Living in Ottawa one becomes winter-hardy and winter-wary but still we were taken by surprise when mid-November suddenly lurched into mid-winter temperature-territory and brought us one large snowstorm after another. People panicked. No one had yet got around to changing their vehicles into ice tires, an absolute necessity here. For awhile the street we live on was a morass of snow and ice, even after being plowed by the municipal workers. Another story once you got onto a main street.

My husband's first instinct, like everyone else, was to call the garage to see if his tires could be changed. He no longer does that tedious and strenuous seasonal job himself with either the car or the truck, but he did up until two years ago when he was only 80 years old. If he drove over with his vehicle/s and left them in the parking lot they could 'guarantee' the switch would be done sometime in the week. So he waited. And yesterday after the big rush was over drove the car to Canadian Tire prepared as usual to walk back home.

In our close community we have all kinds of amenities within walking distance. It takes about a half-hour to walk to some commercial destinations, more like three-quarters of an hour to an hour to access further ones. Someone he's known for years in the auto parts section asked if he'd like a drive home because he was preparing to drive another customer home, so that was lucky. To retrieve the car he walked down in the afternoon after our ravine walk. And he's repeated that performance today with his truck.

As for me, I was busy baking. Decided on a cheesecake. And thought I'd do a sweet-bread dough for dinner rolls. Made enough of it to bake croissants on Sunday to accompany a good hearty vegetable-bean soup for that day's evening meal. By the time I was finished my husband returned.

Yesterday he had more than his share of walking. We took Jackie and Jillie out for an earlier ravine walk in the afternoon. That's the thing, though. We don't enjoy walking them or us on streets. The pavement isn't kind to our feet and the noise and bustle is the precise opposite of what we anticipate when we set out for a walk on quiet forest trails among a proliferation of various types of trees where our puppies are able to amble about unleashed (unless they misbehave -- Jillie...you hear me? and then they're (she's) leashed). They can cut and run and we can watch them easily to keep track of where they are, their black forms nicely visible against the snow on the forest floor into which the bracken had previously vanished.

Although it was mild yesterday at 2C, there was a sharp wind and the amount of moisture in the air made it seem much colder. Still, nothing can dampen the pleasure of walking freely along a forest trail; not for us, not for our little dogs. And it's beautiful in that atmosphere when snow flurries create their magic. Two weeks ago the creek had started to freeze over thanks to the -17C temperature at night rising to -10 during the day. It's now fully open, streaming down to the Ottawa River. We can anticipate another week, perhaps two of this mild weather and then the cold will once again enter the scene. Unless nature has other ideas in her inexhaustible bag of tricks...

There is always some trait or habit or something distinguishing in the characteristics most dogs inherit or grow into that is endearing to the onlooker, if not the constant companions of such dogs. Jillie, though she can seem aloof, is anything but and craves constant attention. She and her brother are both prodigious lickers; face, hands, any exposed body part where the skin is available they will make an effort to lick. Jackie in particular has a foot-and-toe fetish; bare feet beware!

And they will lick one another as well, sometimes both engaged at the very same time doing the very same thing to one another and it can be hilarious. Jackie's real terms of endearment are found in his propensity to gently bite. He nibbles at my clothing when he wants me to proceed with something and he's anxious that I'm taking my own sweet time about it. When they were younger and we stopped to speak with someone, he would take possession of Jillie leash and walk off with her to remind us there was a purpose to our being in the out-of-doors and it wasn't to waste time jabbering.

We were amused no end when we passed the first of several bridges fording the ravine's creek, to see on the top rail a miniature snowman someone with a lovely sense of humour had fashioned. Last year after a heavy snowfall the same person had produced a similar snowman at the very same place, and we certainly appreciated that little token of comradeship with the season and the place, to be shared by all who passed by.

Our ravine-walking friends Sheila and Barrie take their three high-powered sibling Border Collies out to the ravine two times daily. They don't live directly adjacent one of the ravine entrances as we do. They must drive over to access the ravine. They dedicate themselves to the well-being of the three dogs, all from the same litter; two males, one female. Maya, the female, seems to give a signal to her brothers when they may eat and until that signals arrive, they sit at their bowls, unmoving.

