour and the nearby forest, where the forest canopy has been emptied of its leafmass are covered with snow, the landscape has once again come alive.

The sun was just visiting for the morning. Before long metallic-grey clouds moved in and the temperature moved up to 0C. Just enough so that the snow accumulated on the metal awning over our deck has begun melting. A few evergreens in the garden needed to be rescued; boughs hanging low with heavy snow. The person who delivers our daily newspapers obviously had to duck under one of them to approach the porch.

We've contracted with a snow removal enterprise for the past five years to clear out the driveway after snowfalls as have done most of the home-owners on the street we live on. There are a lot of retirees living on the street, and with age comes chronic illnesses and a diminishing of strength and energy. My husband has plenty of both but after open-heart surgery it's not the kind of energy-expenditure he needs at age 84.

After breakfast he went out to shovel the walkways in the backyard for Jackie and Jillie and those at the front of the house from the driveway leading to the porch. This snowfall didn't leave us with light powdery snow, the elevated temperature just at the freezing mark has given the snow a wet, sticky quality, so it's heavy to move. The street plow cleaned up the slushy snow on the road, but what's left is a thin veneer of ice.

When we readied ourselves to get out for our daily spin through the ravine with Jackie and Jillie we      understood that conditions called for boots for them, and cleats to pull over our boots. Even yesterday when the snow had started coming down in the afternoon and it was light stuff, ascending and descending hills presented us with slippery conditions.

So Jackie and Jillie got outfitted with their winter coats and with little orange rubber boots. Trial and error has taught us that these are the most comfortable, least confining and guaranteed to remain in place, of the various types we had tried with them; the least expensive and the most effective. As for us, the cleats strapped firmly over our hiking boots (we'll pull out winter snowboots soon enough when the snowpack grows considerably) allowed us a far firmer footing.

Out in the ravine, we heard large clusters of geese overhead, but given the low and dense cloud ceiling weren't able to make out their vee formation. They're migrating. With snow now covering farmers' fields where they tend to gather and pick up stray seeds and then fly over to the Ottawa River nearby, there's little left for them and it's time for these laggards to finally depart for warmer climes.

When Jackie and Jillie met the newfallen snow for the first time early this morning they were energized and romped madly about the backyard They're constrained from running at will in the ravine since we keep them on leash in recognition of their impetuous, challenging nature, in fear that if a coyote appears, or they see or smell or sense one, they'll dash off after it. There've been enough misadventures with the coyotes who don't want to be bothered but will turn and defend themselves if provoked.

Halfway through our circuit, we heard a mournful, familiar sound, that of a train whistle. It's a melodious, nostalgic sound we hear on the rare occasion while in the forest. All other sounds muffled by the snow comforter. Approaching the end of our circuit we were ascending a short hill that gives out onto a main one that takes us to street level, when Jackie and Jillie turned onto the main trail before us. As we turned up the trail we were just in time to see a young man almost run into Jackie's leash.

We had seen him earlier at various points on the trails today, dressed to the  heights in running gear, a tall, slender young man perhaps in his late teens. Zipping up and down the trails, perhaps on a school sports assignment to prepare for some event. He had been running down the hill so fast and silently we only became aware of his presence as we rounded our way onto the hill, saw him swerve, then totter and finally right himself before continuing on at the same breakneck clip. Not a word passed his lips. 'Sorry!' I called out after him.