We've had successive nights of icy cold temperatures -- down to -10C last night after -6C for the previous two nights. It'll be cold again tonight, but we'll see that beautiful anomaly, a 'blue moon', a full, round, bright moon in a clear sky. This is, after all, a Halloween day like none other that we can ever recall; no children will be coming around to shriek 'trick or treat!' this evening, waiting to be handed a chocolate bar, politely thanking the giver, and floating off in a little crowd of other costumed children heading toward the next house on the street.

This city has been declared one of four 'red hot' COVID zones and residents have been asked to set aside conventional Halloween activities for this year. So it will be a quiet night. Strangely quiet. It's been a bright, sunny day, with light winds and since the  temperature ambitiously nudged up to 5C, a Saturday geared to finishing up the yardwork.  After breakfast my husband took down the curtained screens hanging from the metal deck canopy, our 'privacy screen' for our 'outdoor room'. And he began putting away the outdoor furniture.

I waited until we returned from our early afternoon ramble in the woods with Jackie and Jillie before heading out to the garden to complete the tidying and clean-up of vegetation in preparation for winter's onset. There's also so many things to be removed from the gardens and put into storage, ornamental things with status in the garden that can be removed and given shelter from the elements. Sundial, metal birdbath, garden standards, poured concrete 'animals' and other like things.

Last night we had our usual traditional Friday night meal, complemented by the Chelsea buns I'd baked earlier in the day for dessert. I had baked a large, plumper potato pudding than usual and it was unusually good. Instead of cauliflower that I usually prepare to accompany this particular meal, we had asparagus spears, alongside the breaded, seasoned chicken breast that had gone into the oven to share space and cooking time with the pudding. The Chelsea buns were the piece de resistance, and we couldn't resist; we ate fully half of the eight rolls. The cinnamon-chocolate-walnut-raisin-brown sugar-butter combination was truly irresistible wrapped into the sweet raised dough.

When we headed out to the ravine in the early afternoon we noticed that a family of young children down the street was hosting a Halloween party, about ten adults and a myriad of children running about, no distancing, everyone behaving as though we were living in normal times. It's puzzling, given the prominence of the alerts that local medical and government authorities have particularly asked that this not happen, given that gatherings of this kind have spurred an alarming rise in local cases of COVID.

In the forest, all was still. There, with the trees as screening shield, there was barely a stirring of wind, and with the reduced forest canopy the sun no longer struggles to filter through to the forest floor. During the summer, spring and fall months sunglasses aren't needed, there just isn't enough sun that glares through to illuminate the landscape sufficiently to require them. It's an entirely different story now, the sun so dazzling that without sunglasses it's difficult to see properly at times.

That same sun that challenges our eyes with the strength of its illuminating powers happens at the same time to cast its generous warmth wherever it penetrates, making the ambient air comfortable, removing the sting of the winter-like chill. Because it's a Saturday more people are about on the trails and we came across some old acquaintances, ending up standing around together and talking for periods of time that fail to tax Jackie's and Jillie's patience.

It's the rare tree now that continues to sport any of its leaves, resistant to the call of nature to release them for another winter. In the garden, last night's really hard frost persuaded the mulberry and the magnolia to say a final adieu to their foliage. Sweeping up the leaves on the walkway and patios was the final little task I undertook when I had completed my garden tidying up after our woodland hike. And I refrained once again from cutting back the little white carpet rose. Though I could hardly credit it, the rose had sent out more fresh-looking, perky little flower buds. So once again I've left it to flaunt its beauty with the intention of lopping off the delicate little canes before the snow flies in earnest.

 

An established routine makes life easier. And we've all got our routines. They're comforting, because we've established a pattern, which means decision-making is simple, all we've got to do it follow what's been done before. Our lives are full of all kinds of routines that become automatic. Important things and unimportant, but all of them steer us in a direction we've become accustomed to and we accept their utility. Less to think about, and easier to reproduce something we've already done countless times. Certain days of the week  you do certain things. At specific hours of the day it's time to do something else that's routine.

