Nature has decided to close out October of 2021 with a bang-up weekend of incessant rain. Morning to night. Saturday rain. Sunday rain.'Bye-bye, October.

Jackie and Jillie are puzzled. Yes they detest getting wet, and to think that Poodles were bred as water dogs... Button, our miniature, was an enthusiastic, inveterate lover-of-water. Riley, our tiny toy avoided it if at all possible. And our two little black rascals, sized like miniatures but bred as toys, follow tradition.

We've explained to them that while it's fine for us to get out in the rain-penetrated atmosphere, they would abhor it. So it's another indoor day. No hike through the forest trails today. I did see one of our ravine acquaintances who lives on the street behind us, walking up our street with his Rhodesian Ridgeback toward the ravine entrance, but big dogs tend to ignore such incidentals as rain, however heavily it falls.

Irving went out for hours running some errands and brought back the Toronto Star/New York Times for my reading frustration. And I had lots to do in the house to keep me busy. Sparing some time now and again to tussle with the two little bereft puppies.

Between us we agree that missing a day out in the forest rambling along the trails really disrupts the cadence of the day. We subconsciously seem to feel that something is seriously missing. We feel guilty on behalf of the puppies and cheated on our own account. 

Looking out the glassed front door, the rain plops into the puddles it's creating on the walkway and in the garden beds, utterly saturated, unable to cope with absorbing the deluge. Squirrels and birds are coming around to the porch anyway. There was some French toast left over from breakfast, cut into tiny cubes, and that along with peanuts grabs their attention.

The squirrels, red, black and grey argue amongst themselves, and one each red and black are recognizable bullies. Strangely enough sometimes the juncos and chickadees patiently wait for the squirrels to depart before they alight on the porch floor, but sometimes they decide to abandon their caution, perched on the porch balustrade and join the squirrels. 

Surprisingly, their presence is tolerated -- or ignored -- and it's pleasant to see both squirrels and birds amicably sharing the goodies; our very own peaceable kingdom.

We knew it was coming, but that doesn't make it any easier to accept. Jackie and Jillie have been following us about with a quizzical expression, wondering why we're stuck at home when the formula always includes an afternoon hike through our nearby ravined forest trails. I keep explaining to them that because they hate getting wet, and detest even more becoming utterly soaked, we're kept at home by the weather. The forecast was for rain the entire weekend.

I can rest easy, as it were, that I was finally able to complete planting the spring bulbs that have been awaiting interment in the garden soil, before freeze-up. Now that they're buried in the garden to await the opportunity to bloom that spring promises, they can take advantage of all this rain. We can't. But it's a huge relief to me that the work was done.

Late yesterday afternoon on our return home from our meandering, pleasant tramp through the colourful forest shedding

leaves while the wind blew on a cold but sunny day, Irving went off to do a bit of shopping and after I had finished preparing dinner to slip into the oven, I ventured outside to plant the last of the tulip and daffodil bulbs. While I was at it, pulling out the sad-looking droops of potato vines and petunias while leaving the begonias in place.

There were a few more hostas to cut back so another compost bag was on its way to being filled. Some time during the coming week I'll finally have to empty all the garden urns and pots of their still-blooming flowers. The backyard pots have already been done, all the colour that captured and enraptured our eyes this summer, gone there. It'll be a bit of a chore to dig out the Canna lilies, they've grown so robust and tall over the summer. Then I'll argue with myself over whether to overwinter their roots.

I had decided yesterday to prepare chicken breasts with garlic, onion, bell pepper and tomatoes to make a nicely roasted tomato sauce alongside the chicken. And with that kind of meal it's inevitable for a Friday-night dinner that it be accompanied by a potato pudding. Along with roasted cauliflower. Makes for a sturdy meal that is typical of a Jewish-culture-cuisine for Friday night.

Instead of rice for the chicken soup I thought that matzo-meal dumplings (knaidlich in the vernacular) would go well, for a change. All of which, including the dessert of Chelsea buns baked earlier in the day makes for one hefty meal. Walking off part of the excess today would have been appreciated, but it was not to be. So Jackie and Jillie have been snoozing a bit more than would otherwise be the case....

It takes time and patience, but I decided to bake a yeast-raised dessert for tonight. And of the various kinds of such baked products, Chelsea buns (cinnamon rolls) are Irving's favourite. Actually, I prepared two bread doughs; one a sweet type for the buns, the second a savoury dough for flat bread that I'll bake later in the week, and just keep refrigerated until then. I indulge in as many short-cuts as I can and pre-preparing things for various reasons to produce a finished product has become second nature to me.

The bun dough was comprised of milk, honey, eggs, yeast, butter, salt and flour. Easy enough to put together, knead, oil and cover for an hour to allow it to rise. Once that's done, it can be kneaded lightly, rolled out to an oblong, and the surface brushed with melted butter. Over that goes brown sugar, then cinnamon, finally a sprinkling of raisins. The filled dough is rolled like a jellyroll and sliced into portions, then fitted into a prepared baking pan where butter has been melted, brown sugar and cinnamon sprinkled over, and lastly broken walnuts. When the baked product is turned out of its baking dish the bottom becomes the top; glazed and sugary-caramelized.

