There is nowhere quite like the Ottawa Valley for roller-coaster weather. If there are patterns in seasonal weather they appear to have bypassed this area. The unexpected should always be expected. Benign warmth and sun one day to be turfed the next when without any hesitation on the part of nature we become the recipients of the direct opposite.

Two nights ago the temperature steadily rose to 7C, overnight nice and balmy. Before that happened we'd had what appeared to be a firm dusting of snow that could or perhaps not become the initial base for the snowpack that would develop over the succeeding months of winter. We should know better. The ground that had been so firmly penetrated by frost returned to its pre-frost state of muck in the forest.

And while we had wandered in a delight of winter whiteness the day before, it had disappeared almost completely by the time we re-entered the forest for our daily ramble the following day. Gone, the pristine whiteness covering all the rude and usual leftovers of a community of dogs wandering about freely in the woods. Gone the light blanket of crystals shimmering atop the mass of fall foliage resting on the forest floor.

There was ample sun, however, to light the again-revealed leaf mass and it was a delight to see that it still retained some vestiges of the ornamental colour that makes fall such a glorious landscape, brief and unforgettably colourful, though photos certainly help in that department. We become so swiftly immersed in succeeding landscapes we have a tendency to forget what had gone before. And perhaps that's just as well, since that 'forgetfulness' leads to fresh amazement on our part whenever the scene shifts, gifting our eyes with fresh and new portraits of the natural world in flux.

It hardly matters the season, our two little dogs take it all in stride. As long as we're out there, ambling about, observing, swinging our legs and arms in the freedom of the moment.

Whereas the day before we had encountered barely anyone during our hour-and-a-half walk in the woods, the following day -- yesterday -- we came across quite a few people out walking their dogs. The difference, we assume as we usually do, was the temperature; Monday's -7C and whipping winds despite some sun, as opposed to yesterday's relatively balmy -2C and scant wind, detained many from embarking on a forest trail adventure.

Apart from a few people we often see yesterday we came abreast several others we see only intermittently. Just the day before, Sheila had informed us that they'd seen an orthopedic surgeon who evaluated her husband's spine, discovering serious irregularities in three disks one of which was crushing a nerve and responsible for the excruciating pain he had been suffering for the past five months. Now he is scheduled for his fifth surgery in a two-year span; one concerning a dislocated shoulder, two a shunt from his brain to his abdomen relieving water pressure on his brain and another for a hernia. As a testament to the urgency of the situation he is scheduled for December 7 surgery, a mere two weeks following the initial appointment. His past as a special-unit RCMP officer and his dedication to extreme sport has caught up with him. An Iron Man competition he had attended in Florida this past summer caused his latest bout with the mechanics of physical health.

Along with the people we encountered Tuesday there was the usual doggy contingent. Another young man we hadn't seen in ages with his golden retriever, an excitable young dog that usually leaps on people as he did me while I was clambering uphill, setting me off-balance and completely turning me around, but not down. This fellow usually assumes a gloomy mien and it occupied space on his face yesterday. He had pronation problems due to a bone spur in one of his feet that has kept him out of the ravine.

These are all people whose acquaintance we have made over the years through encounters solely in the ravine, on our daily walks. People tend to unburden themselves to others whom they feel will listen to them and silently empathize. That's telling; people need to speak with someone, sometimes anyone who will listen to their concerns and the opportunity to do that, to find people who will listen to others unburdening themselves of fears seems to be generally missing in society.

Our friend who wears a pacemaker resulting from heart failure was out yesterday, another whom we haven't seen in ages; sporadically since his wonderful German shepherd female suddenly died months ago. He still comes out regularly but not as frequently as he had, missing yet 'seeing' her in their old familiar haunts. His own heart found it just too difficult to keep supplying this huge specimen of a man with a regular blood flow to his organs and his extremities; the burden simply exhausted its capacities. Now he strides about with far more ease, his concern over his heart condition eased but his yearning for his dog constant.