On Thursdays, our family has had fish for dinner for as long as I can remember. The kind of fish and how it's prepared can differ, but fish it is. So yesterday I decided we'd have fish and chips. Last week we had fish chowder. The week before we had breaded oven-baked Haddock fillets. And today I decided on baking a half-side of salmon. I coated the non-skin side-up with a layer of mayonnaise -- after seasoning the salmon with lemon-pepper -- to keep it moist while it baked.

And with it I made fresh potato chips. After cutting up the potatoes into 'chip' shape, I soaked the chips in a bowl of cold water for an hour, drained them, tossed them lightly with olive oil, spread them on a baking pan and put them in the heated oven. When the chips were halfway through baking (at which time they have to be turned over), in went the fish and I prepared a fresh vegetable salad to preface the main course. There, dinner done! Oh, right, peeled and sectioned Clementines for dessert.

This morning I asked my husband what he'd prefer me to bake for tonight's dessert; lemon squares (my favourite), or Chelsea buns (his favourite). The question was fairly redundant, and the buns won out. So I decided that I'd use lots of walnuts as well as raisins, cinnamon and this time, cocoa powder in the filling, along with brown sugar and butter. The thing is, it's a time-consuming concoction; once the sweet bread dough is prepared (consisting of yeast, honey, milk, sour cream, eggs, salt and flour), it has to rise for at least an hour.

Once it rises, the dough can be worked, rolled out to a rectangle, the butter spread over, then the dry ingredients, one after the other, so the rectangle with its filling can be rolled from one end to the other, then sliced into sections and carefully placed within a prepared baking pan on the bottom of which has been spread butter, brown sugar, cinnamon and walnuts. Then another hour or so wait for the dough to rise again before the product can be put into the oven to bake.

Which meant that our timing to exit the house for our tramp through the ravine with Jackie and Jillie had to fit into that schedule. It's turned out to be a really bright day, but quite cold for October; another pattern that nature appears to be comfortable with. It was cold during the night, at -6C, and by morning it was 0C, the high for the day. There was wind, but a gentle wind, so with sun and a breeze, the ambient feeling of the atmosphere was very pleasant. We just had to dress accordingly.

We've got to watch Jillie's weight. She's sturdy where her brother is lean. Everything fits him, nothing fits her. So we've got to be on the lookout for a new winter jacket for her, a little looser than those she had been wearing. When they get really energetic out on a walk, the old jackets tend to become somewhat detached, they're too tight and the fastenings tend to open under strain of movement.

Off we went up the street, into the ravine, then descended to the forest below. The fallen foliage crackling under our boots, now well dried and desiccating into pieces where they've been trod on. Some accumulations of foliage on the forest floor still retain vestiges of colour remnants of their freshly-fallen state, but the distinctness of discrete colour is fast vanishing into a colour-pool that is turning a muddy brown on its way to black. All of it adding to the generation upon generation of leaf mass that has seasonally enriched the composted soil of the forest.

There is absolutely nothing left of the once-green and ubiquitous vegetation that comprises the bracken of the forest floor. Aside from a few fronds of really hardy ferns that can withstand any cold, even poking their brazen green out from under snow during the winter months, all others have been absorbed back into the soil from which they emerged, covered now by a fresh layer of fallen foliage in the endless routine of nature's recycling plan for all growing things. 

Lingering abed seems the most sensible thing to do on such dark mornings you're certain you've awakened in the middle of the night, and just turn over, and a little internal clock kicks back, informing you that, no, it's time to get up, chum. My husband's clock is in better working condition than mine, murmuring lovingly in my ear, 'get up!', but I just ignored him. Too warm, too comfy, too entangled.

Jackie and Jillie soon set me straight; they'd had enough of snoozing and insisted it was breakfast time. For them, this morning, it meant an extra treat. Whenever my husband has soft-boiled eggs for breakfast, another egg is popped into the pot to be halved for them. So they know the routine, they get to eat their own breakfast and when my husband peels 'their' egg and chops it into their bowls, pandemonium breaks out.