Carter, one of her brothers, likes to 'hide' his presence once they approach the end of their hike in the woods. He usually shows up just as the group prepares to exit the ravine, usually up on the flats where they park their vehicle on the street. In the interim, they have a vague idea where he may be and trust that he'll pay attention to rejoin them despite his pique at leaving the forest. Yesterday when we came across them Carter was nowhere to be seen and then suddenly his head popped up from behind a pile of fallen tree trunks. And he remained there while we chatted and were joined by Susan walking her two dogs. While the other dogs cavorted around one another, Carter remained firmly ensconced in his 'secret' hideaway.

It was a lovely day to be out in the woods. Still heavily overcast with the occasional flurry of snow but a mild 3C so that the wind hardly seemed to penetrate. Because so many locals had been out and about -- we passed quite a few people and their dogs -- the trails are well mashed down and in that mild temperature, beginning to turn to slush in some places. Jackie and Jillie studiously avoid the slush, making for the firmer snowpack alongside the trails.

Once home, they don't tend to relax immediately after their ravine hike. Instead they seem to be electrically energized and begin chasing each other madly around the house, stopping now and again to stand on their back legs and indulge in a little boxing match, Jackie accompanying their physical lunacy with a little song he uses only on these occasions as they spar and jostle, romp and defy gravity.

I'm a creature of habit. Actually, most people are. Particularly as they gain maturity. It's what makes certain people efficient. And I'm one of them. One becomes accustomed to doing certain things at certain times. It guarantees efficiency, actually. So when I had an appointment on Monday for an echogram that kind of threw my usual Monday preoccupation off kilter. In large cities any time of day is 'rush hour'. Traffic is constant, rushed and crowded. Finding a parking spot at a major hospital is an exercise in extreme frustration.

So instead of doing my usual Monday housecleaning on the day set aside for it, yesterday claimed the privilege. Lots to be done cleaning a house, top-to-bottom. Even if some things like deep-cleaning the kitchen and the bathrooms are left to another day set aside for that in particular. I really don't at all mind cleaning, there's a certain satisfaction in getting it done, just as there is in food preparation. But it was three in the afternoon by the time I was finished; washing the floors is the last thing. And then ... freedom!

Off we went to the ravine with Jackie and Jillie. It had snowed all morning and well into the afternoon but this was a modestly mild day with a high of 2C, so the snow was wet and sloppy. We'd thought the trails as they often are after a snowfall (we'd had 7 cm) would be difficult to traverse but they weren't. The cleats over our boots kept slipping and sliding to a minimum. Planning for a shorter circuit, we decided to elongate and tramped instead further along accessing additional trails for a longer circuit. And coming across others doing the same thing, which explains the good condition of the trails.

Stopping to talk with ravine-hiking friends, seeing others we hadn't come across in ages. And Jackie and Jillie were in a constant state of excitement, barking in greeting at all their familiar friends; the canine equivalent of just what we were doing. Everyone remarked on the swiftly gathering dusk. It had been close to twilight when we entered the ravine and by the time we exited dusk had just about completed its blanketing of the forest. We haven't many daylight hours in these shorter winter days.

We arrived back home by half-past four, and I still had dinner to prepare, but I'd planned it out; a noodle/cheese/salmon casserole. I cooked the noodles, prepared a white sauce, melted a mixture of sharp cheddar, mozzarella and Romano into the sauce, added frozen green peas and sliced green onions, added the drained noodles to the mixture, then layered it into a casserole scattering the salmon between the two layers and topping it with Panko and additional cheese. We had baby spinach as a side dish and leftover mixed-berry pie for dessert.

A busy day.

Yesterday was one of those strange, hybrid weather days, neither winter nor fall. After unending days of crisp, clear-skied freezing days that wouldn't rise above -10C and nighttime lows plunging to -17C alternating will almost-as-cold but moisture-laden days that brought seemingly unending snow events we thought we had landed securely into an earlier-than-normal winter.

Nature did a back-flip, though, to take us by surprise. Not that this type of thing isn't what she usually indulges in to keep us guessing. We were suddenly accosted with milder temperatures, both nighttime and daytime, and precipitation that fell first as freezing rain, then just cold rain, and plenty of it. Which made for some pretty interesting displays in the atmosphere.

