There are times when it is simply prudent to stand down, set aside habit temporarily. We decided to do just that today in recognition of a set of circumstances, minor but telling. Our backyard is always a more moderate environment than what we are exposed to say, at the front of the house, or just anywhere outside the backyard which boasts a protected micro-climate all its own. Today there is little difference between that micro-climate and the world outside it.

When we were out on the forest trails yesterday morning, it was in the aftermath of a substantial snowstorm. During the storm of the day and previous night before, the temperature hovered around the freezing mark. Yesterday, for our hike through the forest trails, it was -8C, which can be tolerable, but not when an Arctic wind joins the cold, blasting through the forest. To be sure, the forest does give some wind protection; in its fastness the wind is comparatively subdued in comparison to what it's like at street level.

We dressed ourselves adequately for the environment, as we did for Jackie and Jillie, our two little mugwump companions. At the time they were sporting a four-month growth of hair. They looked like hairy little tramps, but on the other hand, those haircoats had the function of retaining warmth aside from the sweater, jacket and boots they were wearing, to make the cold tolerable for them so they could enjoy our tramp through the snowy woods.

Mind, their tramp is a lot easier than ours; given they're quadrupeds and we're bipedal. They were negotiating the new snow depth quite handily, given their protective little rubber booties. We were taking it a little more gradually on the ascents of necessity, since loose snow kept us sliding backwards and hindering our upward momentum. And, after all, we're 79 years older than our four-year-old sibling pups.

Today is a colder day, and the wind even more emphatic, and the atmosphere that meets us in the backyard is one of icy chill, accentuated by a piercing wind. That, added to the fact that our little toy breed poodles had an appointment with the groomers' yesterday helped our decision to remain home today. Our pups are a little restless, but then they always tend to be -- Jackie, in any event, a fireball of nervous energy, his sister considerably less so. He has a lean and wiry conformation and hers is most definitely 'robust' in appearance.

They no longer appear scruffy and wild-haired. We knew they were in there, somewhere, in that tangle of hair, and they certainly have emerged as trim and beautiful little dogs. Somehow, with that long hair they gain the appearance of sturdiness. With their hair shorn even at the medium level for winter, they appear fragile. They are delicate because of their size, but robust because of their youth, health, and constant forays within a natural environment.

For us, there's no lack of things to do. We're bookworms, both of us, always have been omnivorous readers. Our pups have been indulging in episodes of vigorous run-abouts in the house, chasing one another, grappling together, working off some energy. Tomorrow's another day, and that other day will bring a diminished cold and wind. And we'll be off again.

We had a real winter blast all day yesterday, snow just kept coming down, the wind grew fiercer as the day progressed, and we were glad we'd gone out early in the morning for a tramp through the snowy woods rather than wait as usual for the afternoon when we usually venture out. The forecast was for snow to end around five, but even at eight it was still coming down. We kept putting peanuts out for the squirrels, noting that crows and chickadees were also coming about picking up peanuts. Their food sources become awkwardly compromised with weather like this and could use a pick-me-up.

My husband was determined to wait it out before doing any serious snow-clearing. He had cleared passage in the backyard for Jackie and Jillie three times during the day, the first time at 7:00 in the morning. By 8:30 p.m. he decided he'd finally get out with the snow blower and shovels and clear away the snow at the front of the house. Needless to say he was out for quite a length of time. And though when we'd gone out for our trek in the morning at 0C, by the time evening arrived it was -10C.

Today though it's cold we have the sun back to glare at the mounds of snow. The road in front of the house is thick with snow and ice again. Snow mounds on people's lawns average four feet in depth but can be higher in places. We bundled ourselves up good and warm and headed out with Jackie and Jillie right after breakfast. Which isn't saying much, given that I cleaned up the kitchen, made the bed and looked to a few other household tasks before we left.

