An all-day freezing rain throughout yesterday made it unattractive for us to go out to the ravine. Freezing rain at -3C is no picnic, and makes for miserable hiking conditions. So, we experienced one of those fairly rare days when outside activity was at an imposed minimum. When the freezing rain occasionally turned to ice pellets, Jackie and Jillie went out to the backyard for some frenetic running about, happy to be outside, but not prepared to stay out too long, just making the most of the situation.

Late last night the freezing rain gave way to wet snow, and very quickly the landscape took on an altogether different aura as everything that was frozen began to turn to white as the temperature rose to -1C. That doesn't seem to make sense, that at a colder temperature we'd get freezing rain and once the temperature moderated upward the rain would turn to snow, but this reflects not only peculiar weather, but the lay of the land in the Ottawa Valley.

And so, it snowed all night; every time I cocked an eye open through our otherwise-dark bedroom in a brief waking period, I'd see brightness out the window, a scintillating, sparkling light and I knew it was continuing to snow. By morning we'd accumulated several inches of snow and everything looked absolutely glorious. After breakfast our son, still with us for another few days before returning to his home in Vancouver, got his skiing gear together and made for the ravine.

He keeps a pair of skis, ski boots and poles here for those times that he stays over with us for a week here and there in the winter, so he can take advantage of the geology and the weather, as an avid skier. He's accustomed to different terrain, of course, accessing ski trails and backcountry skiing opportunities in the mountains around Vancouver.

By the time he returned, my husband has finished shovelling out our walkways, and it was still snowing heavily. Then off we went, all of us, our son on his skis, as we made our way into the ravine together. Jackie and Jillie are now accustomed to seeing him on skis and they behave well now, alongside him where years ago they would bark furiously at the unaccustomed sight of a person with long things strapped to their feet, coasting downhill,  yapping at his heels.

My eyes were captured by the forest deep in snow, every branch of every tree and shrub piled high with snow, boughs bent low over the forest floor with the weight of the snow. Jackie and Jillie were wearing their boots and rushed everywhere, flinging themselves into the joy of new snow, behaving very like children in fact, delighted with the atmosphere and the challenging adventure that lay before them. How one's perspective changes from one day to another!

Snow kept falling, at times heavily, as we made our way along the trails, up the hills, back down again over the crests and ridges and into valleys, and then repeating the process as we continued along through the forest. We saw several other people out with their dogs, and at one juncture came across a tall young girl out by herself walking serenely through this winter wonderland. Although she was walking alone she appeared not to want to be alone, keeping pace with me, and seemingly eager to talk.

And then she asked me to repeat the names of our two little dogs. After which she introduced her name to me, and it was a very familiar one: Jillie.

Today's landscape turned out as overcast as yesterday's was clear, the sun illuminating the area; the difference between a dark room and one where the light switch was suddenly turned on, giving detail and colour to all the eye beholds. One thing both days had in common, however, was the mild temperature, just hovering around freezing, and the icy conditions of the forest trails.

We set out in mid-afternoon for our daily ramble in the ravine, once again accompanied by our younger son. When he's with us -- admittedly all-too-rare rare occasions since he lives so far away -- there are always new revelations pointed out to us from his perspective of noting and noticing everything, as a biologist might be expected to.

So we tend to discuss things that may seem abstruse to those disinterested in nature, such as where, if lightning is going to strike a tree, it will tend to do so. Such as how some types of mould or lichen on decaying tree fibres present during different seasons. And he makes observations about some of the more puzzling behaviours evinced by Jackie and Jillie on our travels through the woods, associated with their darting into the interior in avid search of the source of a tantalizing odour that happens to be inordinately repulsive to the human olfactory sense.

At one particular juncture on an upper trail where groundwater tends to gather from the higher plateau of the forest floor, then freeze over a large portion of the trails in areas difficult to avoid, we met up with a young woman and her daughter walking their companion, a large black-haired Newfoundland, still yet a puppy, but whose size was truly impressive.

A playful giant of a dog, good natured and of such a compelling size one is drawn to watching the beast lumber along, yet otherwise no different than any other companion animal, seeking notice and affection, and hoping other dogs will play with him. His name was Ollie, we were told, though it seemed to me that 'Bear' might have been more appropriate.

They were on a short circuit of the trails, to our longer one, so we met up with them again as they were intent on exiting the ravine and we were just halfway through our chosen route linking trails for a wider circuit. And then along came our old friend Scott with his two little terriers and Ollie was pleased to have a wider audience, while Jackie and Jillie reacted with their usual excited greetings.