 Their entitlements are their entitlements. Last evening we had stir-fried vegetables served over steamed rice, with soy-infused chicken scattered over. Our puppies are enamoured of everything we eat and demand their due. We don't feed them from the table, actually, but they know when we move from table over to the kitchen counter there may be some offerings. Yesterday they were comprised of bell pepper and chicken bits.

The stir-fry itself was made up of chopped onion, garlic, mushrooms, bell pepper, snap peas and bean sprouts. Steamed rice formed the base and I had steeped pieces of chicken breast in garlic, cornstarch, soy sauce and olive oil preparatory to quick-stir-frying it separately, to top the vegetables. Nice and warming and wholesomely good tasting; Jackie and Jillie agreed.

It's wintry out there. Blustery wind, cold, heavy overcast; Nature cast the die and it came up winter. Who are we to argue with winter? My husband set off after breakfast for a quick reconnoitre at Canadian Tire. They had advertised a new shipment of men's slippers at half-price. While there he meant to have a look at their winter-boot icers. We've worn our old Mountain Equipment Coop icers for decades, and they're well, worn. The studs have been replaced countless times, but the icers are tired.

And they're either too small or too big. But at Canadian Tire he found nothing to fit the bill. And I looked on-line later at the MEC offerings. We've a fairly good idea what we want, something that will secure at both toe and back of heel, which our current ones fail to do, accounting for their occasional displacement which is beyond irritating. It's become a mission to secure a reliable set of icers for each of us, since slogging through the snow and ice in the ravine has its winter-dangers; we've slipped and tumbled too often.

While my husband was out with his chore, I was busy with mine. Changing our bed linen over to reflect the need for greater comfort and warmth to match a winter need. I hadn't meant to make that change-over yet, thought it could wait until mid-November, but cold is cold, as convincing a reason as any to proceed. It's always a bit of a trick to properly insert a duvet into a duvet cover; takes patience and a certain skill. Eventually it gets done, and that's the signal for little dogs to take over ...

Our afternoon ravine walk was great, once we plunged our way into the ravine; the walk up the street to gain the ravine entrance was not particularly pleasant; cold and windy and starkly dark for mid-day. As usual, Jackie was his generally frantic self, veering off to the left to the right, standing to attention watching a pair of little red squirrels at play, listening to his sister's alerts that someone may be heading in their direction and to keep those barks going in a chorus of 'who goes there?!'

 

Sometimes I really have to wrack my menu-storage brain to come up with something different and interesting for dinner. Our extremely unexpected late-October icy weather is still continuing. We enjoyed quite hearty meals the last few evenings, and I wanted something a little lighter but still to be wedged into the comfort food category and I thought of latkes. The kind of meal that my husband always enjoys. In the same category as cheese blintzes. So, latkes it would be.

Easy to prepare, and that was certainly in its favour. All it takes is potatoes, onion, eggs, salt and flour. And olive oil to cook the potato pancakes in. I used three quite large potatoes, a large onion (we like onion to introduce itself with assertive gusto), salt, pepper, two large eggs, and a scant quarter-cup whole-wheat flour. I served a robust vegetable salad of lettuce, cucumber bell pepper, snap peas, carrots and tomatoes to preface the meal. Which my husband dutifully ate, (slipping a few choice bits of bell pepper to Jackie and Jillie under the table which I of course didn't 'notice', he thought, despite that they'd already had their own little salad after their meal).

When we'd come downstairs first thing this morning to take charge of the day, it was only to discover that the day had already taken charge of itself and us while it was at the process, informing us that we'd better get used to its new aggressive attitude. In this instance, a hard frost once again, with the remnants of a light snow that had fallen while we were still snoozing. Oh, and a dreary, black-cloud-ribboned sky. But it wasn't raining, either. And the forecast in the newspaper for today's weather said that 8C would be the high this afternoon, a bit of cheerful news after yesterday's high of 2C and high wind. The wind tamed its instinct for excess today.

