There's one man whom we've known for years, resident on a street in the far-flung community and a regular hiker who is so tall his waist sits somewhere just below my shoulders. A former military man, he is as robust as  he is tall. He's in his mid-to-late 60s now and was fitted with a heart pacemaker several years back. He seems to be carrying on well enough, though we've seen him puffing climbing the ravine's hills. Age treats us to a gradual degeneration of our critical organs to various degrees.

For most people vital faculties like eyesight and hearing tend to decline when they enter their 7th decade and beyond, and for some even earlier. And there's another thing, we tend to lose height. Ironically enough at the very time our physical conformation points us toward gaining weight, our height is compromised. Since that weight has to go somewhere, we become a little squat in appearance, to put it kindly. 

In my middle-mature years I was a neat five foot in height. I was beyond surprised some years ago to be informed my height had changed. I had evidently lost about two inches in height and wasn't even aware of it. But I wasn't pleased about it, either. The human spine tends to compress with age and bones become somewhat brittle. For our friend, who is so tall, losing an inch or two would be scarcely noticeable. There's still plenty of room on his skeleton for normal body fat to settle, one might think. 

Unless the weight gain is distinctive enough to swell the area around the stomach, as happens with a great many people. I've noticed in particular that older women often have protruding stomachs. On several occasions my first thought was that these women were a little old to be pregnant. Well of course they weren't; their body conformation had changed in that way; excess weight tends to settle primarily around the middle, even though it fleshes out the entire body.

I do a brief daily exercise routine. Which includes touching toes. I've been able to continue doing that though not so long ago I was able to lay my hands flat on the floor while 'touching' my toes. Now I no longer can without straining, though I am able to continue touching my toes. The exercises once incorporated into my routine that touches on the spine are no longer comfortable enough to continue. So I've dropped them, making my previously short routine even shorter. 

There are other routines in life, however. Such as Irving out mowing the lawn today but mostly standing around talking to neighbours passing by who want to have a chat. While he was busy I was cleaning the bathrooms, then went out with Jackie and Jillie to the backyard to begin some garden cut-back, until Irving was finished and we'd take ourselves out to the ravine for our afternoon hike.

The day couldn't possibly have been more pleasant; mild and sunny. Too warm, in fact, to be disassembling the garden.   I'll have to wait for cooler days, when it becomes imperative to remove spent perennials and exhausted annuals. On the approach to the ravine, walking up the street, it seemed surprising, since we see them daily, to note how swiftly the trees are changing. Both those trees on people's lots and in the forest.

We were grateful today that our hike through the woods was a quiet affair. There are times when you appreciate a bit of solitude in the  warm, sweeping comfort of the green mass of the forest illuminated by the afternoon sun. And then, on return back home again, to poke about through the garden in happy appreciation of the defiance demonstrated by some annuals at the seasonal stresses meant to deliver the message that their days in garden bloom are numbered. Just not quite yet.

Well, imagine that: experts in life, sociology, human health have concluded that people need to more actively claim their lives. Offering formulas that declare in essence, what's old is new again. Which is to say that while there's place for leisure in our lives, there's also room for exercising brain and muscle as we age to ensure ... how to put it? ... that we do age and live gracefully.

Take nothing for granted. While we're young and hale we won't always be that way. But we're so busy with the lives we've made that no one either has the time/opportunity or will to peer into a future we can't really imagine and don't really care all that much about. It's the present that counts, the future will look after itself. 

So if we decide to shed some personal agency in responsibility to ourselves because it's pleasant to have others do things for us, and it's satisfying to eat whatever we want whenever we want to, and it seems to make more sense to be comfortable slouching back on a sofa to watch  flicks, well so be it.

Remember that old adage, use it or lose it? A flippant hint at what's to come if the brain and the musculature are neglected. Of course we could always develop good habits, like considering a walk around the block as a daily ritual could be a commitment to the future.