Finally, just minutes before we had completed our circuit, we came across another rarely-encountered man, two-thirds our own age, who is contemplating the retirement years ahead and though he has several years to go yet before retiring, he informed us he has decided with his wife that they would sell their house, buy a little cottage on a lake, acquire a boat and set off from time to time on ambitious trips sailing around the Caribbean. His wife, he said, is an accomplished sailor and he would learn from her.

Alongside him was his large, black, long-haired dog, a mysterious mix of breeds with a quiet disposition in whom the hunting instinct remains intact. She runs off constantly in all directions, and our two follow her usually a short distance as she leaps and bounds after squirrels easily outdistancing her. Before long, as we stood talking together, we were alerted to something more unusual. She had routed a fox, and it was energetically spurting before the dog. From where we stood we just happened to have unusually good sightlines and were able to see the fox race along the trail, the dog in hot pursuit. We felt, watching the spectacle, that the fox wasn't really making all that much of an effort to escape.

Our friend whistled and called for his dog, but she ignored him, and he sighed. He explained to us that this was likely a young fox they'd encountered on previous occasions, and once when his dog actually came abreast of the fox, she simply tumbled it over, evidently more interested in playing than preying. We fervently hoped that to be the case.

By the time I finished cleaning the house yesterday (awful Mondays; just kidding, I don't mind cleaning at all) it was already past three in the afternoon, which would make for a fairly late ravine walk. In the summer months three is early as far as daylight hours are concerned. At this time of year and for the following four months setting out so late guarantees that dusk will be entering the forest by the time we've almost completed our circuit.

Which is fine, actually, because it's pleasurable seeing the forest tinted in shades of darker colour as it fades into the darkness of the interior because it's also the time when the forest it backlit by spectacular shades of bright pastel colours like pinks and oranges streaking across the sky if the sun is setting, and if it's overcast, those colours are still there, but fainter and colouring the entire sky.

In years past when we used to take our daily ravine walks after or just before dinner, in the dark, it was never really dark in the woods. On overcast days in particular, light bouncing off the city into the atmosphere would cast bright shades of pink and mauve into the forest below, lighting it beautifully, transforming it into a wonderland of brightness as clear as day.

We'd had fresh snow come down overnight on Sunday and through Monday's early morning hours, so the aspect that greeted our eyes on entering the ravine was once again bright white, bare boughs and trunks limned in new snow, creating yet another spectacularly beautiful landscape. And although it was windy up at street level, the wind barely penetrated the ravined forest, and we were grateful for that, since at minus-7C, it was cold enough.

When it's that cold, in fact, it is right on the cusp of what Jackie and Jillie's little paws can tolerate. We're happy not to have to pull Muttluks over their little feet and up their legs, though they tolerate them, as well. It's the inconvenience and the patience it takes to get them on, the initial reaction of the puzzled little dogs, until memory reminds them they've been through this before, and they accept the situation.

That (to them) intelligible messages about which dogs of their acquaintance had been out that day, leaving their inevitable territorial markings.

having been said, yesterday's woodland ramble didn't necessitate their use. They seemed comfortable enough in their winter coats, nimbly rushing about on the trails, eager to transcribe all the smells that captivated their interest into

By the time we exited to clamber the last long hill giving out to the street we live on, darkness was steadily descending, the moon was fully lit, the street looked peaceful, but the Christmas lights adorning most peoples' home exteriors were not yet blazing as they would be, moments later.

Amazing, here I am, approaching 81 years of age. Another month and that respectable age will have been reached. And how fortunate I have been. Sheltered from the kind of world I might have inhabited by virtue of the fact that I was not born in Europe. My parents were. My good fortune was that they emigrated from Poland and the Pale of Russia, from the small villages that were once a foothold for Jewish existence in the great diaspora, to arrive in North America.

My father, through the philanthropic venture of Warsaw Jews scooping up orphans off the street and booking passage for them as indentured servants in Canada where the youngsters paid off their passage through hard farm work and then were freed to find a new life for themselves in this country that would give them haven as they matured and became witness to the Holocaust from afar.