So we were both busy after breakfast, me with some house cleaning, my husband finishing up the installation of one of his project upstairs and we were cheered to see that the house had brightened considerably because the sun came out for a brief visit. We invited it to stay around for a few hours but it demurred, obviously had a prior appointment elsewhere.

Off we headed to the ravine guided enthusiastically by Jackie and Jillie wearing their winter halters. I'd washed and put away their summer halters for the season, and ditto for their lighter sweaters. They were dressed today in Christmas colours which people always like to remark on. We'd bought those sweaters years ago for two reasons: 1) they are warm and woolly, and 2) they were on sale post-Christmas season. 

The fallen foliage covering the trails is now fully tramped and dark and slippery, an uneven pathway of disintegrating cellulose. On either side of which the forest floor remains steeped in still-faintly-colourful foliage fast turning crisp and degrading, but far more attractive than their trail-tromped counterparts. Last night's frost had temporarily frozen the wet mucky mess of clay-and-leaves, but rising temperatures (all the way to 8C! today) had melted those ice crystals and created a slippery slurry that warned, take care! when ascending hills. And so we did.

It's a tamed, forlorn-looking forest now. Sightlines in the absence of the foliage is greater and at the margins of the forest where the trails loop closer to its outer edge, the form of houses on streets surrounding the forest can be seen, dispelling the imaginary notion that we're in a wilderness area. We'll just have to put up with that for now. Just as well we leave that well behind for most of our circuit which takes place a distance from those streets and where the bush is wider and deeper.

Plenty of squirrels about, chasing one another, curious about our presence on occasion, and busily engaged in securing anything edible that can be stored against winter. Sometimes Jackie and Jillie stare at them with curiosity, occasionally they make as though to leap after one, but unlike in their puppy years barely make the effort. Birds that remain in the boreal forest throughout the winter months, like nuthatches and chickadees and woodpeckers, are seen and heard now and again.

As we trundle along, my husband and I, we discuss between ourselves impressions we take away from reading the morning newspapers. We subscribe to two, a local and a national newspaper. Sometimes our impressions and takeaways converge and sometimes they don't, and then a lively discussion can ensue, each of us expressing our individual opinions, the reasons for same, and rarely moving the other to agreement. It's a satisfying exercise in the art of the debate.

 

Today was one of those 'iffy' days for Jackie and Jillie, our two little poodles. They weren't certain if we were abandoning them two times over in one day. So that left them feeling unappreciated, unwanted little orphans wondering if they were being punished for being so very, very good. In which case it must have occurred to them that they were likelier to be 'noticed' by us and more greatly appreciated if they behaved like two little scamps. But if they did, it slipped our notice; we saw them behaving as they usually do, just moderately demanding and just as moderately accommodating.

We headed off soon after waking this morning, to get an early start on accessing food for our depleted cupboards and Arctic-white-cold-and-empty refrigerator. We explained to an incredulous J&J that we were just leaving them temporarily for an important mission, to restore what in their greed for food and treats two little puppies omnivorously devoured in a week. An astonishing amount in comparison to what two hale and healthy adult humans manage to put away comfortably in that same space of time.

As usual all hell broke loose as soon as they saw us headed for the hall cupboard to remove our jackets and pull them on. The little chunks of cheese they had avidly devoured just moments earlier to tide them over to a proper breakfast was suddenly viewed as a betrayal simply to put them off their guard. Jillie whined and Jackie yodeled their utter misery. He could win a prize for heart-strung melancholy and Jillie for absolute tormented agony.

In no time at all -- literally -- we returned with the goodies to two excited little dogs leaping about happily, joyful at the unexpected reunion. Yep, a new kind of  treat, two of which they permitted us to indulge them in while we put away groceries and they were so helpful to the process, directing us this way and that while we were under the impression they were merely getting underfoot.