As well dressed in snow the forest was yesterday after a full night of snowfall, this morning it was even more snow-blanketed and cold at -8C, with boughs of trees bent low under the weight of the snow. Wind had brought down smaller branches and detritus from the trees that littered the forest floor. The creek was running full again, not yet frozen over with the introduction of this new cold front. The sun glared brightly through it all and the light was so bright you could well understand why mountaineers in the Himalaya or Alaska run the risk of snow blindness at upper elevations.

We'd gone out earlier with Jackie and Jillie because we were anxious to keep an appointment for them at the 'spa' we take them to. It's adjacent and connected to the veterinary hospital where they're also regularly taken for yearly checkups and inoculations. The spa was actually the old hospital. A new one had been built, much larger to accommodate the growing need for such services, and the spa was a new initiative that had grown out the expansion, so there are a number of small rooms where client dogs are sequestered rather than have them all milling about together.

That works well for Jackie and Jillie; when we approach the facility to pick them up, they're always peering out the window to spot us arriving, their tails wagging like metronomes and we can hear Jackie's imperious barking urging us to get along a little faster.

They were becoming so shaggy we wondered where our two little imps had disappeared to. We knew they were in there somewhere. Their grooming revealed them and they were overjoyed to leap back into our arms. We were happy to see them rather more refined than raffish. They had become so hairy their winter coats had become too tight. Their nails were piercing their rubber winter boots. They were leaving little black clumps of hair on the rugs, in their beds and anywhere else they happened to scratch themselves.

The downside of that, of course, is that the grown-in haircoat also served to keep them warmer on these icy and windy winter days. So they'll have to acclimate a bit now, though something tells me they won't much notice the difference. They were happy to be back home, and demanded treats, and nothing pleases them as much as raw cauliflower, and that's what they got.

I awoke just after four this morning, and squinting toward the windows in our bedroom, it looked incredibly bright out. I expected that, since snow had started falling before we went up to bed. And when it's snowing during the night, the snow crystals catch light and reflect it well enough so that it looks like daylight outside while we're immersed in night darkness in the house interior.

I decided to get up, amble down the hall toward the front of the house and there look out at the street to hazard an assessment of how much snow had fallen. Nothing spectacular. The road in front of the house, in fact, because of the mild temperature just a tad over freezing, had bare spots where days before even milder temperature and bright sun had melted some of the snowpack on the road.

My husband got up from bed around seven. I was asleep, when he dressed and went out to the back of the house to shovel the deck, its stairs, and the walkways in the backyard. That's so Jackie and Jillie wouldn't have to do the breaststroke in the backyard. The snow was still falling, it would continue most of the day, we knew. It was wet snow and therefore heavy, tending to clump and compress.

Finished, my husband trekked back upstairs and woke me to get up. Now it was our puppies' turn to get outside and when they came back indoors they needed towelling. They were well slathered with snow from ears and muzzles to footpads. A minor dilemma faced us. The snow, though not terribly deep yet, had been falling for hours overnight, and by mid-afternoon it would be considerably deeper. We had the choice of cancelling out a walk through the forest trails today, or decide to get out into the ravine with the puppies then and there.

So that's what we did. It would have been a shame, after all, to miss a tramp through the woods -- all the more so that it would be during a lovely snowstorm at a fairly mild temperature and before the expected wind gusts had arrived. As we descended into the ravine to access a main trail, it was more than evident that others had been out before us. The snow was deep and required quite a bit of determined slogging to proceed. Jillie was careful to walk into footsteps in the snow, to make her progress a little easier. Just as we all had, walking up the road to access the ravine entrance, using the tracks of cars that had gone by and avoiding the deep layers of snow.  Jackie opted to do some snow-swimming.

But things got better soon enough, where a faint track through the new snow had been started, though it was also filling up fairly swiftly with new falling snow. It was a scene of incomparable beauty, the new snow scintillating with subdued light, an ephemeral landscape of winter perfection. All was still. But for the occasional plop of snow dropping on our hooded heads from the trees above. In the distance crows called.

Ascending a height to a ridge to access a major trail we saw two familiar looking dogs and a woman rapidly closing the gap between  us. We've become familiar with her and her husband and their two dogs over the past few years. Their house abuts the forest at its street level height, backing onto the ravine at one of the entrances at a street about a 20 minute walk from our own.

