There was no shortage of people roaming through the forest trails in the ravine yesterday afternoon. It coincided, of course with irresistible weather conditions. A clear, blue sky, a radiant sun, not even a breeze to entice whatever cold there was to seem like an icy-knife slicing through protective clothing. An absolutely perfect day for a ramble through the ravine.

We thought so, everyone else appeared to feel the same way. Jackie and Jillie were becoming a little anxious about what they must have perceived as an unaccountably puzzling delay in preparations for a jaunt. At one point when I was sitting on the sofa, having a bit of a read, first Jackie reproached me with his soulful eyes and wagging tail, then his sister more directly challenged me to get off my arse and get moving.

So we did. Geared them up without boots since the temperature had nudged up to a surprising 3C. And off we ambled. To come across so many unexpected other ramblers and their dogs we were constantly stopping to chat. Enabling Jackie and Jillie to communicate in their own way with other four-legged companions.

Although the creek was running full blast, the water churning over the creek bottom heading out to eventually reach the Ottawa River, its tributaries, we found, as we ventured further along, swinging over to alternate trails, have now frozen over completely solid. The snow that had fallen the morning of the day before had splotched onto the ice, creating beautiful patterns of brilliant, exploding miniature stars.

It was so pleasant walking about in the woods we were in no hurry to bring our circuit to its natural conclusion. Choosing instead to go a little further now and again, swinging onto other, connecting trails. Jackie and Jillie know the trails as intimately as we do, and sometimes they take the lead. All the more so when they sense far ahead, long, long before we do that others are approaching from the opposite direction. And we've no doubt they know precisely who those others are.

Before we exited the ravine finally, we came across several neighbours, one of whom was walking her mother's little dog. Her own little dog was under the weather and had remained at home. We had been stopped, talking to yet another neighbour and her dog who were just embarking on their circuit  and the new little dog went a little berserk with excitement, both being still in puppyhood, chasing one another madly back and forth, despite a size differential.

Our two tend to look on when they aren't bringing up the rear, barking when other dogs are hard at play together. They actually have no idea how to play with other dogs. They play together constantly in the house, wild, rousing run-abouts and wrestling bouts, but when it comes to doing that with other dogs, even those they know well, they're just stymied.

Weather conditions that create the phenomenon of mist and fog result in a landscape that appears ephemeral and even more beautifully entrancing than ever. And that's what we found when we were out with Jackie and Jillie in the ravine yesterday afternoon for our usual tramp through forest trails. Although earlier in the day great clumps of snow fell to initially cover the landscape with a plump layer of snow, much of it had already dropped off the branches of trees which earlier weather conditions had iced over even earlier snowfall effects.

The impromptu cemetery of slumbering bees ousted from their hive in the old pine at the foot of the first long descent into the ravine had been comforted by a thick coverlet of snow; dignity restored in an icy death.

That morning, snowfall had been followed by a period of middling-sized ice pellets, patterning the snow that had accumulated on the deck outside our breakfast room. By the time we were preparing to head out to the ravine freezing rain had arrived. That rain informed us jackets resistant to water penetration would be required for all of us.

However, since the temperature had nudged up to the freezing point, far more moderate than the day before when it was -7C with a slight, cutting wind, this was downright balmy. At 0C, we are able to ensure that Jackie and Jillie won't suffer any ill effects from rain in too-cold temperatures for their little bodies to sustain; the raincoats covered all but their tails and topknots, and they felt fairly perky, their little feet making tiny impressions in the new snow. Wet feet always tend to animate them to excited frolicking.

Freezing rain fell consistently but not heavily and we decided not to make do with a short walk but to forge on for a middling-to-longish tramp through the forest since though it was raining it was also mild, mild enough that our little dogs required no boots to shelter them from the effects of extreme cold.

The rain alters the colour shadings of winter trees, the stark, dark trunks of deciduous and the green of conifer needles in an overcast, light-diminished forest interior.

There are in fact, predominating colours in these circumstances; the aluminum-white shade of the sky, the all-consuming white of the forest floor drenched in snow, and in between the varying shades of contrasting tree trunks from dark grey/brown to black. And in the distance, the presence of fog disrupting what would otherwise be the sharp outlines of tall trees rising to meet the forest canopy and the sky.