Ice fog is one of those things and yesterday we had an all-day fog event, a grey cloud hanging densely on the landscape, limiting sightlines and softening everything you looked at. The prevailing fog was not as evident in the forest as it was out at street level. Yet the forest was securely steeped in the gloom of dusk throughout the day.

It's a condition that once one enters the forest confines, your eyesight quickly accustoms itself to and a different quality of light-and-colour emerges. One that enhances colour shades so that though everything appears in shades of black, grey and white, wherever green still remains it tends to glow. And the foliage that still stubbornly clings to beech trees for example takes on a different, deeper hue punctuating the overall grey cast of the fog, the green of the conifers, the black of tree trunks and the glaring white of the snowpack.

It was mid-afternoon by the time we got out to the ravine. We hardly expected to see anyone else, but we did come across some trail hikers that we know, and another whom we'd never before seen, walking a Newfoundland breed. Many years ago there was a woman who lived on an adjoining street to ours who had two Newfies; big lumbering beasts, benign of temperament. We hadn't seen any in years. This one was friendly as the breed is wont to be, ambling about, comfortable in the forest atmosphere.

Much larger and heftier than Jackie and Jillie after an initial barking session that the large dog ignored, all three seemed comfortable in one another's presence. Then along came a year-old Yellow Lab and a companion only three months old, and if any dogs are laid back and friendly, this is the breed. The younger one was incredibly appealing in its antic invitations to Jackie and Jillie to be friends and do a few laps around the trails together.

On our daily meanderings in the ravine on the forest trails, that's the thing; we never know what we might come across.

Although it always seems strange to us that usually on Saturdays we see no one else hiking through the ravine other than ourselves, we always attribute it to the fact that Saturday remains for many people, their primary shopping day. It is for people in the workforce, and remains so for people now retired who are most comfortable doing what they've always done; habits are hard to break.

Yesterday, though it was Saturday we were surprised to come across no end of people, most of them walking their dogs of various descriptions, many of whom we'd never before encountered. So it was a busier-than-usual time for Jackie and Jillie running about making the acquaintance of other dogs, large and small, yesterday.

We speculated that it might just be people were exhausted with shopping since the day before was one of those abominable "Black Friday" opportunities for Christmas shoppers -- luring people in to various stores to check off their family-and-friends list-of-obligatory-gifts. So that by Saturday they needed another distraction more inclined to relax than stress them.

It  helped of course that yesterday was also a weather antidote to the kind of extreme cold and snowy days we've had in mid-November, this year. All morning the skies were clear and the sun beamed down warming the atmosphere. Leading to a temperature high of 0C, which was more than pleasant. By afternoon the clouds had returned with a warning of freezing rain, but the freezing rain held off until evening.

Everyone out on the trails appeared to be happy about where they were, and with good reason. The landscape remains steeped in snow, still glued to tree trunks and every horizontal surface is deep in accumulated snow. Jackie and Jillie had a nice romp with a feisty little terrier, and a similar roust-about with a brindle boxer puppy of 8 months of age, happy to find any dogs that he could play with.

There were more. Like Iggy, the little beagle. That's Mike's little fellow. Once Mike had his beloved Ruby, a scrubby little terrier mix that he loved unconditionally. Ruby agitated to go to the ravine so she could make her way into the creek. It was the creek that she pined for, to rummage about in it with her stubby little paws and follow its trajectory as far as she could, Mike patiently following her above, on the bank above.

We'd know when Ruby was about because we could hear her joyful little yips as she made her way through the shallow, muddy water of the creek. We are never so indulgent with our two, who tend to avoid water in any event. Button, our little black miniature poodle also loved the water. But once when she had been down in the creek she came away with a deep gash in one of her legs from a run-in with a broken bottle. That was the last time we allowed her to muddle her way through the creek.

Little Iggy has become the apple of Mike's and his wife's eyes. Their grief assuaged as much as possible with Ruby's loss. Their other dog whom Mike rarely takes into the ravine, is a much larger, shambling mix of breeds and not given to much physical output. He has taken to Iggy's introduction into their household, but it's his house and Iggy knows his place in it.

