We need to dispose of things we no longer use. Having a canoe was indispensable to us when we were younger. Our pre-teen and teen children would join us in our 16-ft red fibreglass canoe as we spent lazy summer afternoons paddling the lakes in Gatineau Park just north of us over the border in Quebec. We later acquired a cedar and canvas canoe, and had two at our disposal. When we lived in Atlanta for several years we bought a yellow fibreglass canoe, 14-ft. Our younger son 'inherited' it when we moved back home. But we still had both the other canoes.

And it was time to shed them. A friend suggested we advertise whatever household items we no longer needed on a free-goods site, and I thought it was a great idea. Except that when I went to the site, there was no way to log on and make use of it other than through Facebook, and I detest that social media platform and have no intention of maintaining an account with the site. That was all yesterday. And by happenstance, my husband was backing out of the driveway yesterday afternoon when a young man, his father and three young boys were walking down the street, by our house.

On impulse, my friendly husband stopped his truck and asked the father of the children whom he'd never before seen,  if he would be interested in taking possession of a canoe for his family. He was, and arrangements were made for him to drop by today. My husband had also informed the young man there was a car-top clamshell he might want, handy for transporting all manner of things atop a vehicle. We'd had it for awhile and used it before my husband bought his truck. Last year we gave away a trailer that was just taking up room in the garage, to a cottage-friend of one of our neighbours.

This morning the young couple came along, the canoe was hauled down from its spot hanging from the garage rafters and transferred to the roof of their car. They didn't have far to go to take it home; the street they live on is adjacent to our own. Out came the paddles, the lifejackets, a sturdy cartop carrier and they were all adopted. They'd brought along a bottle of  wine as appreciation in exchange for everything. They were ecstatic over their new acquisitions because they, like we were, are active outdoor people with a deep appreciation of Algonquin Park's (our once-favourite destination) many lakes

I've been focusing lately on meals that would give us comfort on these really cold, windy, squally days and have been flirting with all kinds of different soups, from vegetable-cream soups to vegetable-and-bean soups, that we've always considered to be winter-evening fare. Yesterday I remembered the beet borscht my mother used to make occasionally (recalling my distaste for it at the same time, but I'm a different me, now). We had just bought a large bag of beets, out of which I'd prepared Harvard beets as a side-dish last week, but now set about making beet soup.

Simple enough; I parboiled three medium-sized beets to be able to slip the peel off them with ease, then cooled them. Then chopped onion and garlic clove and sauteed them in olive oil, adding chopped celery. I grated the beets, a medium-size Yukon-gold potato, grated two medium carrots, plunked them into the pot, stirred in a tablespoon of tomato paste and added chicken soup stock, salt and pepper, then simmered it all for an hour knowing it didn't take all that long to cook, but I habitually simmer soup over a low heat for prolonged periods. Ladling the finished soup into bowls for dinner, the soup was topped with thick sour cream, for a warming and nutritious meal. Toasted seeded, whole-grain bread with ripe avocado mashed on top was a nice complement, and tea and grapes completed the meal.

We had taken Jackie and Jillie out earlier in the afternoon for a brief hike in the woods. Brief, because Jackie isn't quite right yet and still limps and wants to be picked up, while Jillie is still recovering from her little bit of treatment for the abscess that had infected one of her anal glands. It isn't much of a treat hiking along the trails in the forest when one little dog is continually distracted by the aftermath of a wound, and the other is coping with extreme discomfort in his hind quarters, but getting them out is also important; we just have to make it very brief and avoid physical strain for them.