Of course I noticed a proliferation of dark specks sprinkled on the snow in a wide area under the familiar old pine when we descended the first long hill into the ravine yesterday afternoon on a heavily overcast day. I simply took it for granted that the winds of the day before had brought down more detritus from the overhanging trees in the forest canopy. And I didn't think it at all peculiar that Jackie and Jillie, nose to the ground, were busily sniffing about at them.

My husband has keener eyesight than I do, and he saw what they were immediately. As I continued to veer off to the left and up another hill, he stopped. I turned back to watch, wondering what was delaying him. He had taken off one of his mittens, stooped to the frozen ground well packed in old snow, and lifted something into his hand, closely scrutinizing it, rolling it back and forth in his hand. Before laying it gently back down under the old pine tree, to continue on.

When he caught up with me, he explained that the 'black dots' I'd seen which Jackie and Jillie were so interested in were in fact not desiccated cellulose, but bees. That venerable old pine at the foot of the first descent has been host to wild bees for as long as we can recall. About a third of the way up the trunk is an opening and in the summer we can see, far above, busy flights of bees entering and exiting their hive.

One year the bees were gone, and that winter and the one after, two little black squirrels we would always see together inhabited the hole in  the tree trunk. We called them Tweedledee and Tweedledum, and used to feed them peanuts in the shell. Bees eventually returned and laid prior claim and we've no idea where the two little squirrels moved to. For all we know they may be among those that visit our porch daily to pick up bread squares and sunflower seeds we put out every morning. Jackie and Jillie watch the ensuing parade of squirrels and birds and shout noisily their resentment at 'their' property being invaded.

But yesterday, during our walk with our two little dogs through the ravine, we pondered together what might have happened to the current residents of the hive. Something had entered it, and it might have been a squirrel, to evict them. We couldn't know whether the bees were hibernating, or whether they had perished with the onset of extraordinarily icy temperatures that arrived in November. But there their little carcasses lay, a pitiable sight.

It is sheer folly to live in a geographic-weather area such as ours without realizing that certain precautions must be taken to ensure maximum safety. Driving on Ottawa roads and highways can be extremely hazardous in the winter season. With the introduction of special 'ice tires' rather than relying on all-weather tires to get us through a typical Ottawa winter driving has been made much safer. That is, for those people who continue to drive with caution, not those who figure that putting on ice tires means risks can be taken.

We were caught by surprise this year with an earlier-than-normal winter entry. Not that we've even entered winter yet by the calendar. But a month ago winter arrived nonetheless with icy temperatures and plenty of ice storms and snow events. People who like to get ahead of things may have changed their tires but most hadn't yet. My husband managed to get it done several weeks back.

But there's another concern in driving during the winter months. Not only do streets get plowed to clear them of excess snow after a considerable snowfall, but salt is liberally sprinkled down afterward to fend off icy conditions. Granted, less salt than used to be the norm, replacing it with sand and light gravel, but salt is still used liberally. And salt plays havoc with metal and moving parts, so the perfect environment for rust is created.

In prevention of just such a scenario where after a few winters of driving over salt-encrusted roads leaving vehicles rusted and dangerous to drive, there is the option of having vehicles treated with an oil undercoating in prevention of rust finding a perfect breeding ground. For the past fifteen years or so my husband has had his vehicles rust-proofed and it works wonderfully well; no rusted out fenders and floors and impaired brakes for us. Yesterday he took his car and his truck in for sequential servicing to get that done, so we're weather-proofed as far as winter driving is concerned for the remainder of the winter -- which is another solid four months.

In between his trips to the shop that oil sprays vehicles, we had an afternoon traipse through the forest trails with Jackie and Jillie. It was an icy-cold day, some wind and -6C, but sunny, a perfectly clear blue sky and a blazing sun. At this time of year, however, the sun sits lower on the horizon and by mid-afternoon viewed through the tree canopy of the forest seems to stall just slightly above the horizon, viewed about half-way up the mass of tree trunks.

We came across someone we'd never seen before, a woman walking a large-breed dog. She was a little careful with her dog because of Jackie and Jillie barking at the presence of a strange dog, as their breed is wont to do. But her dog, a 8-month-old puppy, was simply curious at the bad social manners of two little dogs, and far from hostile. They soon enough became acquainted. The puppy was a cross between a Corso and a Great Dane, and had already assumed notable proportions, with more to come. His head was large and noble, his eyes appealing, his curiosity and gentleness apparent.