We first saw Eva while we were out on a ravine walk on a summer afternoon. It was hard not to notice her. For one thing she was a beautiful dog, a large German Shepherd mix with sleek lines, an absolutely perfect conformation and coat, making for a truly beautiful animal. And when we saw her she had been alone. Alone, but frantically moving along the trail, nose to the ground, ears pricked up as though desperately sniffing for and listening for a clue that might deliver her from whatever was stressing her.

She paid no attention to our calls for her to come over so we could look for identification, instead continuing her frantic search and then she was soon out of sight. Clearly, she was looking for someone she had lost contact with. My husband recalled seeing a slight, blonde young woman earlier on our trail walk, with two large dogs, and we surmised, though we had taken scant notice at the time that this was one of the dissimilar pair and had happened to become separated from its companions.

We learned later, as we became familiar with their walker and with Eva, that this had indeed been the case. Eva was around two years old at the time, devoted to both her human and her canine companion, a much older dog. Eventually the older dog died and then it was just Eva and the young woman whom we would happen to come across from time to time walking the forest trails. Occasionally, the  young woman's husband, a cheery young man with a wide open smile and a ready chuckle would come along with them. We learned several years ago that Eva had some kind of dreadful liver condition and the vets weren't sure that surgery would help.

She was prescribed medication to help with the pain and her growing disability, and she continued to come out to the ravine, but it soon became apparent that she was no longer the same energetic, beautiful animal she had once been and the  young woman looked increasingly concerned, uncertain whether to proceed with surgery or just continue with palliative care. Not long afterward we no longer saw any of them out for ravine walks. Until a year ago when we saw both the young woman and her husband out with a springy little black Lab whom they clearly doted on.

We saw the young woman a few more times intermittently, but thereafter it was only her husband we would come across in the company of the little Lab, growing bigger each time, but destined to be a quite small member of his breed, albeit a happy, lively little character who obviously had a place in his capacious heart for everyone he might come across. Jackie and Jillie, though they've not seen him very often, feel quite comfortable in the little fellow's presence. We came across them yesterday afternoon during our ravine walk, a cold -7C, with a biting wind.

The little black Lab was wearing his own winter coat, bright red, which didn't deter him one bit from his usual frisky playfulness, overjoyed to see friends and ready to leap all over us in the ecstasy of fellowship in nature.

Living in a northern climate like ours has its options. The first, which many residents lay claim to, is to shelter indoors from the elements. Barricading ourselves within a shelter so we are as little exposed to cold, wind and snow as conceivable. Of course we have warm houses and buildings whose purpose is meant to allow us to get on with life in weather-inclement conditions, whether it's our personal lives or our business lives.

We also have access to warm clothing meant to shelter our vulnerable bodies from the deleterious effect of extreme cold. And with that warm clothing we are enabled to get out into the weather. It is nothing but invigorating to plunge into a winter day, and we in this part of Canada are fortunate to be able to anticipate that many days, even during the winter months, tend to be sunny.

And so it was yesterday. Well, of course clear skies also means colder temperatures without the shield of a cloud cover to maintain a more moderate temperature down on Earth's surface. There's a trade-off as it were, some cloud covers look and smell like snow and sure enough they produce snow. At times falling in light flurries and graduating from that to furious snowfalls aided and abetted by even more furious winds penetrating the folds of garments and shoving snow into every available crevice.

Less frigid temperatures mean freezing rain pinging off surfaces, including the headgear you're wearing. No harm done until it accumulates and becomes a slick ice-covering over everything. It's why we wear cleats over our winter boots when we venture out into the ravine daily. And we're there in the afternoon hours because we're no longer in the workforce and can call our own times for recreation and pleasure. When we were working it was the evening hours when we ventured out for forest walks.

This abrupt descent of the atmosphere into winter when it's still supposed to be reflecting normal fall weather seems to stick its tongue out impudently at all the warnings of global warming. Yesterday's frigid walk through the forest trails nipped our cheeks and our noses. My husband remarks that I look like one of those red-cheeked stacking dolls when we're out in those conditions.

Jackie and Jillie wouldn't have been able to identify why or how yesterday's atmospheric conditions were different than those of the days previous when snow wouldn't stop falling, but because the extreme of cold at -10C yesterday afternoon mandated little rubber boots on their paws they were free of the cold and their antics reflected that; they sparked about everywhere in gay abandon. Their delicate size makes them more vulnerable to the cold so it becomes a necessity to dress them in winter coats and boots if the temperature dips below -6C.