 And then, breakfast over with, cleaning up done, a bit of this and a bit of that, they suddenly realized we were at it again. Preparing to leave. This time the house, not them. We had put on their collars, the signal that they would be going with us. To the spa. To be groomed. They know the route and recognized where they were while we parked. And awaited permission to enter, masked. And then we had the gall to leave them there for an agonizing hour-and-a-half, to return alone to a suddenly very quiet and boring house.

Once retrieved, coiffed and bathed and looking quite adorable, off we went for our daily tramp through the ravine. This has been a two-month-early winter day. Unmistakable; yesterday's brief little snow and ice-pellet events astride the all day rain delivered the message, as did the -3C reading of the temperature when we awoke this morning. But by mid-afternoon the temperature had soared to 2C, overcast and windy. A search for their winter coats ensued, along with ours, and then off we went.

Cold. Very cold. Damp. Windy. Overcast. 

But we were on the forest trails and that was what mattered. Jackie and Jillie bounced along the trails absorbed as usual in the divine fragrances only they can discern and must keenly investigate, both at length and in minute detail. Jackie signals his approval by leaving his own water-mark. Jillie, prim and proper, avails herself of whatever little twigs are handy for a quick chaw.

At this time of year before the snow whips through the atmosphere gently settling on anything that doesn't move and finally presents us with ethereal artwork fit for a fairytale, the forest takes on a fairly dismal cast. There is less sun in late-October into November, and the contrast between night-time and day-time temperatures signal freeze-and-thaw, and the thaw invites underfoot muck. Much more telling is the naked condition of the deciduous trees. True, immature ironwood and beech, and often oak, tend to hold on to their pale papery foliage, but all other trees have shed theirs, the trunks and limbs standing out dark and stark within the dusky forest interior.

You have to look a little harder to espie and recognize the beauty surrounding you. Not only the sound of bluejays and woodpeckers, the fleeting presence of squirrels, the bright green moss that defies the cold, the wanly waving dry and dessicated foliage still hanging on, the dense, deep scattering of still-kaleidoscopic colours of foliage on the forest floor, the spume of the ravine creek as it rushes downstream, the bright dark green of the conifers, the architecture of the forest, its canopy and understory, the sky above, but it's there, awaiting notice.

 

We knew it was coming, just not so soon. It's still October, after all. But there it is, so icy cold that rain is mixed with ice pellets and when it falls it turns to snow. First thing this morning, looking out at the roofs of the houses behind  us, we saw  how nicely those roofs were iced with snow. It was, after all, 0C. Up somewhat from the overnight low of -4C. And to think that a mere three days earlier we were basking in a day of 22C, and sun! 

So, that's final; meals henceforth are to be comfort food. Hot spicy soups and stews preferentially, with fresh-baked bread when appropriate. Yesterday it was braided buns to go along with bowls of steaming, thick lentil-tomato soup. Stuffed with celery, carrots, tomatoes. Spiced with garam masala, fennel and cumin seeds. My husband also had smoked salmon, while I enjoyed chunks of cheddar cheese, and then we had giant fresh and sweet blueberries. That's comfort!

Eventually the temperature rose today. All the way to 2C. And the rain became just freezing rain, then very cold rain that refused to stop. We could have taken a short circuit over the top ridge of the ravine wearing raincoats. In the knowledge that the trails would be a morass of muck, slippery and problematic on the descents and ascents required even to access the ridge.

And since it was a busy cleaning day in any event, we decided to give it a pass. Jackie and Jillie assented to accompany us out to the backyard a few times for necessary business transactions, but were definitely not happy with the rain. Mind, if it had been a few degrees colder and we'd had just snow to accumulate they would have been ecstatic. As it was, a slick of ice formed over the deck, the steps leading to the garden, and the walkways.

Once again I was persuaded we would absolutely require a rib-sticking, interior-warming dinner. We haven't had Kasha in ages, so that would accompany a meatball stew with garlic, onions, mushrooms and carrots. When preparing the stew I thought I'd use smoked paprika for a change and some sumac so that should be interesting. To preface dinner, a small salad of fresh vegetables, and at the other end, a pear compote.

