There was a time when no extremes of temperature fazed us. We'd just dress with extra layers against the cold and set out, confident that the energy we expended would more than compensate for the cold and keep us decently comfortable. That, however, was when we had energy to burn and more. Say, up until two decades ago, when in our early 60s we could barrel right along.

Different story now. We move at a more moderate pace, and if a lot of energy has been expended, say a long climb up a snowy hill, we take a moment to rest when we reach the top before carrying on. While our younger son has been with us he has accommodated himself to our pace, but it comes at a cost to him; the slower the pace, the greater the infiltration of cold and the piercing fingers of the wind.

Usually, after he's accompanied us on a ravine hike through the forest he straps on his cross-country skies (he maintains skis and boots here as well as a bicycle, for his visits with us) and goes out to do some serious skiing, ranging much further afield than we tend to do. In this way fulfilling in part his own energy-expenditure needs and exposure to other landscapes while facing welcome physical challenges.

We'd had another overnight modest snowfall of about four centimeters the night before and the temperature had dropped from its benevolent zero centigrade to minus-16, rising to a barely-tolerable (for us) minus-14C by afternoon, with just enough of a wind to make for a bit of discomfort, despite the sun peering through the clouds from time to time.

It was still early in the afternoon when we set out to the ravine to enjoy a cold but beautiful-to-behold forest landscape. At the very start we came across a couple who also hike regularly like us, Tom and Terry with their daughter visiting from Montreal who had brought along her LabraDoodle mix, a big furry bundle of excitement at being in the forest landscape. Terry asked about the birthday card she had placed in our porch mailbox, but I hadn't seen it since we rarely look there given that Canada Post delivers to a group mailbox located at the entrance to the ravine.

But she had hugs she wanted to share with me and that was better than any card. By this time our son had caught up with us since we'd left quite a bit before he was ready. We've gone through the ravine on many occasions with him on skis and us hiking along, but Jackie and Jillie can be difficult at such times; they don't understand nor appreciate those long appendages that suddenly spring to life, and tend to run after the skis, barking furiously the while.

In any event, the conditions for skiing were pretty awful and it soon became apparent it wasn't going to happen. So our son made his way back up the first hill and went off in another direction entirely where the ravined forest continues across a major street and where skiing conditions are much improved, allowing him to have an enjoyable outing on his own.

We continued on, the wind whipping across our faces, but managing to hold our own despite the penetrating cold. Jackie and Jillie were exuberant as usual with their daily trail ramble, poking themselves here and there through the trees and the thicker layers of snow on the forest floor off-trail, their little rubber boots keeping them comfortable and protected against the ice and snow, enabling us all to enjoy another winter day in this frequently-unforgiving climate of ours.