Like his wife, he has rheumatoid arthritis. Unlike his wife he refused to avoid pain and discomfort. While she succumbed to the occasional use of a wheelchair, then became increasingly reliant on it to avoid growing pain. He, on the other hand refused to allow pain to get the upper hand over him. He convinced himself he would ward off the debilitating effects of his condition by not recognizing his own physical misery to allow it to get the better of him. So he pushed himself daily, regardless of the weather, out into the woods, as though punishing himself for a disability his gathering age and genetic inheritance threw at him.

We would see him often, a frail looking man with a friendly smile, always prepared to expand eloquently on his health and that of his wife, and how she was completely physically reliant on him to provide 24-hour care. He had had their bathroom remodelled to make it wheelchair-accessible, and installed lifts to enable him to cope with her growing weight, to get her into the bathtub, and on the toilet. He did all this cheerfully, considering it no less than his loving obligation to his lifelong partner in marriage, child-raising and mutual dependence.

Some relief was afforded him daily with the arrival for a few hours of a nursing assistant, enabling him to take the time off required for him to embark on his daily ravine excursion. He was mindful always of the time, anxious not to overstay himself, and this resulted in his hurried, harried approach to the venture, moving as swiftly as he was capable of, to cover as great a distance as he could manage. It was his life-therapy.

We always think of him as being fairly gnomish, at least in appearance. Originally from Switzerland, now a Canadian citizen, he enjoys speaking of international affairs and bemoans the oafishness of new youth wherever they happen to live. His colour choice is unvarying is red-and-white, perhaps reflective of both the Swiss and the Canadian flags, both red-and-white. White is for the glaring white cotton shirt he wears, summer and winter. Red is for the lightly lined jacket he wears over it, along with a red toque. It never ceases to amaze us that such a light-bodied person could remain warm enough to counter the effects of winter conditions, wearing just a light jacket suitable, in our opinion, for early fall. Red is also the colour on his otherwise pale face, when during his energetic and far more strenuous walking stride than our own, his nose and his cheeks turn flaming red from exertion.

We haven't seen him for months, not once during the winter, and nor had we seen him during the late fall months. We knew he was in increasing pain and was awaiting a hip replacement. And we theorized that this is just what had occurred; he'd finally had the surgery and was undergoing post-surgical therapy. And then, a few days ago, there he was, the familiar, slight figure, a walking pole in either hand, striding along the snow in our snow-laden forested ravine. Wide grin on his face, he said he'd been out and about for a week, following his November surgery and subsequent recovery.

Delighted no end to be walking again without pain.