We are never quite prepared for the onset of winter. Yes, we're well aware of its inevitability, and take note of the passage of time made manifest by the visual, physical alterations in our environment, from the macro: shorter daylight hours -- sharper-cooling night-time temperatures -- to the micro-indications of less light and warmth impacting on all growing things, we prepare ourselves psychologically, yet the physical impact surprises us.

It's hard to become accustomed yet again to the need to pull on cold-weather clothing in protection against the cold. And when we waken to the reality of roofs covered with thick frost layers and foliage spontaneously dropping, as they do from our weeping mulberries all in one fell swoop, and the Morning Glory vines that hadn't been yet taken down wilting to death along with the tomato vines, we know that winter is on the cusp of our landscape's threshhold.

The garden looks bleak and abandoned by everything that maintained it through the growing months; the breeze that had ruffled the foliage during summer has turned into a wintry blast, in lock-step with the cold that erupted far earlier than the calendar usually prepares us for. That, throughout the course of the last few days, precipitation dropped in the form of snow squalls rather than rain was of little comfort to gardeners mourning the passing of the growing season.

We came across a highly unusual number of people in the ravine yesterday. One lovely man whom we haven't seen in a while was walking his beautifully mannered standard poodle; everyone is interested in our little black puppies who three days ago turned a full year of age. There was a reason we haven't seen much of him lately, he explained. He was separated now from his wife. While he lives now a bit of a distance he returns on occasion to see the dog, and walk him. He was concerned that their son in his late teens is interested in a career that would keep him busy in commercial kitchens. We told him that one of my cousins' sons had aspired at the same age to be a cook, and now approaching 60, he looks back on a long and satisfying career in that field. Hoping that this would reassure him.

Another group we came across was a young man with a tiny girl holding the leash of an even tinier dog. The child was in full command; confidently self-assured, and happily capable of verbally communicating in a way that much older children are incapable of. Her character, even at barely four years of age, was there for anyone to read and to admire. Another separated family, with the father living on the Quebec side and visiting his one-time family to ensure that the ties that bind remained securely in place.

Jack and Jill approach each encounter with other dogs with a vast appetite for challenging them, Jillie in particular barking furiously, and Jackie strenuously pulling ahead. Once they're in close proximity the little oafs shrink back with anxiety until they're confident that no harm will come to them as they evaluate the other dogs' intentions in the way that canines communicate. They certainly had ample opportunity yesterday to practise their social skills. They've a long way to go yet.