She told us that last night her two dogs had been awakened by the coyotes howling and they ran about through the house, making a commotion of their own, before settling back down again. They've all become accustomed to hearing the coyotes at night, just as they now take it for granted that they'll occasionally see them in the ravine just outside their back fence, from an upstairs window.

As we resumed our hike in the opposite direction to hers, the wind began to pick up, enticing long, light veils of snow to fall from the trees onto the forest floor in a languid, opaque wave; a skein of snow temporarily blanking out sightlines. From time to time the snow picked up its volume and we encountered almost white-out conditions for brief periods. Beyond beautiful.

Because it was so mild and had been for the previous four or five days the creek was running free and swollen now with the effect of both snowmelt and falling snow. We congratulated ourselves for that decision to get out early in the day, to hold off on our morning shower and breakfast in favour of getting out with our two little dogs to enjoy that direct exposure to a forest ambience during a snowstorm.

Typically, rounding out toward the end of February, we've been experiencing the calm before the storm. The past week of mild temperatures and sunny days has lulled us into a sense of complacency. We're tired of winter and so we're susceptible to being fooled and fooling ourselves into believing that winter is preparing to end its too-long stay for 2019/20.

No such thing, and we should know better. Yes, snow was melting, and we could smell spring in the air. Yes, there were signs in the forest vegetation that some shrubs were confident enough to send out signals of emerging life at this stage. Yes, chickadees and nuthatches have moved down from the boreal forest, and some migratory birds are already on the move, returning to our area on their way further north.

No, we won't necessarily have an early spring. But it's coming. It may be delayed frustratingly as often happens, but nature's schedule is somewhat flexible even though it's also inexorable. We have four seasons and each follows the one preceding it. Eventually. So we grit and grin. Hello winter, we know you're still here with us, don't think we don't appreciate what you've brought us, but we're a tad weary of it all, and mightn't you consider moving on -- temporarily, that is?

When we trotted ourselves over to the ravine early this afternoon the snow had just started. It threw a ghostly whitish veil on the landscape, so everything looked a little blurred in the distance. We won't be receiving much snow throughout the day however, possibly up to 5 cm. It's overnight that we'll be blasted with a full-blown snowstorm, leaving us with an estimated ten to 15 cm. Which isn't a dreadful amount.

But wait; the snow is set to continue on Thursday. A separate snowstorm, actually. And it'll be a bit of a raging bull, it seems. For Thursday the forecast is for a possible accumulation of 15 to 20 cm to top off what we'll have received the night before. This is winter assuring us that, as per usual, it has no intention whatever to withdraw either quietly or gladly.

No matter, we enjoyed a leisurely hike through the forest trails with Jackie and Jillie. The temperature is still on the balmy side, and as a result the wind wasn't much of a discomfort. The snow came down throughout the time we were on the trails, in alternating scenarios of light snow and thick descent, and a more drifting-type wave of snow clusters. It is not yet serious snow.

So it will be interesting -- as it always tends to be -- to see what the result of the next two days will be. The accumulated snow on the forest floor and the trails is fairly crusty though thickly piled. We'll be returned to the stage where new snow drifts undulate through the forest in concentric heaps arranged by the wind, and most delightful of all, where evergreen boughs are brought low with the weight of two successive snowfalls. And we're returned to a full-on winter landscape.

Once both snowstorms have passed, so too will the mild temperature. We're about to plunge back into more seasonal February temperatures, so we'll have some -10C+ overnight treats, and days of afternoon highs in the -6C and -8C range. We haven't quite forgotten what that's all about. And nor have we yet stored any of our winter gear knowing full well it will all be needed for at least another month. Sigh.

Yet another superb day. Winter, dare we hope, is steadily waning. I know that's precipitate and naive given all my years of experiencing an Ottawa winter. But we can sense spring. We can smell spring. The cardinal singing in the backyard in the morning, can too. There's an air of busyness with the return of migratory birds. One of our friends told us he's seen a Great Blue Heron under one of the bridges in the ravine. Another two informed us that a pair of Wood Ducks appear to be staying along the creek at a far stretch of the forest across a major thoroughway that we don't often traverse.