My mother, in the wake of her family home having been bombed by White Russian forces, killing her father, older brother, injuring her older sister with shrapnel and herself receiving a lighter shrapnel wound affecting one eye. 

I recognized my husband, when we first met at age 14. I had seen him before, in my dreams. I'm not a mystic. I don't subscribe to any belief in what is called the para-normal, and my husband scoffs at the very idea of my having somehow become aware of his existence through dreams. But when we met neither of us could have known that another kind of dream would be fulfilled. That of lifelong companionship, a deep love and dependency on one another's very existence.

There is nothing we haven't shared in life's experiences, some of it painful most of it wonderful and all of it a necessary exposure to human existence. Without him, I feel in the very core of my existence, I am nothing. It is not simply that my life has been enriched with him, but that my life has meaning, substance and value alongside his.

I will never cease being impressed at the wide scope of his mind, his imagination, his capability, his understanding, his kindness, his humour. When we were children together we were inseparable. When we became adults together we knew of a certainty that our bond, both psychological and physical would know no limits.

Not often that we miss a stroll out in the woods, but yesterday was that day. Overnight rain combined with ongoing rain until mid-afternoon kept us in. When the temperature is so close to freezing, the protective tree canopy is gone and rain is steady, it just makes no good sense to get out there with two little dogs. We could keep reasonably dry, but they wouldn't, even with doggy gear -- and their size makes them vulnerable to rain and cold penetrating their heat reserves.

So we made do with their romping about madly in the house, while they were in the process of drying off after a long-overdue bath. What they missed yesterday in  rushing about the ravine they made up for today. Yesterday's morose, dark and rainy weather succumbed to nature's blandishment to her elements to behave this day, so we had a full morning and early afternoon of sunshine. Wind and cold thrown in for good measure.

Which also made the trails less muddy due to the return of ground frost, with colder temperatures than Friday. We had he ravine fairly well to ourselves other than for one lovely woman we come across occasionally enjoying the woodland atmosphere and a younger couple for whom regular ravine walks represent more of a premium paid on future health outcomes -- a useful and worthwhile measure -- than born of an appreciation of their surroundings. No meanderings on their part, but a businesslike forging ahead.

A light dusting of snow lay on the ground with more on schedule. And though it was still fairly early afternoon, at 2:30 p.m., the sun was already positioning itself to setting in another hour and a half. Little wonder we feel at this time of year short-changed on light thanks to diminishing days and elongated nights.

It wasn't his intention to hang around to see what comes next. He knew what was in store. He'd followed me upstairs as usual, and so did his sister. As usual. Everything seemed normal up until the point where I changed into a familiar outfit used only for one thing, and then hauled the vacuum cleaner downstairs. That's when he made himself scarce.

I hadn't intended when I planned what to do this morning, to groom them. But they looked a little wild and dishevelled, which is in fact their normal state of appearance.  Aside from that it was time for them to be bathed. It's been too long between baths for the two little imps. The bathing part doesn't bother Jackie, it's the hair-snipping that he finds so damnably aggravating.

I thought that since we'd be bathing them I might just as well give them haircuts too. Yesterday during our ravine walk they got really dirty. The day before it had been cold, the ground was frozen and the trails icy. But yesterday saw a new front enter the atmosphere and it was much milder albeit windy. The trails that had been so treacherous the days previous were now free of ice and had become muck-paths. And when we got home it took some time before we were satisfied our two puppies had been sufficiently cleansed of wet clay, sand and bits of woody detritus.

It was definitely bath time, I'd put it off for long enough. First, the adventure of haircuts, one after the other, the assembling of brushes, various-sized scissors, bag, vacuum, and patience. Jilly  is fairly good about girding herself to be insulted and assaulted though she doesn't enjoy the process. She's amenable to good behaviour on this distinct kind of occasion. And while I cut her hair Jackie was nowhere to be seen; still, quiet, hoping I'd forget about him.

