We love the sun, oh how we love the presence of the sun. Living here it just is not possible to imagine how people who are in the Nordic countries, Norway, Sweden, Iceland and others manage their days for months on end without the friendly face of the sun brightening and warming their environment and their outlook on winter.

Canada is a northern country, a winter country, and we are beyond fortunate to also have the natural privilege of ample winter sun. Granted, there are many days that are overcast, the sun hidden behind clouds prepared frequently to release their burden of frozen water either as freezing rain, or far more often, an abundance of snow. Abundance, because it is true that we receive quite a bit of snow.

Not necessarily in the southernmost parts of the country, but certainly to the east and the west and the north. The nation's capital receives the seventh-most snow and experiences the seventh-most icy winter conditions of any country of the world, just behind Estonia, Iceland, Finland, Russia, Kazakhstan, and the world's coldest and iciest, Mongolia.

But we get sun, lots of it, and we love it. It lifts our mood, it brightens our day and beautifies the landscape, it warms us and helps to penetrate the layers of snow that accumulate over the winter season, until spring arrives.

Yesterday was one of those bright, sunny days. We could feel the sun caressing us as we walked up the street to our nearby forest. We could see the sun streaming down through the canopy onto the snowpack. We could see, looking up and ahead in the distance how the sun crowns the tops of trees in a blaze of brightness.

I am personally mesmerized by the vision of the setting sun in the winter, with its streaks of light illuminating the landscape, but most particularly, seeing that ball of luminous fire through the masts of the forest trees. It is an exciting spectacle, with a fierce beauty beyond compare.

Once we entered the confines of the forest yesterday afternoon the wind no longer lashed our faces as it had done as we made our way up the street. Overcast skies and a temperature that reached -2C by afternoon wasn't unreasonable. We should have felt fairly comfortable, and we did, but for the icy lashes of the wind blowing directly at us. The melting snow underfoot of the day before had hardened overnight, and it wasn't too cold, but the wind wasn't at all polite.

Once among the trees crowding in at either side when we had accessed the trail, all that changed. There would be many places throughout the forest where the wind would be actively felt, but not just there, and it was a relief. Looking high above at the forest canopy we could see treetops swaying, so there was plenty of wind.

In the distance we could make out the forms of large birds in the grey sky, that looked awfully like gulls, but thought it improbable that they would be around yet, though some are now known to remain throughout the winter months lately, and these could very well be among them. We could hear, loud and clear enough, the racket of a Pileated woodpecker. And the bubbly, cheerful sound of a nuthatch not too far from where we were forging along the trail following the forest stream.

Wherever there are nuthatches there's certain to be chickadees, and we did see several popping silently in and out of the boughs of evergreens. Jackie and Jillie take no notice of these things, what they're focused on is the tantalizing smells they come across, curious to determine whose they are and if they're familiar to them. So they stop constantly, wherever such 'messages' have been left, as though sharing neighbourhood gossip.

We decided because it was such a lovely day and we felt comfortable, that we'd make this circuit longer than usual. Despite that we were out so long, and though it was a perfect day for roaming about in the winter woods we came across no one else.

We had lengthened our hike as well in the hope that it might distract Jackie and Jillie from their familiarity with our routine; the fact that they know this was our day to leave them alone at home while we do the food shopping. Not that it helped all that much. They had a longer hike through the forest trails, and when we returned home they ran berserk through the house ripping through the hallways, upstairs and down, as is their wont.

But when we left them alone, abandoned, poor tykes, they howled their ingratitude at us as we walked out the door.

The streets were so slushy yesterday from melting snow after the wet snowstorm we'd had the day before, and the one before that, that neighbours were out shoveling away accumulated snow to free up the sewer gratings on the road in front of their homes. It was mild out and everyone was quite cheerful. An opportunity to mosey over and have a little chat, then return to freeing up access for the melting snowpack to run off into the sewers.

When we set out in the afternoon with Jackie and Jillie the snow was soft and high on the road. No municipal plows had yet passed by. Wherever vehicles had drive up and down the street, the snow had been smashed down, and in those tracks lay muddy water, quite deep in some places. The temperature had soared to almost 4C under overcast skies, leaving a morass of melting snow mixed with sand, salt and bits of gravel on the road.

Which convinced us of the choice to carry our little toy poodles up the street to the ravine entrance rather than have them wallow in the icy muck which would almost certainly also have the effect of shortening the lives of their little rubber boots. They were wearing the second set each this winter. Once off the street and onto the pathway leading to the descent into the ravine they negotiated their own way.