Jackie and Jillie are feeling a mite stir-crazy, still agitating to get out to the backyard, moping about on the deck when the sun is absent as it was early this morning. Jackie stations himself at the front door looking out at the squirrel activity. And sometimes goes downright berserk with the unfairness of it all. He's stuck in the house on a fabulous 3C day, and there are the squirrels, availing themselves of the peanut-strewn porch as though they're the property owners, and not he and Jillie.

In fact, we did get out to the forest trails a bit earlier than usual today, just shortly after noon. The wind was up, but made little impression on us other than to resemble a fresh spring breeze, given the gentle temperature. Snow is beginning to melt off roofs. And although we can't yet identify any difference in a diminishing snowpack in the ravine, the creek is still running high, though not nearly so much as yesterday when the sun was full out and the thermometer confirmed that we were enjoying a balmy 6C.

We clambered up the first of the hills to the ridge above, after descending our own long hillside into the ravine. Our puppies were practically frothing with excitement. There was an old trail-hiking acquaintance we hadn't seen in ages up on the ridge trail, with his short-haired pointer. Our friend was walking with a stick, his knees giving him problems he explained, and keeping him almost sedentary for far too long.

We chatted awhile, and continued each on our separate ways, but it wasn't long before we came across another friend we haven't seen in a while, with his white German Shepherd, Nova. Nova had punctured one of his paws, it seems, and was kept fairly immobile for 40 days. Nova's always been a rough-and-tumble, curious and energetic dog, it must have been quite awful for him to be restrained while he was in the healing process.

A short while later we bumped into Nova and Rod again this time walking with another friend. Who had her miniature poodle on leash, just the way we now have Jackie and Jillie. Rod that told her that the day before when he'd been out with Nova, a neighbour informed him that looking out from an upper window of his house (both their homes back onto the ravine), he had seen Rod and Nova, and also saw a coyote behind them, stealthily but in full sight tracking their progress, and Rod had been unaware of its presence.

Even Barry, whom we came across soon afterward, is slightly nervous now about the welfare of his three Border Collies, more careful now to keep them in sight. As intelligent dogs they've been trained to listen carefully and immediately recognize and accede to orders. But coyotes are clever and their presence appeals to some dogs as potential playmates whom they appear quite prepared to run after in friendship and trust.

We weren't accompanied by friends the entire circuit through the forest trails. We tend to meet up, then part, and continue on ourselves to other connecting trails. And we noted the presence of American bittersweet berries still on their vines, and wondered why they aren't eaten by birds throughout the winter months, but the berries' bitter flavour is not a hit with most birds.

Last fall's flaming candles of the forest's understory Staghorn sumacs too are in evidence. Their presence is yet another of nature's winter offerings to birds, some of which will, in desperation when food sources are in short supply in mid-winter, eat the not entirely nourishing candles. Valued more for their aesthetic presence perhaps (and of course as seeding bodies) than a reliable food source ... as a last resort.

Today's ramble through the woodland trails presented us with a first type of experience. As we ascended a short hilly trail to round out over the top and gain a main trail, I noticed in the near distance as a woman with a large black dog was attaching its leash to its collar. I should have reined Jackie in, but allowed him as usual to run ahead on the extendable leash, barking as is  his usual mode of greeting. I began to rein in the retractable leash, but not before it had extended far enough for Jackie to reach the strange dog, a standard poodle mix that didn't appear the last bit perturbed by Jackie's near and loud presence.

The quite large and bulky woman, grim-faced, had been carrying a rough stick and she brandished it like a cudgel, aiming for Jackie, but he successfully eluded it. I glared at the woman and asked what was wrong with her? She shouted angrily back at me, what was wrong with me, allowing my violent dog to attack hers? I was flabbergasted.