And how about just picking up some good books and starting a personal library with an ambition to read them all and acquire more that you intend to read, and will. Instead of say, watching television series? Or incorporating reading into the habit of turning on the television too often? You could even write your own dramas, starting a commitment to keeping a daily diary to record what happens during the course of a day, how you feel about things, what you've observed. It takes thought and thought exercises the brain and becomes food for introspection and curiosity.

Cooking for oneself, now that's a challenge. Instead of picking up processed stuff and stuffing it into your gut to create unwholesome biome, gather elemental foodstuffs and learn how to throw them together. Nothing necessarily complicated, start easy and let culinary curiosity take over from there. Please your taste buds as well as your gut health and your mood.

Get out and exercise, there's a whole world of nature out there, waiting to be discovered, shared and appreciated. Hmm, but not today. It's raining. Heavily. I've been cleaning the house most of the day. Irving cut the grass just before the rain began; good timing. I took the puppies out to the backyard before rain came pelting down, and it's the closest they'll come to being out today.

When I finished washing the last floor and they were set free from the family room, they were boisterous with expectation, following me upstairs as I changed, demanding to be noticed, happy as two little larks flying through the sky. They actually spontaneously became two little larks flying through the bedroom, the bathroom, down the hall after one another in an exercise of startling acrobatics.

They were delirious with expectation. Expecting a good long ravine hike, and a fresh vegetable salad. The hike was denied them, the salad extra large and gobbled in a wink. The house is dark and rain-humid. There's always things to do, even for Jackie and Jillie who understand perfectly why there's no walk; a glance out the sliding door tells all.

We were up earlier than we prefer this morning to nip out to the supermarket for our weekly shopping trek. With the specific intention of avoiding crowds. We weren't really surprised to see that it was snowing. Light snow, mixed with rain...we call it sleet. The temperature had risen from overnight's freezing mark to all of 2C, and it was still snowing. 

Or course Jackie and Jillie reacted predictably. Their version of euww! Do we have to go out in that inclement mess? They're not impressed that we go out with them. Content for us to go out and leave them in the house. We have other ideas since the intention is for them to toilet themselves. They clue in pretty quickly that we'll be leaving the house without them. Jillie went back upstairs to bed to sulk, and Jackie followed us about pleadingly.

And then, when we put on our jackets there was a well-orchestrated howling. Heads held high in misery, yowling at being abandoned. The little drama matched the weather to perfection. And off we went. Some empty shelf spacing, but for the most part everything we wanted/needed was available. And that special bonus; few shoppers besides ourselves.

The collection area in the supermarket foyer for the food bank was stuffed with donations. The large crate that is supposed to hold everything completely overwhelmed, so shopping carts were parked around the crate, themselves brimming with offerings, ours included. The Food Bank trucks always come along on Tuesday afternoon, the day we choose to do our shopping. The community responding to those in need in another instance of caring for others.

Our oldest son will certainly miss the occasional company of a colleague whom he's known for many years, an amateur astronomer with whom he shared uncommon interests. His friend three times scheduled a MAID appointment (Medical Assistance in Dying). He suffered from end-stage cancer.  On the way to leaving this mortal coil, he opted for unconventional treatments, along with the conventional, at great expense, and each time he felt restored and cancelled his appointments. 

He was declared in remission but the cancer felt otherwise. Finally, he was in too much pain and had come to the end of any further prospective treatments that might help him survive. The third MAID appointment was his last. He was 75, a successful small-town businessman and had lived a rewarding life. Married, but with no children. This too is life.

After breakfast when all our shopping was put away we anticipated the rain/snow would stop. But it persisted, so I did a little more spring cleaning. Bit by bit I'm getting it done. Frankly, if I didn't extend the effort to do it all, it wouldn't make much difference. Once I empty a shelf to sponge it down with soapy water,  there's little to be seen to be sponged down. But it does give me a a\feeling of satisfaction: there...done for another year!

And still it rained; by late afternoon the temperature had risen again, this time to 4C, so it was pure rain, the snow had departed. At the earlier temperature, the snow that speckled the air melted as soon as it hit the ground, in any event. And since the rain by then was light, we felt that raincoats would keep us warm and dry, and off we went for our afternoon hike through the forest trails.