The forest trails were fairly decent, narrow and sloppy-wet but nicely negotiable. We could hear the creek flushing downstream long before we reached the bottom of the hill leading to the banks of the runway. No ice left there at all. Just a rushing, splashing, whirling mass of muddy meltwater on its way to the Ottawa River.

But it wasn't raining, and it wasn't snowing. Sauntering about on forest trails in the snow is an absolute delight. Doing the same on a winter day, irrespective of how moderate the temperature is relatively speaking when it's raining, is no one's idea of a jolly old time. The wind and the mild temperature had made quick work of the newfallen snow on trees and shrubs, but the forest floor was deep with snow.

We knew this wouldn't last, since the forecast for the rest of the week is steadily falling temperatures. The uneven surfaces of the trails resulting from boots, skis, snowshoes and sleds, but mostly boots where the wet snow  yields so readily to any kind of pressure, will turn out the following day, we knew, frozen in a firm and icy, uneven composition making the trails feel even more iffy to the point where a twisted ankle becomes possible for the unwary.

If ever we're faced with the prospect of a sloppy mess on the street as opposed to one in the ravine, and the choice could be either one, we'd dismiss out of hand the alternative of taking Jackie and Jillie for a leisurely walk on sidewalks where traffic zips back and forth on the nearby roads, and incessant sound and distractions take one's attention.

Whatever the conditions, in the forest there is calm and tranquility, and beauty wherever we look. There simply is no other option...

There are winters, and they haven't been rare, when the snowpack is so deep that only a narrow corridor allowed our puppies to range about in the backyard, paths criss-crossing after being shoveled out following one snowstorm after another. This is not one of those winters. We have acquired a snowpack after numerous snowfalls, but it's a relatively modest one.

Previously the snowpack has been high enough to discourage our puppies from wandering off the shoveled paths; the height of the unshoveled snow just too demanding a leap and barely worthwhile. Now, they can simply saunter about, off the shoveled paths with a small leap if the mood takes them, and it often does.

Those large volumes of accumulated snow in previous years that gathered in the forest meant that the trails that countless boots tamped down were also narrow since the point of least resistance with heavy snow on the ground is always where someone else has already trodden. At either side of the trail invariably there were deep banks of snow inviting no one to explore the forest interior, neither man nor beast.

We'd gone out a bit late yesterday afternoon to give Jackie and Jillie their daily romp. Not so much of a romp for them anymore since they've had to be leashed. But they still have some freedom even if it's the length of the retractable leash. And at times when we meet up with people we know and there are other dogs about -- usually dogs quite a bit larger than ours -- we let them roam to their hearts' content as long as they're among the pack.

We were out in the gloom yesterday. Which is to say dusk was beginning to set in. But just like in the summer when it has rained and the forest interior is slightly dark, colours tend to leap out, enhanced by the glaze of the rainwater. So too when it's just beginning to get dusky, colours -- the few that are about, like foliage of ironwood, oak and beech, tend to have a copper gleam in the failing light.

Dusk falls so quickly that by the time we returned home, entered the house, put on some lights, drew the curtains across the sliding patio doors, the exterior was bathed in darkness. But all day the temperature had been stalled at an unbelievable -- for an Ottawa midwinter -- 2C, and there was a very slow melt under leaden skies, a comfortable temperature to be out in, so altogether, it made for a delightful little hike through the ravine.

That, at least, is what Jackie and Jillie told us. Despite that light snow mixed with freezing rain came down all the while we were on the forest trails, and though our two little charges were wearing their winter-weight raincoats, every part of them except their chest, rump and abdomen got pretty soaked. And whenever they are wet they go a little berserk, rampaging through the house after one another in an excess of frenetic energy.

Now that we're closing in on the end of January, our wacky weather conditions continue. As they usually do. Nature asks for no advice from mere mortals. And since we've lived in this part of eastern Ontario for close to a half-century not that much has changed, really. We can recall one winter when we literally swam through drifts of snow, and another where snow failed to materialize until the Christmas season had passed.

When we first moved to Ottawa from Toronto so many years ago, our children were young and our initial concern was to outfit them adequately for a frigid, snowy atmosphere. Warn and stout winter boots, and hooded winter jackets, mittens, scarves and toques the like of which we never felt they required while we lived in Toronto.