Both of Scott's little fellows looked in fine fettle, though both have contracted cancer. One is undergoing chemotherapy in a Montreal-area clinic, and the other is scheduled for surgery to remove returning malignant lumps on his back end; this will be his third surgery for the recurrent lumps. But the two little fellows were happy and energetic, more so than when we last came together about a month earlier, and Scott is pleased with their progress and hopeful for an optimistic outcome.

When we finally all moved on, we eventually approached the creek again, as we do within five minutes of our entry and the reverse on our exit. We hadn't seen any of the bright orange little goldfish about on yesterday's hike, and thought the Great Blue Heron we'd seen the day before had had itself a feast. But, explained our son, the water had been muddy yesterday and was clear today, and there were the fish, roughly where we've seen them the past several days.

Moreover, beyond the half-dozen we had noted, he informed us of the presence of hundreds more, smaller and not orange, but black, identified by his keen eye, representing generations of offspring. So the casual event of someone having dumped some goldfish years back in the creek far upstream from where we were standing this afternoon, has resulted in a proliferation of little fish among whom some will grow to a respectable size, animating the creek and its tributaries running through the bottom of the ravine and eventually reaching the great Ottawa River. Introduced species or not, it's fascinating to see them there.

How blue is the sky today? Well, in my experience when winter brings us a sunny day it will also invariably be an icy-cold day. A clear blue sky seems to pair with chilling cold. Not today. The sky is a vast ocean of baby blue and the source of heat and light on this planet dangles bright and warming like a brilliant chandelier on a banquet-hall ceiling, quite unlike what usually occurs. Complaints? None.

However, it is winter and mild temperatures added to the beaming warmth of the sun on whatever snow we now have left in our landscape makes for quite a mess. Alternately it makes for conditions that render a ramble through our wooded ravine a bit hazardous. Yesterday's fiasco with my strapped-on cleats over winter boots failed to give me the comfort of firm footing on what  has become an icy raceway on the forest trails, ending our circuit precipitously, but not before I had to stoop over dozens of times to replace one of the flexible rubber cleat platforms that kept irritatingly falling off the boot it was stretched over.

That set has been put aside, and another has replaced it, over different winter boots. They worked very well this afternoon to my great relief, since the challenge of yesterday's traverse over icy trails has been much intensified today. Yesterday we had fog and deep overcast conditions plus a high of -0.4C for the day.
Today the high is 2C along with sun.

And today our son accompanied us on a protracted hiking circuit through the woods. As long as we were out and about trekking through the forest we came across no one else on the trails. And the trails themselves, and their condition appears to be the obvious answer. People were simply avoiding the potential for a slip and a fall. Sometimes, even with the use of cleats piercing the ice to stabilize footing, the ascents and descents can be perilous; no one likes to experience a thumping fall.

With each step we took we could hear the distinct sharp crunch of our metal-pointed cleats crisply biting through the ice. Had the ice been even a tad more firm, that bite would have been quite a bit shallower, leading to that dreaded slide. Slides can be easily managed when we're walking on a level trail. Downhill and uphill, icy trails are infinitely more of a challenge.

Jackie and Jillie pay little mind to their own slipping about on the ice; they quickly and naturally readjust for the circumstances and carry on, seldom splaying. When it's truly overcast and the forest interior has that dusky quality, a bit of a visual gloom is cast over the landscape. When it's sunny and bright as it was today, the quality of light permeating the forest illuminates whatever green there is, turning the white bark of birch into a glowing silvery shade, beeches look elephant-grey and poplar trunks look either creamy-white or pale green.

If the sun is shining directly onto the bark of an old pine, it looks as though it's on fire. Needles bristle with bright green. The sun blazes through the canopy, and where the ice covering on the forest floor is smooth, the beams of sunlight hitting it shimmer and glow back, just as they do when on a summer day sun glances off the peaceful calm of a woodland lake.

These were not my old cleats that I'd worn for our winter treks into the ravine for so many years. Our son had ordered them for us, the old ones, from Mountain Equipment Co-op decades ago, and we'd worn them ever since. But three years ago I thought when I saw others wearing a different type, rubberized that slipped over a boot sole, that I'd give those a try. Try them I did, and they seemed all right other than that they kept falling off my boots.

But then the following year when I tried them again, they remained intact on my boots, and this year I hauled them out again and they seemed fairly good. Lighter than our originals. I persuaded my husband to get himself a pair while they were still in stock, as long as the season was young. He tried them and soon discovered he didn't care for them. After today's fiasco I've decided I don't either, so it's back to the trusty old cleats.

Today a reliable pair of cleats strapped firmly over boots was an absolute requirement. We'd had freezing rain overnight last night, although the temperature dipped to -6. And then, there was cold drizzle in the morning. Every outdoor surface was covered with knobby nodules of ice and heavy fog hung in the atmosphere.