But his turn came about and before I was completely finished with Jillie, there he was, gritting his teeth and offering himself. And so, I set about performing the ritual on his haircoat that I had just completed on his sister's. He, usually anxious to please, was not resigned to doing so on this occasion. But eventually the evil deed was done, and both scampered about happily, relieved to have survived.

And then Jackie saw me assembling their towels, go upstairs and before I even entered the bathroom to begin filling the tub, he was wild with excitement, yipping and yowling. This time he was first in the tub. Although he loves the warm bathtub water and the soft-soap doggy scrub, he is quiet, compliant and solemn about it all. Deed completed, I hand him over to my husband who has the time-consuming chore of drying-off, and it seems to take forever, and countless towels, small as those two little pups are.

Jillie

Jilly hides this time, then rolls over on her back submissively for a tummy-rub before I haul her off to the bathroom. As soon as Jackie sees me carrying Jillie while he's still being dried off, he begins to sorrow and weep and heart-breaking pleas are emitted from his little mouth. Jealous? Who knows! This commotion continues all the while I'm bathing his sister, and he leaps continually to the side of the bathtub as though he means to join her there, until he's removed from the room.

When they're finally both dried, they go berserk, leaping onto one another, ripping through the house, boxing, wrestling, with Jackie audibly articulating his satisfaction that they are both free of the inconvenience of too much attention and care on our part.  Our strange and mysterious assaults on their dignity will never cease being a source of puzzlement to them. 

Jackie

                                                                                                              

Ours is a bread-loving family. Bread in all its many forms baked as a staple in countries all over the world isn't called 'the staff of life' for no reason. It's not just its portability as a food in parts of the world where that is a plus, given that carbohydrates and proteins as so vital to the human diet, but its appeal is universal; when people are hungry they think of bread. Bread and salt were once considered the basic necessities of survival in a hungry planet.

My husband recalls fondly yeast-raised coffee cakes his mother used to bake. Friday night baking, he remembers, was a fun occasion when his mother cooked and baked with another woman, in a practise that became a comforting tradition; they lived upstairs, the other family downstairs. They brought with them recipes from Eastern Europe to North America. As did my own mother and her sisters. My mother's older sister was a practised and perfect cook and baker, unlike my mother for whom everything seemed to turn out lumpy, dry and overbaked.

Our daughter and our younger son can bake bread effortlessly. Our older son's wife can too, as she is the most capable and knowledgeable-about-everything woman I've ever met, but she turned her creativity toward theology and empathy, not much one for domestic affairs. My husband, years ago bought a bread-making machine and he was fascinated with the technique of piling in ingredients and allowing the machine to take over.

In my 62-year kitchen experience I liked to experiment with various types of yeast-raised bread doughs. Baking breads, rolls, and pastries of various types. Producing a yeast dough is amazingly simple; the ingredients themselves simple, though they can be alternated in any number of ways with replacement ingredients or ingredients that add a special character to the resulting dough. Pizza, which is so resoundingly popular universally, is a snap to produce, the dough requiring only yeast, sugar, water, salt and flour; a bit of olive oil. There's the dough, work with it, topping it with the ingredients of your choice.

I read a feature article in last weekend's newspaper on bread and found it quite interesting. I don't keep up with trends, simply not interested. So I'd heard of breads like ciabatta, knew of the popularity of wood-fired ovens, and artisanal breads boasting to be replications of authentic period breads that grab peoples' imaginations for superiority over current bread products. And if one instantly thinks of rough, dark 'peasant' bread (think Heidi) as opposed to the softly marshmallow texture and limpness of white sandwich bread the impression left is that the bread of the past was vastly superior.

Then that was punctured by the former chief technology officer of Microsoft, Nathan Myhrvold, researching bread, its manufacture, reputation and origins and publishing a six-volume set titled Modernist Cuisine, with co-author chef Francisco Migoya whose 2,438 pages and $625 pricetag didn't stop it from becoming a runaway best-seller among food cognoscenti. They pricked the fiction of authentic early period breads being superior to what can be produced today (definitely not the cotton-batten sandwich bread of today) with superior ingredients and ovens maintaining a constant temperature and more knowledgeable techniques.

