We lingered in bed this morning, in no hurry to rise. We tend to do that when  we wake to a heavily overcast morning, and this morning was certainly that. Jackie and Jillie were fine with it, they just cuddled closer to us, while we discussed the morning news between us. Glancing at our bedside clocks that had just a short while earlier informed us it was eight o'clock, we noted dark blanks instead of brightly-illuminated numerals telling time, as we moved our lazy bones out of bed. Unexpectedly, no electricity. We soon discovered that even the telephone land lines were out, when they're usually not during brief electricity lapses.

With no way of knowing how long we'd be without electricity (which didn't stop us from automatically flicking on light switches as we moved about the dark house), Irving put the fireplace on, to dispel a bit of the damp darkness. Then he went downstairs to the basement and returned with an oil lamp, and he retrieved old antique candelabra and candles (we can't even remember the last time we bought candles) and placed them in strategic spots in the kitchen.

 

He'd also brought up an old blue-metal camping coffeepot and a few cooking pots. Then he went out to the deck to turn on our direct-gas-fired barbecue. I had fed the pups and taken them out to the backyard briefly, and as we returned to the house rain began falling. That rain would eventually turn to hail, and then rain again. Good thing we have a metal canopy over the deck to cover the barbecue. We boiled water for tea and coffee and cooked up steel-cut oats for bowls of oatmeal for us.

Irving used a mortar-and-pestle on the coffee beans, since the electric grinder wasn't on duty. We had just enough light on this darkly overcast, windy morning to read the newspapers as we lingered over breakfast. Finally, at noon, on came the lights we  had flicked so expectantly when they weren't available.

 

With electricity returned I set about my usual Friday kitchen activities, among them making a bread dough to refrigerate for use on Sunday, and baking lemon-curd squares. Then it was time to take ourselves off for a romp through the forest trails. In the interim the sun had come out for a brief period before again departing. Since rain was forecasted for the afternoon and it was cold and blustery (we could hear the wind blasting down the chimney through the fireplace) we needed to bundle up against the cold and the potential for a rain squall while we were out, and that included rainjackets for Jackie and Jillie.

 

The amount of detritus, branches and bits and pieces of pine, and defunct tree parts that had come down last night and this morning in fierce wind blasts surprised us; the trail was littered heavily in some areas. And we noticed that the mad forest-trail raker had been out again at some point, feverishly plying her rakehead to the forest trails, piling up desiccated foliage closer to the interior and we just shook our heads in wonderment at the peculiarity of peoples' ideas of appropriateness. A forest, after all, is a forest.

 

We had come across the woman yesterday afternoon as she  was assiduously raking the initial long hill we descend from street level into the forest. A brief conversation ensued to no one's satisfaction. It is an odd anomaly to see anyone invested with the belief that forests should be tidy, neat places and with that conviction go about the tasks to achieve something not even remotely resembling a neat and tidy forest since nature is jealous of her sovereignty, and most sane people respect her for that.

Jackie and Jillie met some of their canine friends, long familiar with Jillie's loud welcoming barks that penetrate through the forest to other networked trails. They know that wherever Jillie is there will be cookies. And just as Irving hands out cookies to an appreciative doggie audience that responds to Jillie's invitation, Jillie knows who, among her friends' people-companions also carry cookies and she rushes over to them knowing they they are wont to dole those treats out to her.

 

Nature has gone off on a teasing tangent. Most of last week was so cold we wore hats and gloves along with our pre-winter-warm jackets. And Jackie and Jillie wore theirs, as well. Days when the wind whipped through the forest made it seem even colder than the 3C that it was. Three days ago torrential rain and wind consumed the day. Yesterday? Heavily overcast, morning rain as well as wind, but the temperature nudged up to 17C, a big difference from 3C. So no hat, no gloves, no warm, woolly jackets. Today built on yesterday's balmy atmosphere. 

 

Still overcast, yes, but occasional burst of sun forcing its way through the cloud cover, and warming the interior of the house. And the temperature rose to 20C, surely a record for November 6th! It was a tempestuous day in other ways, since the results of the American election were in and firmly established that Donald Trump has returned to the White House. He's so unpredictable it makes us wonder what kind of unexpected and possibly impetuous decisions he'll make in his first week back in office. But we'll have to wait for his January inauguration to find out anything like that.