The temperature rose to -0.4 and the drizzle stopped, so we decided we'd make a run for the ravine. We dressed Jackie and Jillie in their winter-weight raincoats, no boots, and off we set. Not quite. Off we set, gingerly -- me, anyway -- because our driveway and the road in front of it leading to the ravine entrance were both ice-slathered and fairly slick. Once in the ravine, descending toward the forest and the trails, Jackie and Jillie made quick work zipping by us, scouting out whether anyone had dared enter their forest, finding no one, to our relief.

And suddenly, as we made our way up and along a secondary trail to the first of the bridges, a large, very large bird, in fact it was a Great Blue Heron, lifted itself off the creek and over the treeline in a flight parallel with the creek but further upstream. We were surprised he was still around, and hadn't migrated for the winter. Could be he knows something more than we do; that this peculiar winter that started out early, inordinately cold and snowy, would morph into an odd season of moderate temperature and skimpy snow events.

As it happened, the rain held off, and as I skittered along uphill, downhill and wherever the trails take us, finding footing with care, one of the cleats kept slipping off its boot and I kept having to replace it on said boot. This must have happened at least twenty times, and it was beyond irritating. On a few of the descents my husband helped me, his footing wearing the old cleats more secure than mine, and I hate that, because it means he has to tend to me when I much prefer he look to his own balance for safety sake.

That said, we were grateful to have had the opportunity to get out, even if the day was so heavily overcast and fogged in, though not as evident in the ravine as it was at street level. When we approached the last of the bridges we looked through its slats (I did, my husband, taller, can look over the top rail) to see if the group of a half-dozen goldfish we'd seen the last few days were still in residence. Gone. Either because the milder temperature had made them more comfortable to swim out, or because the giant bird had enjoyed a good snack.

Hard to believe that just a few days ago people were skiing through the ravine trails. Granted, snow conditions were anything but fully accommodating, but it was a day off for people, coming up to Christmas day. So, having the time, loving skiing, and the presence of a forest so close by obviously persuaded some residents to get out their skis and test their mettle.

Judging by what remains on the trails in the forest they'd have a more difficult time making their way over the trails at the present time, where snow is fast shrinking, giving way to ice. Where in some places we could, if we wished, skate along. Given the cleats strapped firmly over our boots it would be somewhat futile, however, to expect to glide on the icy surface.

Since it was several degrees colder today at -6C than yesterday, with the same sharp, icy wind mercilessly blowing even through the forest, we judged it a requirement to have Jackie and Jillie wear their little boots. That temperature along with the possibility of light snow makes for a combination certain to freeze their tiny paws. Best we take precautions, since the alternative is to pick them up to warm their bare paws, then put them back down, until they freeze up again.

As so often happens, we had the forest to ourselves today. I could swear Jackie and Jillie were a little smug about it all, by the jaunty skipping and ripping through the underbrush they engaged in. As usual, Jackie covers two to three times the distance we do, in his frantic run-abouts. That in itself is an entertaining feature about our daily tramps through the woods, just to witness the pure, unadulterated freedom and pleasure it affords them.

The bridges haven't surrendered their snowpack entirely. It's still firmly in place, over top of which is a rough ice covering. Colder air moves under the bridges, given that most of them ford across running water, the others the chill air moving up from the snow beneath. There are no impediments for four trotting little feet, however, they just barge through everything, whatever the conditions.

We happened to notice another pumpkin sitting robustly orange in a bit of a thicket off the trail. Someone evidently hauled it from their home into the forest thinking it might provide some sustenance to the animals whose home it is. From the distance where we stood it seemed obvious enough that the pumpkin, though having sat there for months remained intact, fully round and brightly obvious.

When we passed along through the last of the bridges, we were curious about whether the little group of goldfish we'd seen in a sheltered pool yesterday afternoon might still be there. And they were, a half-dozen of the bright orange little creatures, more or less stationary, so chilled they had no will to move about. They will do just that however in all likelihood tomorrow, when today's icy atmosphere will give over to a break, with the temperature expected to soar to 5C.  With it, the prospect of freezing rain when what we badly need is snow, lots of it!

When I asked Jackie and Jillie if they felt it was time for all of us to get out into nature for a tramp through the winter woods today, their response was as expected. They're happy to get out and about, look forward to their daily forest treks, enjoy themselves enormously while we're out, yet invariably Jillie will hide, if she can get away with it. If I'm upstairs before we decide to go out, Jackie trots after me as I descend the stairs; Jillie pretends to, then dashes back, leaps onto our bed and settles down, her head stuffed under a throw-pillow.