Interesting how suggestible human nature is. Interesting how vital to our existence simple ingredients with their chemical and nutritional properties mated properly satisfy our most basic needs.

Finally, winter preparation tasks are mostly completed. Yesterday morning because of the plentiful rain the night before, most of the snow acquired two days earlier in the first snowfall of the season melted. We were awaiting an opportunity when a milder temperature day would come along to melt the snow but the rain and milder overnight temperatures did the trick.

And so my husband, using his handy little 'truck' was able to move those large ceramic garden pots, to assemble them all for winter storage. They used to be tucked under the deck in the back, but since most of the large pots belong in the front we decided it made more sense to position them in an area of the garden that wouldn't interfere with snow-shovelling the walks in the winter. Once assembled, they were covered with a tarp.

And now, when we look out the front door first thing in the morning at what was once a vibrant, brilliantly-coloured and multi-textured garden, we see a bleak, dark landscape instead. Architecture and texture gone, colour disappeared. The garden has retreated for the next too-long months deprived of its presence.

When the snow had come down overnight Sunday and we were greeted with a white landscape the following morning, there was a flurry of activity; digging out hats and gloves, hauling winter boots upstairs from basement storage, looking for accoutrements that had been set aside once winter was over last year, and exchanging the light rugs at the door entrances for heavy, waterproof and much larger floor coverings that will remain in place throughout the winter.

Then, an appointment to have the truck sprayed with oil to prevent salt-dusted icy road spray from rusting the body; it works like a charm. Several days earlier my husband left the truck at the Canadian Tire garage to have the ice tires put on, something he was finally prevailed upon to surrender. He had done it himself last spring as he usually does, removing the ice tires and replacing them with the all-weather tires. An oil change as well, something he also used to do himself. It's a 20-minute walk back home, and then he waits for a telephone call that the job has been completed, and walks back to pick up the truck. Except that at this time of year there is such a demand for those services it took a full day before the overworked technicians could get to the truck.

And then it was off to the ravine for our daily stroll in the woods with Jackie and Jillie. Again, we came across plenty of walkers and their dogs. This time everyone was proceeding with caution. Some sensible enough to have realized before setting out that the trails would reflect the night's rain and a subsequent drop in temperature to transform many of the trails, particularly on the slopes, into icy tracks.

We both did plenty of slipping ourselves, and took to the margins of the trails where constant foot traffic hadn't worked the snowy surface into an ice rink. The sun did come out a few times despite which the ambient temperature felt much colder than the minus-2C it was supposed to be because of course, the wind-chill factor makes it seem much colder the wind allowing it to penetrate cuttingly, and it was certainly windy.

That bit of carping aside, it was still great to be out, and truth to tell, though the trees are bare but for the conifers, nothing truly detracts from the beauty and the serene atmosphere of a forested landscape.

We left yesterday earlier than usual for our ravine jaunt in the forest. The temperature was supposed to nudge up to four degrees, but when we left it was  just at freezing, but we'd left early because my husband had an appointment to take his truck in to have it oil-winterized, that underspray oil coating that makes the metal resistant to rust caused by salt sprayed on the region's winter-icy roads. He has this done every year and we've never had a rust problem as a result.

Though we meant to have a pretty quick walk, that isn't the way it turned out.  There were so many people out with their dogs, and it's just not possible to come abreast, utter a greeting and move on. People want to stand about a little and discuss all manner of things, from the most mundane to the only slightly pedestrian.

Besides which, the interests of the dogs really can't be ignored; after they greet one another they too have much to impart one to the other. Sometimes it's carried out by action through a chase sequence, sometimes by companionably finding irresistible twigs to gnaw on side-by-side.

Yesterday we saw Benji again, happily making the most of the fast-shrinking snow. Two little pugs came along as well and as we stood talking there was a general melee of greetings and rompings-about.