When we were ourselves children in Toronto there was an occasional bumper snowfall, but nothing like what we began to experience here. Yes, there was skating, and there was sledding, but once in Ottawa the focus really was on winter sport. Not to avoid the cold and the snowpack at their seasonal height, but to make the most of it all, as a recreational resource.

It was here that my husband's ambitions to have us all enjoy the winter season saw full cooperation. Earlier, when we lived in Toronto, as a child from the inner city I had never owned a bicycle. My husband had one, and as a pre-teen he used to deliver prescriptions to households from a neighbourhood pharmacy. It was only when our children were old enough to have bicycles that we scraped enough scarce money together to acquire bicycles for all three, and my enterprising husband looked for discarded bicycle parts and put together a usable bicycle for me, then taught me how to ride it.

That having been done, he set about teaching all of us (while he was himself learning) how to ski after he  bought used boots, poles and skis at a second-hand shop for every one of us. The first home we had here was located within the green belt encircling the city, so we had easy access through our backyard directly into the greenbelt through a series of parks, which welcomed us at all hours, day and evening, to make use of it. Snowshoes came next, and finally skates. The children took to all these activities effortlessly. I was awkward, but my husband has limitless patience and plenty of encouragement did the trick.

Now, we simply hike through our nearby woods. And we're beyond grateful that it's so simple to access this area, adjacent the house we now own. Where once we spent limitless time at Gatineau Park, a short drive from our house with the children, hiking, canoeing (another of my husband's enterprises), picnicking, picking wild berries in season, we now rarely drive off to hike elsewhere than right here.

Yesterday began with bright sun and moderate temperatures just hovering on freezing again. We knew that was destined to change and quite quickly as happens here, with snow on the horizon.

Because we were uncertain when the snow (and freezing rain) would erupt, we decided to dress Jackie and Jillie in rainproof winter jackets, but we went through the ravine circuit we'd chosen for the day while the sun was still out for the most part. It did disappear before we left the ravine as the sky changed to overcast, but no snow, much less rain materialized. The moment we arrived back home, though, snow came tumbling out of that pewter sky.

My husband meant to clear the light metal canopy over our deck of the snow accumulated in last week's snowstorm that left about 6 inches atop the canopy, about the most it can safely hold, particularly if freezing rain is anticipated,which would make the snow wetter and heavier. So, while snow came down in great blobs he was out there on a ladder, using a looooong-handled snow-rake, clearing the snow off the canopy.

The snow came down so thickly it was as though some supranatural force had decided to pour an immense vat of dried curdled milk over an otherwise-unsuspecting landscape. I couldn't resist taking a video of it, but it hardly does justice to the spectacle, much less how entranced we felt, watching it and experiencing it, while Jackie and Jillie anxiously scrabbled at the patio doors to get out into the snowfray and enjoy it too.

They did, eventually, running mad circles around one another, diving into the swiftly-accumulating snow, to finally re-enter the house looking like fantastical like snow-dogs, anticipating a good toweling rub-down.

Other than for a few areas of the forest that are relatively open, even on a sunny day like yesterday the forest interior tends to have a dusky appearance. Light is slightly muted at most times, and the effect seems to highlight the stark contrast between the accumulated snow layers comprising the snowpack on the forest floor and the tree trunks that rise from that floor in shades of darkness; black, charcoal greys and the occasional buff ivory of birches. There is also the slight contrast in the landscape of small clusters of immature beech and ironwood, reluctant to give up their fall leaves, providing small blotches of orange-brown for colour-contrast.

Ambling along the forest trails, looking ahead and skyward, against the blue sky the towering height of large old trees at the highest point of the forest canopy appear illuminated by the setting sun, a blaze of fiery light in contrast to their neighbours whose height fails to catch the sun's setting rays that reach so far and wide.

We'd set out a little later than usual in the day yesterday afternoon causing us to miss the spectacular visions of sun hovering low enough on the horizon, yet high enough to dangle through the treeline in a blaze of glorious light, sunrays fanning out to embrace a wider spectrum of naked deciduous branches and green conifers alike.


After last week's spate of icy temperatures we're now once again in a spell of milder weather. We've watched over the past several days as the gathering of ice over the ravine's stream has gradually melted, fully opening the creek once again, facilitating its normal flow with the addition of a modest snow-melt.