 

Irving is still in the throes of cleaning  up his workshop of years of  accumulated detritus. He's always been like that; creatively constructive, but loathe to clean up afterward, and waste-wood and coloured glass had a tendency to pile up. He also likes to save things; anything he construes as having potential for hitherto-unimagined use is set aside for another day. And there are times when he'll find those bits and pieces useful; waste not, want not.

 

 

Yesterday I made an eggplant-cheese-tomato casserole. I'd place that in a once-again, now-and-again category, it's so good; wholesome and fragrantly delicious. Any dish that Irving will eat with gusto is a winner for me. This time, I took the  trouble to peel the eggplant before braising it in the oven. It's actually not a requirement, but he prefers it that way. The casserole is easily put together in three layers of tomato sauce, eggplant slices and cheese. It's a savoury dish that we both enjoy. And a good way to use up tomatoes. The sauce is simple enough; chopped garlic cloves and onion simmered in olive oil, chopped tomatoes and bell pepper added, and also a half-tin of prepared spaghetti sauce. The eggplant slices are sprinkled with a herb mixture and baked briefly in the oven on both sides beforehand.

 

 

Today's ramble through the ravine with Jackie and Jillie was pure pleasure. A gentle breeze augmented the warm atmosphere. There's hardly any foliage left on the trees, now. And the piles of leaves that descended to the forest floor have mostly lost their brilliant hues, turning grey and limp and crusty in turn. There's some squirrel activity; despite the unseasonable warmth, they know instinctively that it's time to gather what they can for their winter pantries.

 

When we returned home, I decided, given the opportunity, to haul out the wheelbarrow and use the bags of sheep manure and peat that we had stored, to enrich the garden beds and borders. The weather was perfect for it; the soil had been turned and I was hoping that using it as compost would further dissuade the neighbourhood squirrels from digging up any of the tulip bulbs I planted last week. Mind, I had poured a little bloodmeal/bonemeal into each of the cavities before depositing the bulbs, and I believe squirrels are adverse to bloodmeal. I did discover that some of the bulbs had been revealed, the soil covering them dug out, but the bulbs themselves were still sitting there, intact.

 

Just about everything has been done in preparation for snow flying in. And there's satisfaction in that; everything shipshape. And just to emphasize how prepared we are, Irving's friend who works as a mechanic for the RCMP and privately has a business where he comes to people's homes to change their vehicles' all-purpose tires to ice tires was by this afternoon to do just that, with ours. 

 

A relative rarity. A day when we're forced to bypass our daily hike through the forests with our puppies, by circumstances beyond our control. And certainly weather falls into that category. Not only do Jackie and Jillie balk at being outside in the rain, but when it rains non-stop, and heavily, when it's cold enough that there's a chance the rain might turn to snow, it's inordinately unpleasant to be out at such times. So we had to forego our walk.

In a sense, we shouldn't have minded, since Mondays are house-cleaning days for us. Irving does the vacuuming and leaves the rest to me. For the past several days he's also been busy down in his basement workshop, having finally decided that it was past time to clear away the waste wood that had accumulated with his many projects. So he was downstairs cutting up the wood that lay in waste piles, so he could finally clean up the floor there where his saws sit. 

 

 

As for me, I felt a little less time-stress while doing the cleaning, with the knowledge that there was no need to race through the dusting, mopping and floor-washing. Actually because I had 'extra' time I decided I'd just go ahead and do other cleaning chores that aren't done regularly. And that included using Swiffer hardwood-cleaning wet wipes meant to be installed on broomlike appliances, only I preferred doing it on my hands and knees.

 

And while I was at it, I thought I might as well wash the floors downstairs in the basement; the floor of the basement bathroom and the large one in the 'recreation' room. These are all past projects of Irving's, installing drywall, room separators, plumbing, electrical work, to create separate, dual-purpose rooms out of the large, open cellar, after we moved to this house 33 years ago. 