The trails that were so comfortably dry yesterday are once again swamps. There are puddles, large and small everywhere on the forest floor and across the trails. Jackie and Jillie take care to leap over them or sidestep them, sensibly enough. Although poodles are supposed to be 'water dogs' these two definitely are not in that category. They see other dogs, mostly the large breeds, head directly to the creek at every opportunity. If we could read their minds, they would be musing: these dogs are insane!

Could be they're right. Heavy overcast with just a few degrees north of freezing, the rain-swollen, murky creek is ice-cold. But there are those dogs, happily plunging into the creek, immersing themselves completely, becoming soaked to the skin under their raincoats. Soaked with cold water, exposed to the cold of the ambient air on a rainy day. But they love it, so who's to judge?

Though we go through seasonal changes all our lives we tend to 'forget' physically what a season like winter can bring in terms of weather conditions, compelling many people to the belief that exposing ourselves to the bitter cold, raging winds and frozen precipitation is best avoided. We have the opportunity to acclimate since the changeover is gradual; as days grow colder we gear ourselves accordingly for comfort in chillier conditions.

Still, nothing quite prepares us for the deepest cold days of winter when there's often good enough reason to remain in our warm homes rather than venturing out into wind, sleet and bone-chilling cold. A lot of how we feel about winter reflects the perception that if it's cold out the environment is hostile to human comfort. Yet humanity has of necessity adjusted to weather conditions through the ages and the natural environment in all its presentations remains an integral ingredient in our ability to function.

Perhaps even more so, appreciate that our subconscious is deeply aware of our need to expose ourselves to natural surroundings from time to time. And that need is a reflection of the fact that we are a part of nature. We experience sensations of quiet pleasure feeling our limbs, our sensual emotions, all of our senses being attuned to the freedom nature offers us, along with nature's other companions, the creatures of the forest whose home it is. Our sense of vision, of smell, of touch all employ themselves autonomically when we're within natural surroundings.

Sadly, there are many people who live on our street and the streets adjoining ours who have never felt the compulsion or simple curiosity to explore the forest that runs through this community. People oblivious to its presence and how important the forest is in providing us with clean air to breathe, the surrounding verdance fulfilling a need we're unaware of, but which comforts us psychologically.

As domesticated as our pets are, accustomed through the ages with sharing our homes and our habits, their need to explore the out-of-doors and more particularly a green landscape is even more acute than ours. Today is one of those cold early winter days. The sun sailed in an ocean of blue most of the day, melting the snow that had accumulated on top of the metal canopy over our deck, despite that the day is a cold one, at -10C.

When we were out in the ravine it hardly seemed that cold, in the absence of any wind. The trails were well covered with the initial start of this season's snow pack which will build over the coming months to hard-packed layers of ice and snow. The fresh snow that had fallen in the past few days still looks glaring  white, though wind that had accompanied it knocked quite a bit of detritus out of the trees to lie dark and desiccated over the snow.

People you do come across hiking through the forest trails are invariably cheerful, happy to be out on a wintry day, a brief exposure to the rawness of weather systems in the heart of the outskirts of an urban area of a million people. Being there is a respite from concerns over the pall news related to the global pandemic with gloomy stories day after day of infections, hospitalizations and death. Out there, walking through the forest, thoughts of those issues melt away.

In their place a sense of tranquil satisfaction settles through one's mind busy taking in the surrounding vistas, the cold, clear air, the scurry of squirrels on the forest floor, the murmur of birds in tree branches, the crunch of boots on the stiffening snow pack.

The sanitary technicians couldn't figure out how to haul the compost bag out of the compost bin this morning when the sanitation trucks came around this morning to pick up the kitchen waste. It was -6C overnight, and evidently the bottom of the compost bag got soggy and froze to the compost bin. At the same time the garden waste, the last of the leaves and cut-backs in the garden were still standing in their compost bags awaiting pick-up. So Irving gave a good hard few tugs at the frozen kitchen compost bag and up it came. The sanitary engineer had emptied most of the kitchen waste, but decided to leave the bag with whatever was left. 