So they had a rip-roaring good time out on the trails yesterday, with us plodding along behind them. The sky was perfectly clear, the sun in areas of the trails where the tree canopy temporarily recedes was warm, and the wind a mere breeze, though at that temperature even a mere breeze plays havoc with bare skin and our jacket hoods came in quite handy.

By the time winter does arrive, we'll have been accustomed to this incessant cold and when daytime highs of -20C come along, able to withstand them as we always do....

We've another month of official autumn before the calendar agrees we've approached winter, but for us here in this area it's as though we're in the dead of winter. Yesterday's daytime high reached -6C but a blustery wind that blew pervasive snow everywhere made it seem much, much colder. Last night the thermometer dipped to -17C, and that's cold for November.

Today? A lovely winter day. Snow has stopped falling, and the wind has moderated to a mere whisper, and the sun is full out in a cerulean sky. Oh, and that temperature high for the day? A balmy -10C, set to fall again this coming night closer to -20C.

Yesterday we were unable to venture out. But we knew what it would be like out in the ravine, since the weather visited us up close and personal, its entry directly into the house unopposed by a wide open space of around six feet square, while two doughty and professional workmen extracted the old sliding doors to install new ones that wouldn't take the strength of Hercules to move, merely a flick of an index finger. What a clean-up job in the aftermath since all the detritus that resulted from replacing the entire outer casing of the original doors had to be painstakingly removed and the boisterous wind did its best to scatter it everywhere in the breakfast room and the kitchen.

Just as well my husband had installed a wall of glass doors between the breakfast room and the family room, as well as doors between kitchen, family room and dining room. Closing those doors meant that only the kitchen and family room became freezers, adjoining rooms maintained a fairly even heat, relatively speaking. And though the family room is open to the upstairs, the second floor was hardly affected.

Today invited us to get out for a walk on forest trails. Jackie and Jillie were extraordinarily well behaved (for them) yesterday throughout the five-hours-plus that strangers were in the house. Oh, they barked all right, but settled down eventually. And wanted a lot more immediate attention from us than is usual. They missed their walk. But they wouldn't have enjoyed it all that much, given the force of the wind dashing snow everywhere and the temperature just at the cusp where their tiny feet freeze.

Yes, it was colder today at -10C, but barely a whisper of wind, and the warmth of the sun soothed as best it could. At that temperature though, it was on with those little rubber boots for out little dogs. A woolly sweater under Jackie's winter coat because he's so skinny, not a scintilla of fat to keep him warm. Jillie's another story altogether; sturdier and with ample girth compared to her brother, so her winter coat alone sufficed.

And off we set with them into the ravine. As usual they scampered helter-skelter down into the forest overjoyed to be out and it appeared to us, enjoying the protection of the boots against the iciness of the frozen, snow-trampled trail. Along the first of the trails, over to the first bridge, a clamber to the top of the second hill, and there they pause, to see if anyone's following down below. Any hint of movement will set Jillie off to bark her silly head off, Jackie following suit.

The sun behind us threw long shadows at two in the afternoon. There didn't seem to be much distinguishing the shadows thrown by the forest trees and those that outlined our two forms as we moved along the trail on the upper flats.

We came across only one other person, a woman we've been acquainted with for years, but whom we hadn't seen in many months. This was her first venture into the ravine in many months, in fact, since she avoids bringing her large black dog along the forest trails throughout the summer months. She hates the thought that ticks might linger there and fasten themselves on her dog. We explained that the deer ticks that produce Lyme disease are a spring phenomenon but she didn't look very convinced.

Yesterday it was cold and damp but not windy. Oh, and much of the day saw snow flurries, so when we were out in the ravine with Jackie and Jillie it was constantly flurrying. There was a substantial build-up of new snow, since we also had snow falling throughout the night before. And when our two little imps have wet(tish) feet they become overtaken by a spirit of exuberant mischief, so they were racing about happily after one another for the first quarter of our ramble in the woods.