I like to plan on what I consider to be quick-and-easy meals not requiring a lot of preparation on days like that. So for yesterday I put a Cornish game hen on the menu, along with an egg-noodle-raisin pudding, and asparagus, with fresh blueberries for dessert. The game hen only needs to be brushed with olive oil, sprinkled with garlic powder and mixed herbs, and stuck in the oven to roast. The pudding just needs the noodles briefly cooked, then whipped up with eggs, pepper and raisins.

 

When we awoke this morning it was to more rain. Rain continued for a few hours, then we cheered when the sun broke through, but that lasted only an hour before the dense cloud cover returned us to darkness. On the positive side, the temperature rose from yesterday's 3C, to 15C today, and since it was humid, it felt quite comfortably warm. Warm enough that our pups were clad in light jackets and the same for us. It felt like such a relief to be out on the trails this afternoon. Jackie and Jillie were clearly delighted, spurred on by the delectable (?) odours wafting at them from the wet forest interior.

There were chickadees about, and a loud chorus albeit off in the distance of crows, and we speculated that they were in an uproar about the presence of an owl; that's what often draws attention to the presence of an owl perched high on trees in the forest canopy, when they're surrounded by indignant, hostile crows berating and harassing them.

We stopped briefly several times to chat with an occasional hiker whom we've become familiar with over the years, updating us on what's been happening with them, or around their community, and when we stood there we were certain that all the signals for a return of rain were present. But as it happened, despite the wind moving bruised clouds above us through the brooding sky, we were able to complete our circuit of the woods without the discomfort of a sudden rain squall. All to the good.

 

 

 

The blissfully warm weather of the last two days was too good to believe, and now that cooler seasonal weather has taken its place, it will join weather annals of whacky unusual records for time-of-year. We're back to putting little jackets on Jackie and Jillie and good heavy warm ones on ourselves. Last night's thunderstorms on Hallowe'en Eve, together with a whomping wind sent the unseasonable warm weather packing. It felt so good yesterday afternoon raking up the piles of leaves that had accumulated on the driveway and front walk. Although it was a trial filling compost bags with wind gusts blasting the leaf piles back to their original, unraked positions.

 

Earlier in the day today, I decided to bake a plum pie. Santa Rose plums, big, red and juicy were on sale when we did our Tuesday food shopping, so I took half of the ones packed into the plastic container, sliced them into a pot with sugar, cornstarch and a small amount of water and let them simmer while we had our breakfast. When I put the pie together and arranged a lattice top crust, I washed the crust with beaten egg and sprinkled sugar lightly over it for a nice, finished appearance before popping it into the oven. 

 

I also prepared a bread dough, which is becoming a ritual for Friday, although the dough won't be used until Saturday to form croissants, to serve with a vegetable soup. Routine that reflects these Autumn months of cooler weather and comfort foods. I used honey, grated sharp cheddar cheese, olive oil, sesame seeds and dehydrated milk, along with the egg left over from the pastry crust wash. And the croissants will be whole wheat-inspired. The dough will sit in a covered bowl in the refrigerator until it comes time to roll it out, shape and bake it tomorrow.

 

When we exit the house with the puppies now, our eyes linger regretfully on what was the garden, our summer pride. It's all prepared for winter onset. Perennials cut back, annuals yanked out to compost, soil emptied from the garden pots and urns. What had been the garden looks dull, wan, abandoned. But for several still-perky little rose shrubs, still putting out exquisite roses. Cutting them back will be the penultimate task to complete the garden tidying-up. After which I still have tulips to plant. Which will bring us lovely surprises come spring of 2025.

 

Our  hike through the forest was beyond pleasant, despite the cold and the wind whipping through our jackets. Water in the creek was surprisingly low, given the amount of rain that fell last evening and overnight. But the forest floor was good and wet. The dry conditions of the past week left the forest in fine shape to absorb the heavy rain that came pounding down last night.

 

We had some visitors during our trek through the trails. Old pals that make a streak directly for us to confront Irving, the Cookie Man. They approach hurriedly, then plunk themselves down quietly and expectantly before him to the great excitement of Jackie and Jillie. They score big when there's an occasional fumble from hand-to-mouth. They're so excited about  the cookies, they sometimes bite them in half as they hurriedly take possession, and the half that falls can't be retrieved by them; Jillie will have beaten them to it. 