It's now plumped down inside the garden waste compost bags awaiting pick-up. Didn't take that much effort, but then Irving isn't a professional sanitary technician, just a practical minded fellow who saw a solution to the impossible task of emptying garbage into a garbage truck. Irving is the quintessential Jack-of-all-Trades, though he made his professional livelihood as a government bureaucrat.

Not to denigrate garbage collectors; it's a tough job, out in all seasons, going house-to-house, street-to-street, hauling up and emptying heavy, awkward containers of discards and waste. One has to be fit and able to countenance the stench that invariably accompanies the job, along with handling slops and other unmentionables, coveralled, gloved and ready every day.

It took us awhile last year to get accustomed to the fact that school buses no longer took their usual routes picking up children for school, during the first, frightening wave of the coronavirus. We had been the day-care givers for our granddaughter until she was nine years old and the daily routine of driving her to a preschool, then picking her up, volunteering to help look after the children because it was a co-op, is familiar to us. As is walking her down the street once she was a little older to wait for the school bus pick-up to a school about a fifteen-minute walk from our house, then doing the reverse in the afternoon.

         

At our age then and having gone through the routine with our own three children, until she was old enough to attend a pre-school, we used to haul her with us into the ravine in a carrier before she began walking on her own, reverting to hauling her in a sled in the winter months. When she was old enough to get around on her own then she did just that on the woodland trails. And no day could be complete without a visit to a local park and playground, both within handy walking distance of the house. So when she finally was old enough to attend school full-time it spelled real relief for us.

Now children are back at school once again. As we drove out to do our food shopping this afternoon, we stopped for school buses unloading children at the end of the school day, a parent or a care-giver there to take stewardrship of young children, the older ones making it home on their own.

It was a pleasant change when we were out in the ravine earlier in the day with Jackie and Jillie. A cold day of -2C when we were out in the forest, fairly heavily overcast but no wind, mitigating the cold. And from time to time the sun squeaked through the clouds, illuminating the landscape, no longer contending with foliage of the forest canopy shielding it from penetrating down through the forest.

Jackie and Jillie are good and snug in their little winter jackets, for now. It won't be until it gets much colder and snow begins to pile up that they'll need little boots to protect their tiny tender paws from cold. Without the boots they're in real pain when exposure is any longer than ten minutes without protection.  Already, today, we could feel the difference underfoot, the forest floor icy-firm as frost set in as a result of a succession of -6C nights.

Where does the day go? All the more so when one wakes late, and even then the allure and comfort of remaining in bed, talking, discussing the news, playing with Jackie and Jillie ensures a really late entry into the day. Time zips by, afternoon arriving before we've had a decent chance to appreciate the morning hours adequately. Of course, lingering interminably over breakfast as an everyday ritual, prolonged even more on the weekend with more elaborate meals first off in the morning, kind of makes certain that late morning slips effortlessly into early afternoon before we know it.

And then for the next few hours we can play catch-up. It's a game Jackie and Jillie enjoy participating in. I can tell them I'm busy, have a lot of things to get done, and they assume I'm telling them, hey, let's have some fun, because I feel guilty and squat down for some play-time tussling with them.

Irving went out shortly after breakfast on one of his missions. To the bank, to pick up a Sunday Star, to get some more hardware, and in particular a ceiling roundel which Home Depot no longer carries and others do, to Canadian Tire for chandelier bulbs. No end of things to be picked up. Amidst the madness of Christmas shopping, now in full sway. It's frantic out there but it'll become even more so as we move into December. 

On his return he decided to start putting the light fixture together, all the bits and parts to be fitted into a whole, before he can install the thing. He sets  himself these tasks fairly spontaneously and then feels a sense of  time-urgency to get things done. I tell him he can work at a more leisurely pace since there's no schedule, no urgent time frame within which he must complete something, but that's not his way.