We're a little slower now, mounting the hillsides to approach the higher ridges, so Jackie and Jillie kindly lend themselves to our progress, straining to pull us laggards uphill when their patience ebbs at our inability to grasp the snow as they do with their four paws, while we struggle to gain traction, slipping backward now and again, carried by the snow slippage.

People haven't bothered leashing their larger-breed dogs in fear of coming across coyotes unexpectedly, figuring, one imagines, that they'll have no problem controlling any situation that might arise. Some companion dogs are only just slightly larger than our two, and they are permitted to run about freely even now, their humans seemingly unconcerned. They have never, after all, like ourselves, run into such a situation. So it's hard to imagine it occurring, much less what the outcome might conceivably be.

Everyone figures that large dogs can look after themselves. And that's our impression as well. This, without taking into account the very real fact that dogs have their own personalities and they are as different from one to another as are those of humans; some are assertive, ready to react at any time, while others are decidedly timid and uncertain, and every other personality across the entire spectrum between and beyond. And then there's the reality that one of the dogs attacked in the ravine and requiring surgery was a large-breed dog. As was the dog that was killed, over on the west side of Ottawa.

Before we finished up our walk yesterday we were treated to an exhibition of pure unadulterated exhilaration when we briefly met up with a family hiking the trails with their large, loose-limbed, Apricot Poodle mix which ran back and forth in a continual dizzy between us and Jackie and Jillie and its approaching family. Its sheer zest for life and adventure was so communicable, so celebratory, it would be hard not to admire and applaud such overt manifestations of creature delight in life.

Earlier, we'd also caught up with others, several people we've long been acquainted with as fellow ravine-walkers and their dogs; where their dogs, one a black Lab the other a miniature Apricot Poodle, had a whale of a time racing one another uphill and down, swerving back and forth in the pure joy of motion in a landscape so much to their preference over the sterile presence of the concrete jungle above the ravine.

A lovely day yesterday was, a moderate winter temperature hovering around freezing by the time afternoon rolled around when we went out for our daily hike through the trails in the ravine. Little wind, heavily overcast, and the trails underfoot were really quite good. A bit of slipping and sliding on the ascents and descents, but overall excellent.

Although the snow has been swept off the high reaches of the forest canopy, ample still remains on the trees of the lower story, and the result is as enchanting seen from a modest distance as we could wish for. A snow-swept landscape of ineffable beauty.

Jackie and Jillie had plenty of opportunity to sniff about to their hearts' content. We, though having to keep them on leash, are managing the discomfort of one free hand after years of all of us walking independently while still in our little group.

Jackie has a tendency, when he sees another dog in the distance, to rear up on his back legs and walk some distance that way

When we were coming down the first hill descending from street level into the ravine we came across a familiar figure in the distance. His small black Lab came rushing over to greet Jackie and Jillie, back-end rolling from side to side in an excess of friendly joy over his pleasure at the day, the environment and his freedom to roust about wherever he wished. We only wish we could do the same still with our two little dogs.

Later on, as we were ascending that same long hill to return home after the conclusion of our hike, a much larger black Lab came barrelling down the hill toward us, as happy go-lucky and in love with the world and its own existence as the previous one had been. Again, a familiar figure accompanied the Lab. This breed is invariably friendly and comfortable around people. And this wasn't the only black Lab that we've come across with a penchant to gliding between people's legs.

As this one did repeatedly with me; storming through, look out!. He is a large dog, barrel-bodied, and I'm fairly slight, now under five feet in height, and it took a bit of a balancing act to accommodate the dog's insistent determination while maintaining my upright posture, laughing the while.

It was a nice dog-day, yesterday. Halfway between our encounter with the two black Labs, we came across a young woman we'd never before seen in the ravine.

With her was a graceful and beautiful Weimaraner with a lovely bronze-red coat, a little on the small side for the breed, with their beautiful conformation, such that it's sheer pleasure to see them in fluid motion. This fellow couldn't have been friendlier, nudging us for attention, and curious about our two little black companions. We mentioned the presence of coyotes to the young woman, and then parted our separate ways.

Later on, we came across the pair again, and once again walked companionably together briefly. And in that brief time something quite peculiar happened. Out of the corner of my left eye I felt as though we were being observed, the three people we represented and our three dogs. My eyes slide to the left and beyond, at a line of trees just before the ridge we were on sloped down again to the valley of the ravine, I saw the furtive, fleeting vision of a tall, rangy grey figure.

A dog? Without a human companion; my eyes swept as far as I could see beyond the trees and down the slope to another trail far below. Nothing.