We noted that where we had seen a pair of Pileated woodpeckers several days back, the big old poplar that had hosted them now boasts a large cavity. The much larger and older willow standing right beside the poplar evidently holds out no promise for the appetite of the woodpeckers looking for insect and grub infestations. 

 

Jackie and Jillie certainly have selective memories. It's Sunday and they know what's for breakfast. We're all creatures of habit and things fall into place in the sense that certain routines are expected to occur at certain times; it just makes life simpler. They were expecting their treat, one of their favourites. Jillie ate her breakfast this morning, but Jackie turned up his nose -- literally -- at his, although the kibble was made a little more enticing with bits of breakfast melon chopped into it, along with cooked chicken left over from Friday. 

 

He was holding out for pancakes and sausages. He leapt up on the settle in the breakfast room, craning his head around to the stove where I was flipping pancakes, awaiting his treat. His sister sat patiently at my feet, emitting that barely perceptible whine that she reserves for anxiously awaiting special edible treats. Finally after being presented with their treats, Jackie turned his attention to his breakfast and finished it off.

 

 

Today was supposed to be a more leisurely day of rest than yesterday proved to be. Sunny, windy and cold, it was a perfect day to work in the garden to complete winterizing it. Cutting back the last of the hostas, those beautiful plants that look after themselves all summer, but come fall get cut back so when spring eventually returns they're ready to begin growing anew. We've got so many hostas, many of them decades and decades old, and they're huge. It's quite a job winterizing them. Unlike the heucheras that often keep them company that need no attention.

 

The garden pots and urns needed to be emptied of the soil that annuals grew beautifully in all summer. Wheelbarrows full of good soil were taken to the backyard to be smoothed over the garden beds there. Come spring fresh composted soil will fill the pots and urns so that freshly-grown annuals will get a good start for their summer-long flowering.

 

 

Fall garden preparations mean that garden statuary, the urns and the garden pots need winter protection. The next step was to cover them all with a protective plastic sheeting secured by bunjies against snow, freezing and thawing, icy conditions and rampant wind. That was done today, and once it was completed, it was time to meet the weather. A cold day of 8C, sharp wind and heavily overcast; jackets in order for everyone, and off we went for a foray through the forest trails in the ravine.

 

 

The autumn colour has just about spent itself at this point. By early November -- just around the corner -- all the deciduous trees will have shed their foliage. There's very few leaves actually left on the maple, birch, poplar and willow trees, although the beech leaves are still clinging to the trees as are the oak and sumac. The beech leaves are a bright bronze, and the sumac foliage brilliant orange-reds.

 

 

Jackie and Jillie have a penchant for running far ahead of us, although they frequently look back to ensure we're still in sight, for the most part. We usually remove their leashes as soon as we enter the trailhead up the street from our house. Most days we pretty well have the trails to ourselves, but for the past few weeks, others within the larger community have been coming out for at least one tour of the fall woods. Those who avert their heads as they come abreast of other hikers and who cannot extend an acknowledgement of the presence of others don't add much to the experience of a shared appreciation of nature.

 

 

 

To the present, this has been so far, an  unusual, although not entirely rare fall for the balmy weather we've been enjoying. Ample sun, wind and rain and temperatures oddly mild for this time of year. The temperature does drop overnight, flirting with frost, but hard frosts though on the way, haven't yet arrived.

 

 

Usually it's winter that is loathe to leave and this time it's summer, with fall struggling to assert itself. Still, each day we go out into the ravine we can see subtle changes. And lately, the acrid fragrance of drying leaves, that smell that brings back youth memories making us nostalgic over this season, has begun.

 

The last few days have been a little cooler than the low 20Cs we've become accustomed to this early fall, with a bit of a chill wind rustling through the leaves, bringing down a steady rain of pine needles, along with yellow poplar leaves and bright red maple leaves to clutter the forest floor. Soon it will take on the aspect of bright confetti.

 

The leaves are beginning to pile up though and already it's hard to see the partridgeberry that clings to the forest floor. The late wildflowers like asters are still around, though a bit wan, but gone are the fleabane, the Himalayan orchids, the goldenrod and the coneflowers along the banks of the creek and the trails mounting the hillsides.