Off we went to the ravine on yet another heavily overcast, cold, windy, damp day. We left at 3:00, but at 2:00 we had a bright, brisk treat when the sun came out briefly to pay a local call. That's when I took Jackie and Jillie out to the backyard for a bit of recreation between our local squirrels taunting two little dogs and ending with both pleased with the outcome.

We're now at that time in mid-November when we yearn for snow to cover the landscape. For one thing, the absence of foliage and the sight of bare masts rising to the sky in dark silhouettes needs some visual  relief and snow will do that. For another, the forest trails are thick with muck and greasy, saturated foliage sliding underfoot. Snow will help that, too. As will the deeper penetration of frost in the forest floor badly needed at this juncture and on the near horizon.

As we ascended the main trail on the ridge of the forest we encountered others out like ourselves and for a little while there was a frantic free-for-all as dogs arranged themselves around Irving, doling out cookies. These are our friends and acquaintances; some we've known for many years, others more recently met, along with their dogs. Some of the dogs are restrained, some are bumptious, either by personality or by firm discipline. Irving appreciates it when dogs take cookies from his hand politely.

Last night as we concluded another busy day, we had what I call a 'harvest soup' for dinner. Chopped onion, garlic, celery, red bell pepper, potato, in a chicken-soup stock, with frozen corn added the last ten minutes of cooking. Today it'll be another favourite, dried beans, chopped onion, garlic, tomato, zucchini, sweet potato, tomato paste, cumin side and garam masala. This time I prepared a whole-wheat, cheese and rosemary-infused flat bread to accompany the soup.

I had planned on making a cheese quiche for dinner last night. Irving loves eggs and we both enjoy cheese, and they make a perfect combination. I planned to chop lots of green onion and slivers of colourful baby bell pepper into it and the very thought of it was so pleasing -- to me. For some unknown reason Irving is lukewarm on quiche and wasn't thrilled. So I was spared the happy task of producing a pie dough and the filling for a quiche.

It had been a busy day anyway, house-cleaning day always is. And then we had a leisurely tramp through the ravine with Jackie and Jillie afterward. So we decided we'd eat light instead. Since it was also a cool early-fall day, and pretty wet beside, I thought having something warm like the quiche would be appropriate. As things turned out, we had vegetables, beginning with corn-on-the-cob which was all right, but nothing spectacular. Then a plate with more vegetables, sprats, deviled eggs for Irving and avocado for me. Fresh sliced pears for dessert filled out the bill. It was fine.

Today has been another busy day. Every day is busy and there's no complaints about that, none whatever. There's always so much to do, we have so many choices apart from the obligations it's pretty tough to be bored. I sometimes respond to poll notices delivered by email from Angus Reid. A few days back there was one I was interested in participating in. I always refuse the commercial ones. This one was directed to older people, and it was part of a project run out of University of Alberta.

A study to try to get a picture of how older Canadians are managing during this pandemic. The questions were many and most canted sympathetically to the difficulties the older generation is popularly assumed to face. The questions, in fact, posed a wide spectrum of issues from affordability of basic services and necessities of life to mental health issues and the state of the surveyed's peace of mind and appreciation of their lives. I had the impression that going into the study the researchers assumed that most of their subjects would be unhappy, miserable older people for whom life is a dreadful strain with few rewards.

It took me no time at all to get through the questions; on the allotted scales my responses were always 'positive' in that I am happy with our lives, we're comfortably well off, have no concerns over managing, don't feel isolated and unappreciated, and on and on. At the same time I realize how fortunate we are to begin with, that we've shared a pleasurable, rewarding life together and our 66 years of marriage have been as perfect as anyone has a right to expect. Still, some of the questions such as asking 'how often do you feel a sense of impending disaster, a foreboding'...seemed a little leading and dire as though prompting people to divulge their inner misery...