Where there are clearings in the forest between the stands the sun penetrates far more fully and illuminates tree trunks with a golden glow, sending our shadows in elongated form across the snowy comforter covering the forest floor. We view the forest in so many variant landscapes reflective of weather conditions, time of day and allied variables, it becomes an ever-shifting landscape, fascinating and everlastingly beautiful. There was still ample snow fluffed on the trees from  the snowfall of the day before; sun and fresh snow, an unbeatable aesthetic combination!

Despite yesterday being one of those all-day snow events, not all that much managed to accumulate; the snowfall was just too altogether light in nature. But it was hauntingly beautiful to be out in the ravine in the shadowy light of a twilight atmosphere at mid-day with snow gently falling all about. Feeling the new snow underneath them, Jackie and Jillie are energized and even happier than usual to be out in the forest.

From a distance they knew friends were approaching and became excited about that. Eventually we came abreast of Tom and Terry. We hadn't seen them in quite a while, and our two little dogs are always happy to come across those they know, even people that don't have dogs of their own, like Tom and Terry. I was somewhat taken aback when Terry opened her arms wide and hugged me until she cleared up the mystery explaining she remembered that my birthday was in December, since her two sisters are also December babies.

We stood about talking for quite a while, and Jackie and Jillie, as usual patiently waited nearby exploring the woods while remaining in our sight as we exchanged information between ourselves; me and Terry and Tom and Irving. Separately, we heard that one of their neighbours a few days back had come to see them, to give them a 'heads-up' that he'd seen a strange black car parked in front of their driveway. And then the matter was turned on its head when a day later that very same neighbour's newly-acquired Lexus was stolen from his driveway.

Why not park it in the garage for safety? Well, seems the wife's BMW is always parked in the garage. Leaving us both separately with the unstated thought: why is it that people living in modest, one-garage homes feel they must possess two luxury vehicles? And we answer our own questions quietly between ourselves; a matter of skewed values. Then talk swerved to the yellow-vest riots in France and the Vancouver-stopover arrest of Huawei Technologies CFO.

And while we were talking, another woman we know slightly came by. She was looking for her little white West Highland terrier whom she 'lost' while walking it through the woods. We know the little dog, it isn't shy and it is curious and assertive, but still a little dog lost in the forest in winter is no laughing matter. As we continued our hike we were on the lookout for the little fellow but saw no sight of him in the next hour. It does happen occasionally that a dog will be 'lost' in the ravine. Inevitably someone will come across him, see its tags and contact its person.

From a distance between trails with intervening forest we saw Sheila out with her three dogs and she shouted across to us to look out for the lost dog. We shouted back asking if her husband's surgery that morning had gone well, and she responded that it had. That man has undergone so many diverse surgeries he must be well and truly fed up, but he isn't the kind to dwell on such matters; once he recovers he immediately returns to his passion for walking their dogs now that he can no longer indulge in ironman tournaments.

The transcendent loveliness of the landscape unfolding before us as we traipsed along the trails kept us in a semi-spellbound state of appreciation for our good fortune in being able to so easily access a wonderful natural landscape that the ravined forest represents. For all those who make use of its presence to restore the equilibrium in their lives through its reposeful effect on one's thoughts and balance in perspectives, it is invaluable.

It 's an inexorable process and one we all share; that as each successive year goes by we celebrate another birthday. For me that time is nigh; two weeks from now I'll have attained my 82nd birthday. My husband is forever 'catching up' with me. His birthday comes along four weeks later when he too will be 82 years of age. We have shared this little scenario since we were both 14 years old, when we first met and became fast companions.

Yet when my birthday rolls around he is caught in a dilemma, a compulsive need to present me with something that will reflect the event. Every day of our lives together he offers me happiness and contentment. That gift surmounts any trinket that could be viewed as a memento of our love. He knows that but is overwhelmed by the need to please me with something expressing how he feels about me. His expansive loving smile that competes with the sun does that, and so do the hugs he proffers constantly.