 

From early to mid-October is the time I usually disassemble the garden, and it takes many days to prepare everything for the arrival of November, then December, when snow begins to cover the landscape. I've taken down the vines, cut back some of the perennials, the hydrangeas, black-eyed Susans and peonies, and now it's time to do the same with our many hostas sprinkled throughout the backyard garden and the extensive ones in the front garden; even the rock garden and shade garden at opposite sides of the house have to be trimmed.

 

I began on Wednesday of this week, and  continued today, taking several hours each of those days to begin the process. Today I also cut back our backyard Magnolia tree which has taken to hanging over one of our stone benches. The older climbing roses are no longer producing blooms and they've been cut back, but the shrubs that produce tiny clusters of roses are thriving, sending out beautiful little blooms.

 

I meant to continue a little longer tidying up and bringing fall order to the gardens, but suddenly it began to rain. And soon after I went into the house after putting away all the garden tools I was using and leaving the large compost bags that will be put out for pick-up tomorrow in the garden shed, thunder began. So we're getting a thunderstorm! Relieving me of the need to water the still-flourishing garden pots.

 

Although it's early yet seasonally speaking of fall, I like to get ahead of cleaning up the garden for its winter rest, because it is such a huge job. Which means I take an hour or so several times a week at this point to get into the garden and begin tidying up perennials and shrubs. Cutting them back necessarily means there will be gaps in the garden, blank spots, where I'm accustomed to seeing various plants nudging one another, but it can't be helped.

 

I am glad to see the Hibiscus tree beginning to rebloom. The presence of its large flat-frilly flowers can even be seen from the front door when I look out morning, noon and night through the glass window of the front door. And the giant dahlias that I'd planted in the spring are continuing to produce huge flowers of their own, their bright orange petals almost luminous at dusk. We've so many garden pots and urns planted with annuals that have to be composted, that too will take a while to get through.

The most time-consuming task is cutting back the lilies and the hostas since we have so many of them. Yesterday I began carefully cutting back the foliage of the tree peonies, far fussier than ordinary peonies since the next year's buds already form in the fall and mustn't be snipped off inadvertently else their large, lush blooms will be absent come spring.

 

As predicted, our warm dry spell has come to a close, and cooler weather has arrived, along with rain. Yesterday's rain came down in sporadic and gentle sprinkles so that when we took Jackie and Jillie out for our usual trek through the forest trails they wore light raincoats. Different story today when the sky's cloud-drenched spigots opened fully and drenching rain was the order of the day. A day that calls out for just relaxing. We did that, but by 2:00 in the afternoon the puppies were restless and so were we.

 

Rain had begun some time during the early night-time hours and continued steadily. There was barely any light to penetrate the bedroom when dawn arrived. And nor did the house interior get any lighter through the morning hours. When the sky is heavy with dark clouds spilling their watery load the outdoors is dark and consequently so is the indoors. It's when we most appreciate the beautiful, bright colourful stained glass windows Irving designed and produced so many years ago. 

 

Finally, we'd had enough of waiting for the rain to pause. On went heavier rainjackets for all of us against the cooler temperature and off we went, in a steady rain. Although the forest interior was steeped in the kind of dusk one normally expects as the day wears into evening and during periods of rain, it is ameliorated by the vegetation being liberally lacquered with water that catches even faint ambient light. The bright red haws of hawthorn trees and the red berries of American bittersweet stand out against the rain-varnished bright green of the forest.

 

We trod the uphill and downhill forest trails with necessary caution, avoiding networks of tree roots since they tend to be slippery when they're wet, as do the trails themselves when the Leda clay of the forest floor becomes inundated. The furious sound of the creek lapping over rocks had no competition from birdsong this afternoon. But we were momentarily taken unaware as we began backtracking alongside the creek, when our presence obviously disturbed a Great Blue Heron, and the bird rose quickly and majestically, its large wings widespread and casually flapping, out of the water as it rapidly gained height and sight of it was quickly lost as it faded into the tree canopy.

 

 Jackie and Jillie trotted ahead as usual, a little faster than usual, though, as if they were contemplating the warm dry albeit darkened household interior as a reward on our return home, and the fresh-cut salad they anticipate after every walk as their special daily treat.