We were anything but miserable setting off this afternoon for our usual turn on the forest trails with our puppies, who are always ready, willing and eager to get about in the ravine. We noticed that for the past week we've seen a number of woolly bear caterpillars. It's their alternate time of year, besides spring, when they manifest their presence; for now they're looking to cocoon up somewhere for the winter. When we were children we were fascinated by them, and I guess we still are -- not children of course, but interested in the little creatures in their seasonal appearance.

We came across a friend we've known for some years with her little apricot poodle, and walked together for awhile. Irving in particular enjoys shmoozing with people on any occasions. At one juncture she pointed out to us, barely visible in the interior of the forest, an overgrown and collapsed mushroom on the forest floor. I ducked into the interior and it was, or had been a colossal mushroom, far beyond anything in size I'd ever seen before. It had collapsed, its gills visible through the widening cracks of its large fleshy cap. Seeing it left me wishing we'd noticed it earlier, when it was still intact.

When we returned home it was time for us to bid adieu, darlings, to Jackie and Jillie. They stood in the dining room door, heads poking out, watching us down the hall in the laundry room preparing to leave the house. Jillie was mute and miserable looking, Jackie was emitting faint little plaints, pleading with us not to abandon them. We told them to look after one another, and we'd soon return.

 

His new motto is 'never without cookies'. He cannot now bear to disappoint all the dogs that have become familiar with his presence in the ravine. They spot him, dash toward him, then docilely sit beside where he stands, on the side closest to where his bag dangles with its cache of cookies. Dogs that were once shy or standoffish all acknowledge his presence.

Jackie and Jillie now associate the presence of other dogs with their opportunity to score more cookies. As it is, the little rascals remember previous spots where we've stopped along the trails briefly to hand out cookies and look expectantly at Irving as though plaintively whining: 'well, you doled them out right here before, what's wrong with right now?'

But they know of a certainty that if other dogs are being indulged with cookies, they will be, too. This morning there were quite a few encounters. Likely people wanting to make up the gap of the last few days when it was iffy finding a brief opening between heavy downpours to get out with their pets, so quite a few were out and about this morning.

Destined to be a mostly sunny day after all that rain, and not particularly hot, but humid again and breezy. The wind kept dislodging excess water off the forest canopy onto the trails below since it hadn't been all that long before that the last of the rain had come down. The cracks in the forest floor that had begun to open and widen reflecting a paucity of moisture in the mostly clay soil are now closing back up again as the clay absorbs the rain and swells with it.

It was too sodden to make our way through the thicket of grasses and wildflowers on the narrowing path that accesses it; not for us particularly, but it would have drenched Jackie and Jillie so we bypassed the meadow this morning. Which meant that I gave extra attention to the area above the ravine colonized by Himalayan orchids; their perky bright pink orchid flowerheads emphasized by their drenched state, the flowers and foliage slicked with the shellacking effect of the rain.

Halfway through our hike on the trails we came across something we'd never before seen. From a bit of a distance we assumed it was a cocoon, but approaching closer it became evident that this cocoon had many legs and was in fact a pure white, fair-sized caterpillar, the first of its kind we'd ever seen. Called a white hickory tussock moth caterpillar, it has a reputation of causing an itchy rash through the liquid it exudes as a self-protective mechanism, through protruding dark hairs.

That's the thing about tramping about in nature; you never know what you're going to come across. We came across in fact, a woman we've seen on previous occasions with her two little poodles. While Irving picks wild apples to share out with Jackie and Jillie, this woman picks them to toss for her little dogs to chase after. Their food function is superseded by their playtime-ball function for those little fellows.

Charming, but for the fact that the woman turned back on the trail to retrace where she had begun tossing the apple/ball, explaining to us that her bracelet had flown off her wrist with one of her tosses. A gift from her late husband, it wasn't something she meant to carelessly lose in the forest. Its colour, she wryly informed Irving, was much the same as the detritus on the forest floor; woody-brown.

She passed us in the opposite direction retracing her steps, her two little dogs faithfully following, and we peered about as we continued our own traipse through the trail, until Irving suddenly bent down and retrieved the lost bracelet, simultaneously shouting out to the woman behind us that it had been found.