When it's time to get them dressed in their winter gear, we look for Jillie in all the spots where she usually deposits herself, her bed in the family room, the one in the breakfast room, under the coffee table, on the sofa, no Jillie. So we shout upstairs 'Jillie come down' and she does, halfway down the stairs where she stops, obliging one of us to trudge up and retrieve her.

For his part, Jackie will leap onto the sofa, flip over on his back, twirl his little tail and ask for a tummy-rub before I snatch him off the sofa and begin the process of preparing him for a walk. It's as though we're subjecting them to a particularly delicate, heart-piercing form of torture, poor little things, and monsters that we are...

We thought that since it's Christmas Day we'd see a lot of families out on the trails with their children, but we were halfway through our hour's circuit before we came across several others out on the trails. At one intersection of trails, there was a group of three middle-aged people attempting to negotiate a particularly challenging descent on an offshoot-trail; the woman was desperately hugging tree trunks on the way down. We suggested they abandon that one and use one directly beside it that's a lot more footsure.

Although we failed to see very many people out, not any of them -- aside from the very last family of one child and her parents -- were cheerful and looked pleased to be where they were. Granted, the footing is iffy now with all the ice, but Christmas? We, a pair of elderly Jews, were the ones that initiated "Merry Christmas", which I found rather disconcerting.

And then, just as we were going over the last of the bridges linked to the main trails, and we were peering into the water rushing down the creek, we spotted a small group of goldfish in a bit of a pool. It's -2C, with a light but icy wind, and assuredly that water is freezing-cold. The adaptability of animals to their enviroment is amazing. There was one fair-sized fish and about five slightly smaller ones, so we surmise there's quite a few of them in the creek. We'll be on the lookout for them come spring.

These are the offspring of someone having dumped goldfish from their home tank or from a local pet shop years ago. Previously we saw them upstream years ago, but never in that part of the ravine we frequent. Several years ago we were amazed to see the size they had attained, persevering and evidently thriving in their new (to us, inhospitable) home. We knew someone who once scooped up dozens of them in an attempt to 'save' them, then looked for volunteers to take some from him, for even his sizeable tank wasn't able to accommodate them all.

Evidently since then they've made their way to 'our' part of the ravine stream. We saw them for the first time about a month ago, and shortly afterward saw a Great Blue Heron lifting off from the creek at whose presence Jackie and Jillie made a huge commotion. That the bird hadn't yet migrated to warmer climes may give us a clue about our changing environment and the toleration of previously cold-averse species to give this area wide berth come late fall.

The forest and the ravine appeared to be the choice of destination for quite a few area families this Christmas Eve day. Talk about a recreational opportunity for young children living nearby the forest, led by their parents on a few rare days of leisure activity. We were out and about ourselves a little earlier than usual this afternoon.

Before we even made it to the long descent into the ravine we could hear from afar the lilting, excited sound of children's voices. We paused at the top of the hill to look down over the long slope and there, at the bottom of another, facing hill we could see the distant figures of colourfully-clad children sliding downhill on sleds and congregating happily at the hill's bottom. Beside them the taller figures of adults.

Jackie and Jillie added their voices enthusiastically to the tumult, observing the distant commotion. We took the opposite direction, however, when we reached the bottom of the hill, the direction we usually take. By the time we would complete a long circuit taking us eventually, to where the activity was taking place, we reasoned the group would be long gone.

And they were gone, either moved on home, or elsewhere in the ravine, sleds and toboggans with them. There exists a myriad of places where children would be able to slide merrily downhill and experience the heady excitement of swift motion over a layer of snow, the wind whipping past them. That layer of snow is not as rich as it was several days earlier, unfortunately, and with it there is now ample ice to make hiking about the trails tricky in some spots.

We'd had several days of mild weather, sufficient to melt much of the gathered snowpack. The second time we've experienced this so far in the last few months, which is pretty unusual. Although there's still some snow left, it's sparse. Certainly not what the typical winter landscape looks like here ordinarily, and that's a pity.

There were so many people out and about, from family groups of adults, adults with young children, and teen-agers, marking an unusual occasion. We knew some of those people, but for the most part many more were unknown to us. Everyone appeared happy with where they found themselves, and no doubt that happiness owed a good deal to the fact that Christmas Day was finally approaching.

Jackie and Jillie had the opportunity to meet up with some interesting dogs of all sizes and breeds. From the observations I'm making it might seem that the trails were packed with people, but nothing could be further from reality. In a half-hour stretch of hiking some trails that interconnect we saw no one out beside ourselves.

In other places, where there were others about they weren't too far from some of trail entrances. Everyone was cheerful, for if anything can be guaranteed at this time of year on the approach to Christmas and New Year's the general mood is always uplifted.

And it was, after all, a bright, sunny day, with a modest temperature of -2C, and light wind. Who wouldn't be happy in such a landscape under these conditions?