Jackie in particular gets so excited he covers a lot of ground, quickly and repeatedly. Jillie crouches in expectation of his swift return when they execute a double pirouette and start all over again. Sometimes a fleeting boxing match ensues and I'm never quick enough to catch the action in progress. When they were puppies and outside in the swirling snow they would constantly run about frenetically after one another and then, when they'd stop they'd rise on their two back feet and pummel one another like kangaroos; quite the show.

Usually when we return from a ravine walk and they're back at home they'll engage in one of those races, stop briefly for a boxing match, try to outmanoeuvre one another, with Jackie providing commentary. It's more than a little amusing.

We'd had to hurry through our walk yesterday because there was so much to be done at home. My husband busied himself removing all the moulding around our six-foot-wide patio doors; both the moulding that was placed originally around the doors when the house was built, and the deeper mouldings my husband prefers throughout the house that he applied himself. It took awhile. He also had to shovel the walkways from accumulated snow.

We had to do the food shopping and get that out of the way, all of which takes time and energy. This morning he was up at 6:30 a.m. to shovel again, in preparation for the arrival of a replacement of our patio doors. The track is worn beyond redemption; replacing the wheels would be only temporary. Over the three decades that we've owned our home the doors would have to be adjusted from time to time but my husband discovered several months back that the adjustments he could make no longer worked. Thereafter it took a monumental physical effort to move the doors for ingress and egress.

We then made arrangement for their replacement. Only to discover that it would take months for that to happen. And so we waited, and each time we went out to the back we'd have to leave the sliding door slightly agape, since it was impossible to slide them open from the outside. Today turned out to be colder than yesterday, with a -6C reading, more flurries and a blustery wind exacerbating the cold. And of course in these conditions with no doors in place while the two men replacing them are working on installing the new ones, the wind and the icy temperatures have blasted through the house. Not nice.

Given the hours of work it takes two men to do the task, my husband who had thought of doing the work himself has been spared a physical task that is now beyond his 82 years. He made a pot of coffee, I made grilled cheese sandwiches, and the two tall, sturdily-built men who arrived to do the work are in good spirits. It's hard, detailed work to disassemble the original framing for the doors, to enable installation of the replacement. But it will be a relief to be able to use the doors normally.

Yesterday, before we concluded our ravine walk we came across a couple walking a golden retriever none of whom we'd ever seen before. The man, with long blond hair falling over his back and the sides of his face truly did resemble the dog. The pair were as jolly as their dog. And the woman was wearing floppy boots with floppier black pom-poms dangling from them that intrigued Jackie and Jillie no end, to the extent their fascination inclined them to follow the boots as they made their way past us.

The joy of being together as a family, however briefly and intermittently, and the inevitable let-down, the pensiveness while trying to stay positive, when the visit comes to an end and your loved family member departs. It is peace-shattering and discomfiting, a situation that repeats itself endlessly.

There is the excited anticipation of coming together when someone you love is arriving for a visit, yet lingering in the wings is the knowledge that the visit will never be long enough to satisfy your yearning to have that person present in your life at closer range. That other anticipation that the visit will conclude with a drive to the airport and the murmurings and hugs and kisses that reflect departure brings sadness into your life.

Yesterday afternoon we had our last walk together in the ravine on the forest trails for this trip. There's a certain poignancy to everything we do together, reminiscent of when our son was young and our family exploits of one kind or another, from hiking, camping, canoeing, snowshoeing, skiing, mountain climbing, included everyone. It was a group affair, sharing all our experiences and our love for one another and our shared complementary love of nature.

When our younger son became an adult and his older siblings took less interest in such adventures, particularly when he began living in British Columbia while we remained in Ontario, there were many visits that took place when we would fly out on planned excursions to take us to various incredible natural areas in British Columbia to spend time together in wilderness sites as he introduced us to yet a different face of nature than we were accustomed to; vast, raw and magnificent. Our adventures together were many and they were varied.

Now Vancouver is his permanent home and when he returns to spend time with us it is he who is re-introduced to a different face of nature long familiar but grown distant as the geology he is now more familiar with takes precedence in his experience. On the other hand, over the years he has also become a world traveller, seeing nature in Sweden, France, Ireland, Italy, Spain, Hawaii, Australia and New Zealand, and finding in all those places both familiarity and striking variances.

Yesterday, as we said our goodbyes at the airport, he said he'd be back again for his usual, longer visit with us during the holiday season.