Later on we saw another person whom we see only occasionally though we've known him for years, and his dog, a German wire-haired Pointer with such a graceful comportment, nature having granted him as well the most precise and astonishing coat patterning, he's a pleasure to watch as, from an excess of joy, he raced madly back and forth along the trails, this time Jillie accompanying him, while Jackie held back.

Finally, we came across Jasper again, this time being walked by the woman whose adult children we always so admire. She used to work for a Swiss chocolatier, she is German or Swiss-accented and is another of those really sweet-natured people, her son and daughter amazing copies of her. With all that positivity it's little wonder that Jasper too is a laid-back, friendly dog who never fails to recognize us, trotting over with the confidence that his greeting will be reciprocated.

There was wind, it wasn't as icy as the last week or so, and because the temperature had moderated somewhat, the trails, particularly on the uphill and reverse, weren't as slippery with ice as they had been. The sun came out occasionally illuminating the forest and creating a brilliant backdrop for the naked canopy, a striking scene notable only at this time of year.

We didn't ask why the name Buddy, one of the most common of all dogs' names by their fond owners, but an answer to a question that was never uttered informed us that Buddy's name reflects that this is her husband's buddy. Who would like to, but cannot, take their dog out himself for walks, although he has, she said further, managed to lose 50 pounds. But he still experiences great difficulty getting around.

Before yesterday, though we first met the relatively short, rotund woman with the flaming red pageboy and Buddy a year or so ago during one of our ravine romps and have since come across her numerous times stopping for friendly but short chats, we had no idea that she was, in her working life, employed as a prison guard. As was her husband. When they hire guards, she told us, they prefer large, heavy people, the better to intimidate the inmates into a state of compliance, evidently.

For some strange reason, we ended up walking most of our trail hike through the ravine yesterday with this pleasant enough woman who speaks in a confident, clipped manner. From her we learned how irksome a job as a prison guard can be, albeit very well paid, she said. That eight-hour shifts are the usual but they can be stretched into double shifts of 16 hours and even, most unusually, but it does happen, a full 24 hours. Classified as governmental essential workers most labour laws regarding hours of work don't apply to them.

She had once done a double shift enabling a younger woman to have the time she needed to attend her own wedding shower, by taking her shift. She and her husband are both retired now though, and happy enough to leave the atmosphere of a federal prison. Buddy was adopted by them after retirement, a rescue dog. He's calm and confident himself and perhaps even knows how fortunate he is to have been taken by someone who respects her responsibility to give such a large dog ample opportunity to move freely about in a forest.

It was late by the time we got out for our usual daily ravine walk. Took me awhile to clean the house, the usual Monday schedule. And then some pre-preparations for dinner before we left. Guaranteeing that we'd be out and about as the sky gifted us with some glorious heavenly landscapes, stark trees silhouetted against a partially overcast sky, the horizon rimmed with bright orange-yellow, the sun beginning to set.

Jackie and Jillie didn't mind browsing about off trail, along with Buddy. We do ourselves prefer to enjoy our walks in each other's company, but occasionally it does happen that someone joins us, usually for a brief period of time as we chat while hiking, more rarely as on yesterday's occasion, during most of our hour-plus on the trails. If they're younger than us with more energy than we can muster and tend to move quicker than us, it makes sense that we tell them it's best they forge on ahead in respect of our slower gait.

On this occasion that quasi-pretense wouldn't work.

Are we ever prepared for winter onset? We're certainly conflicted by it. When we see the first snowfall, we gasp in admiration at its crystal white cleanliness shielding our eyes from anything in the landscape that so badly required a pristine blanket of purity. In late fall when our eyes are greeted on overcast days with a mute appeal to nature to lighten the mood of monochromatic greys and blacks we yearn for snow to fall.

And then, when an overnight snowfall succeeds in laying a soft coverlet of fluffy white crystals over the landscape, we awake to a world reborn. As we did yesterday morning. And though the sky was pewter-grey, it was also silvery and beautiful lofted above a landscape of shining white, snow everywhere, covering trees, rooftops, gardens and roadways.