So what did Jackie and Jillie do all day? Snooze, that's what. They did have some play time with us tossing about a few of their stuffed toys, but with cold, miserable weather comes a sense of lassitude shared by all. That's when you want to curl up on the sofa with a good book or the newspaper (which will most certainly give you mental indigestion; the latter of the two, that is) It'll continue raining tonight and the temperature will fall to -5. Winter's a-comin'. 

Now, when we look out the front door the form, texture, colour, bright cheerfulness is all gone. The garden pots have been emptied of their beautiful occupants -- and just in time --  and the garden beds and border perennials trimmed in preparation for their winter sleep. It looks absolutely dismal, dark and bereft of life. The weeping mulberry has shed almost all its foliage, the sargenti crabs are on the way to losing theirs and the magnolia stubbornly clings to it's, but soon will be bare.

Tomorrow the cold will continue but we hope for the opportunity to get out for a brisk walk through the forest with Jackie and Jillie. That will likely be after we pick them up at the spa where they're scheduled for a grooming they badly need. It's been a great relief for me to no longer cut their hair myself, deciding to have them done professionally. The outcome is so much more preferential as well.

The garden beds and borders look pretty dismal now. They were becoming fairly bleak in appearance in any event, after all the cut-backs and trimming they've undergone over the past few weeks, but yesterday's work really finished them off. Sad, so sad to see everything go. In particular those flowers that were still bravely carrying on. But I knew that the -5 forecasted for last night would turn them into mush, so out they came.

One thing was left to carry on, the little carpet rose in the garden bed closest to the road, furthest from the house. There are new buds waiting to burst into blossom, and join those stalwarts already in fine bloom. I cut back the other roses, but not this one. It will truly be left for the last. 

And I decided a gustatory reward would be in order Saturday evening, so since I already had bread dough made the day before, and refrigerated, I'd use half of it for a crust for a pizza. And on went tomato paste, herbs and spices we mix up to always have on hand, then mozzarella, Parmesan, mushrooms, bell pepper, tomatoes and pepperoni. Our microwave oven has a pizza oven underneath the microwave and it does pizza to perfection, a nice crisp crust and well-done top. We enjoyed it.

Today, yet another very cold fall day, with a  high of 6C, and a brisk wind. Earlier in the day when I had Jackie and Jillie out in the backyard, it was sunny, mitigating the wind. Jackie found a grape tomato that had fallen off the tomato plant when I was gathering them and then composted the plant and he had a fabulous bit of fun with it, tossing it about, chasing it, running away when I 'threatened' to grab it away from him. Tomatoes are one of his beloved vegetables. Eventually he ate it, and that was that.

When we were out in the ravine later, Jillie had a few treats more to her liking when we met up with an old friend we hadn't seen in ages and her Boston bull terrier, a beautiful dog. We'd dressed Jackie and Jillie just as we had yesterday, in their woolly warm sweaters. By then the sun was on its way to retiring. On our walk up to the ravine entrance it was still in evidence, with skeins of white clouds beginning to occlude the blue sky.

It has been a truly icy day. Not only the temperature, but the wind probing icy fingers trying to invade our outerwear. Even a brisk pace through the connecting trails failed to work us up to a semi-warm state against the  cool insistence of the wind. But it was a beautiful day regardless, and a great time to be out and about, revelling in the landscape, now almost fully denuded of foliage.

There are still some bright yellow and red -flagged leaves holding out on immature trees, but the bulk of the more mature deciduous have released their foliage for good now. And the leaves that litter the forest floor that were just a few days ago flaming red, green, yellow and orange, have lost their brilliant hues, and are now turning into an integrated brown flecked with yellow. 

Back home again, we checked on the status of the little rose shrub. It had survived last night's hard frost really well; hardly any difference between how it looked in the summer blooming months and how it now appears. The blossoms are cheerfully defiant and beautiful. If they can view the imminent arrival of winter with such equanimity, then so can we...!