At a time of year when the community around us is frantically shopping for gifts at Christmas time, my husband ponders what it is that he can present to me as a surprise and a gift for my birthday. There have been quite a few of those; gifts and birthdays. The gifts are redundant, the birthdays are not. But it excites and pleases him no end that we are in a position financially that he can look about and select something, usually a piece of jewellery, to surprise me with. From the time I was a little girl in a family struggling to surmount poverty, jewellery fascinated me. Now I have those things given me for my birthdays; a watch, a bracelet, a ring, a necklace. And so, I have many such items.

When he succeeds in finding something that he decides is appropriate to the occasion, the panic he feels subsides slightly, he is reassured that the deed is done. But he is functionally incapable of putting the item away for presentation on my birthday. And anxiety begins to build back up again; he has the gift, why not give it to me, his reasoning nags at him. And so, he does just that. It doesn't matter that I suggest I have no need for anything more, and not to bother. He usually turns a deaf ear to such recommendations in any event.

This time, he told me, he bought two items because he couldn't resist the impulse. So, he said, he was prepared to give me one of the items immediately and withhold the other for my birthday. That's what happened. Until a day later he said he could no longer stand the suspense and needed to give me the second item, long before my birthday. So that's what happened.

What else happens? He sets himself a target of creating a birthday card for me. They're usually large-format, painted in water-colour, depicting scenes of our lives at any given time, or of gardens and flowers, or of our little dogs, now that our children are grown and middle-aged. It is the resulting card that he props up on my bedside table the night before my birthday dawns that is the meaningful gift. One for each of my birthdays.

We decided after our earlier-than-usual ravine walk last Saturday to devote a few hours on a brief mission downtown at Byward Market. Usually we don't head out there on a week-end; long experience has taught us that this is one of the busiest tourism spots in Ottawa. But we reasoned it was a very cold day with a brisk wind and tourists wouldn't be around in abundance at all the cafes and restaurants there or ambling about on the streets usually stuffed with traffic. Not that it's only tourists, local Ottawans are drawn to the area since it's the place to be seen.

The drive to get there is always, for me, a major attraction. Often we see red foxes, wild turkeys, deer and rarely a coyote in some of the fields abutting the forests alongside the Eastern Parkway. The Parkway itself is not without attraction, sided by forest and some really lovely and old tree specimens. Even in inclement weather there are always hardy bicyclists and even runners using the highway or the road that runs alongside the Ottawa River.

The RCMP musical ride stables are located congruent to the highway as is the National Aeronautical Museum and alongside it, a small airstrip where light planes are mostly parked at this time of year. Occasionally as we drive by we see one of those light planes buzzing close overhead coming in for a landing. The windsock at the airstrip was horizontal. And the sky overhead that platinum-white that informs the onlooker that snow is in the offing.

There are giant Christmas wreaths on the gates of  the Governor General's residence. Softening somewhat the impression left by the appearance of the U.S. Embassy across from Byward Market, looming like a piece of brutal architecture resembling a nuclear reactor. In the distance, across  the Ottawa River, beginning its winter freeze-up there is the shore-sight of Gatineau, Quebec and it is close to that shoreline that fishing huts will begin to pop up on the eventually-frozen river for winter sport and entertainment.

In fact, when we exited our garage to begin the drive we went directly into a snow squall. Flurries had entertained us while in the ravine, but they picked up as the day wore on. And despite the heavy cloud cover, the occasional eruption from squall to flurry, the sun accompanied us on our journey, shining a diffused light through the clouds. The proximity of sun and clouds and snow made for a very interesting juxtaposition.

At the market the goal was to visit a number of shops; first off the magazine shop that sells newspapers and journals of all descriptions. The description my husband seeks out is art and antiques and there he has many to choose from among, but it is only two that always capture his interest, and they were in stock.

From there a street over to his favourite cheese shop which like the magazine shop sells cheese from a generous number of national and international sources equalling a wide choice of cheese types. And there are always some brands and some types on sale at mouth-watering prices, so away he came with a choice selection of cheeses. Then on to one of the fish emporiums and he was looking for smoked herring this time around. Nowhere else in the city can you find such an array, and he scored well there, too.

We had found a good place to park, not too distant a walk from his favourite sources. Because Jackie and Jillie had been so anxious over being left at home again we'd decided to take them with us since my husband was driving the truck and unlike the car whose motion seems to make them nauseous, they're perfectly fine in the truck. So of course I sat there with them while my husband did his shopping, me with my usual curiosity taking stock of people walking by in their various pursuits, and also reading the local newspaper to pass the time.