And when we ventured into the forest, where the gloom of the day before, aligned with damp cold and wind kept people from the trails almost bare of hardy hikers, on this snow-laden day the trails were flocked by happy dogs and their human walkers. We came across good-natured, lumpy-large Benji, delighted as always to be out, and as a mountain dog whose genes are most comfortable in snow, led him to flop into the as-yet sparse covering, his body soaking up its cool pleasure.

Dogs, all dogs, seem to recall their love affair with snow year-to-year, so that when it finally returns they recognize its presence and revel in it. Something about early snow, light snow, loose and powdery, lifting into the air during their romps, entrances dogs. It incites them to episodes of manic mobility sending them racing down the trails, back up again and return and repeat. Jackie in particular surrenders to this urge to race the trails halting momentarily to entice Jillie to join in, and she does briefly, then settles back to watch her brother.

The landscape is entrancing, and though we have its beauty etched in our own memories, our appreciation for the sight of newfallen snow burying the desiccated colour-leached fall, each time it is first introduced with the coming of winter, it takes our breath away.

These last few weeks when we're hiking through the forest trails, there's an indelible crunch beneath our boots as we break the unseen ice lingering under and throughout the forest floor buried in the season's burden of desiccating foliage, an almost uniform colour of beige, with variations tinged with yellow and orange if you look closely enough. But not where poplars predominate; when their leaves were freshly fallen they were an absolute delight of mellow yellow and streaks of pink here and there. When they deteriorate with age and begin their crumbling stage the mass of poplar foliage turns an unpleasant uniform grey, and looking closely enough at that, there are streaks of darker grey, black.

The crunch our boots make represents the turning point between mid-fall and late-fall and the imminent arrival of snow. There was snow predicted to fall yesterday when we were out, but it failed to materialize. Instead the precipitation descended as freezing rain. Because the ice-rain was fairly thick we waited beyond the point where we usually strike out for our daily ramble, and there was a hiatus, so off we went. And for the most part of our hour-plus time in the ravine we were free of the rain, but for the last quarter-hour.

At minus-2C, very damp and somewhat windy, the atmosphere was not what you might consider good-natured. It was a cheery event, though when we ran across a young man we hadn't seen in some time. When we occasionally come across his mother, walking their pitbull-mix sweet-natured dog Jasper, she's told us he's been busy, working several jobs, but mostly he was apprenticed to a carpenter and working in the building trades.

Over the years he had told us of his hopes and dreams of becoming a police officer. He had taken academic courses to guide him toward making that aspiration a reality, but all his applications to various police forces have been turned down, one after another, although initially he had high hopes. Wrong gender, wrong ethnic origin in a politically correct atmosphere of giving precedence to those whose qualifications might not be equal, but their optics viewed as desirable.

Another young man living directly beside us whom we've known for decades has had the very same experience. He had been in the reserves, he had worked for a security firm, and he too had applied countless times, asking us to act as his character surety, but all to no avail. He had no wish to go into the military, he wanted to be a civilian police officer, but he too now works regularly for a security company.

Jasper's young man is still in the construction trades. He likes carpentry. He's resigned to not succeeding in achieving a place with a police force. And he's looking, with his fiance, to buy an older house wherever they can find one at a reasonable price -- and that too seems like a mirage these days -- that they can fix up together. She has a good secure job with the government and the health and other benefits accruing to that kind of employment helps with their future plans.

When we parted, we wished him good luck. Unemployment figures remain stable locally but the truth of the matter is, when new jobs come available they are invariably part-time, with no level of security attached to them. Young people these days are faced with a far different job market than we had, in our time, unless they have the good fortune to have marketable skills impressive enough to be hired. Yet even acquiring the academic professionalism that once guaranteed good employment and a good future, no longer can be counted on as guarantees of achieving either.

Oh, and that snow we were supposed to be on the receiving end of? It did, after all, materialize. And we were greeted with the view of it this morning out our front door. Our introduction to winter.