I told her that she represented a rarity in this community forest. In our 30 years of daily hikes through the forest trails with our dogs, we'd never before come across anyone like her, and since we'd never before encountered her, hoped to never again. My husband was somewhat less circumspect, warning her that if she so much as hit one of our pups she would live to regret it. The woman snarled and threatened him, as we all separated and walked away from one another, imprecations being cast to the winds.

What a truly sad and sorry episode. Encountering someone so hostile and miserable-natured is a kind of first for us. And it made us feel really quite dreadful. Shortly afterward on our return home we left Jackie and Jillie securely at home and went off ourselves to do our weekly food shopping. And there at the supermarket, a young male cashier restored our feelings about the best in people. He was so very sweet natured and took so much care in what he was doing.

Sometimes young female cashiers seem to resent it when we present a shopping bag full of mostly canned food for deposit in the community food bank receptable. They have to retrieve each item from inside the bag, run it through the cash, then pack it all back into the bag so we can deposit it in the in the store's vestibule. We bag these items as we shop to keep them separate from our own take-home items.

This young man did all that graciously, and carefully handled perishable food, arranging items on the moving belt to make it easier for customers to pick up and pack their food items. A willing service a cut above. More akin to our experiences shopping in rural U.S. supermarkets than in urban Ottawa.

As we descended into the ravine this afternoon we became ultra-aware of a pervasive odour. It was, we knew; because it is unmistakable, the stench of sulphur. And its source was the creek running through the ravine. Yesterday was mild at 2C, but the afternoon  high for today soared to 6C, and that meant snow was melting. Beginning to melt this winter's worth of the forest snowpack, to be correct.
And what we were smelling was swamp gas.

Not that spring has arrived, by any means. This week we've been gifted with mild temperatures. Next week, who knows? It is still, after all, winter. And March is yet to come; another winter month. March has a habit of bringing us fairly inclement weather, ranking in difficulty with anything that could erupt in January as far as cold and snow is concerned. So, there's that.

But in the meanwhile, a spate of mild days and full sun is indeed melting snow. The snowmelt has invaded the creek, swollen its content, and the rush of water downstream is picking up detritus and clay on the creek bottom. So the water is muddy in appearance, dark and unappealing. But it is the odour that is truly impressive, and not in an admirable way.

But it has been a mild and sunny day, albeit windy. So mild that ten minutes into our afternoon hike I doffed my headband and mittens, and unzipped the lighter of my two winter jackets. We thought it best to put waterproof coats on Jackie and Jillie and leave off their light under-garments, as well as their boots. But because the street is slathered deep in salty mush with the snow and ice melting on the road, we decided to carry them over from the house to the ravine entrance.

As soon as we approached the trailhead they got dumped onto the trail. Just as well they're so small. What a lovely day; truly, there could be nothing else asked for on such a day. Unlike yesterday which was a Sunday when we found the trails thronged with people, dogs and children, we saw only one group of two adults, a child and two dogs and before that a woman walking a young female boxer pleased to see Jackie and Jillie and just obviously in love with life and nature, bouncing happily about everywhere.

The group was just exiting one of the community entrances from a street quite distant from our own. And Jackie curious as always, decided to walk upright to give himself greater height, the better to observe them as they walked off and onto the street. This, at a level even with the street, not in the ravine itself, but in the upper portion of the forest environment. It's amazing how long Jackie can 'walk' on his two hind legs, emulating us, a specialty of some small poodles.

We were curious to see whether the wild hazelnut shrubs bordering the trails as an understory vegetation were yet showing any signs of new life. And sure enough, many of them were sporting the beginnings of their catkins. Many years ago in one particular part of the main trail there was a willow shrub and by the time late February rolled around, it had produced light and airy willow catkins. We used to point them out to our granddaughter. Gone, now.

Because it was such a delightful day we decided to lengthen our usual longer circuit to delve deeper into the ravine through offshoot trails. And of course, we came across tributaries of the creek. Because they're smaller and less dense with runoff than the creek itself, some were still iced over, while others had broken free of the ice and the odour of sulphur wafted about us, anything but beguiling.