Set aside to rise again briefly, it bakes in a 375F oven for 40 minutes. The fragrance of the baking buns tells Irving he'll be enjoying them this evening. It also tells us that we're finally free to leave the house to take Jackie and Jillie out for their afternoon hike through the ravine. An utterly irresistible weather day. Right from early morning onward the sky was an unblemished blue, not a cloud to be seen anywhere. So of course the sun beamed down, quickly warming the atmosphere from its overnight 3C to a bearable 10C. And we did our best to ignore the wind.

We came across that same tiny black mop of a miniature Schnauzer. At three months old, he is a bold, inquisitive little fellow who instantly falls in love with everyone. In particular he loves the presence of other dogs and even while some dogs can be pretty rough, after a bit of uncertainty, he gathers his courage and moves right in to mingle among them. Jackie and Jillie have adopted the little creature, named Ebony, with perseverance over his enthusiastic antics.

We met up with quite a few people familiar to us over the years; neighbours and people from the wider community, everyone aware that this wonderful few days -- yesterday and today -- have been sandwiched between days of incessant rain. The forest is still struggling to absorb the excess of the last several days of heavy rain. Deep puddles of rainwater remain yet on the forest floor. We've been warned through the weather forecast that the entire weekend will be one of ongoing rain. 

 

When we arrive back home, it's to a different kind of fragrance, that of chicken soup simmering for tonight's dinner. Jackie and Jillie get their little salads, and I set about grating potatoes and onions for a potato pudding to accompany the chicken breasts steeped in onion, garlic, bell pepper and sliced tomatoes with sweet basil and oregano. Separately, I prepared cauliflower to be roasted and served alongside the chicken.

 And then, out I went for a short while to fill up more compost bags with shorn perennials and some of the flowering plants that have given up their struggle to continue blooming. And finally, while Jackie and Jillie were informing me from the other side of our glass front door how displeased they were with me being out-of-doors and they feeling bereft and abandoned indoors, I planted the last of the daffodil and tulips bulbs.

I'm feeling a bit of a sense of relief that at last I can see myself completing the work of putting the garden to bed in anticipation of winter before frost sets in. When spring arrives and the newly-planted bulbs begin to erupt from the newly-thawed soil, it will feel like a balm over the wound of winter. That sounds pretty silly come to think of it, given that we're out every day in the winter months with few exceptions, admiring the snow-capped landscape and enjoying rambling the snowy forest trails with Jackie and Jillie.

Pretty tired last night after a busy day. Guaranteed to sleep well. As long as we didn't turn on our left side to sleep. Most people choose their left arm to receive vaccinatons, and that's what we did, yesterday when we were given our annual 'extra-strength' flu shot at our local pharmacy. Up to two years ago we had our inoculations at our doctor's office. Doctors have made themselves fairly scarce during this pandemic, but you can always rely on pharmacists to offer their services.

Yet the clinic our family GP operates out of has the gall to send questionnaires electronically to their clientele from time to time asking: 'How're we doing?'. I responded to the first one, won't bother with the latest. They want to know if people are satisfied with telephone appointments. Not that long ago physicians insisted on seeing patients in person, explaining that they could only make a diagnosis and referral or prescribe a solution to a health problem by seeing someone directly.

How things have changed. Aside from a few storied general practitioners who make it known that they're ready, willing and able to serve people through personal appointments, our new generation of MDs quail at the very thought of exposing themselves to potential danger. Their specialty now is: seeing a patient but spending all their time through the appointment scrutinizing their computers; no more hands-on routines. The little medical procedures that once took place in a doctor's office no longer do (think stitches or lancing a boil); they make the call to send patients on to specialty clinics or to hospitals.

So we've both got sore upper arms now. A nuisance last night, but now in late afternoon barely noticeable. It didn't stop either of us from performing the functions we normally do. And for me that included among other household things, finishing up planting the bulbs I had set out to do yesterday. I completed the backyard before we went off to the ravine for our afternoon romp through the trails with Jackie and Jillie this afternoon, and when we returned home I planted the remainder of the bulbs in the front garden.

While we were out on the forest trails we met another puppy. Lately we've been coming across human babies and canine babies. First, there was a young mother sitting on one of the few park benches in flat areas above the ravine in the forest, beside her a carriage-type-stroller and a very interested-in-what's-going-on, bundled-up little 6-month-old whose eyes darted from Irving to me, as we chatted with his mother.

Then we met up with an old acquaintance walking her miniature schnauzer. We could hardly recognize him, he'd just come back from the groomer. And with them was a tiny black creature that resembled a fluff of busy hair, delighted at the presence of other dogs and people. A happy little fellow who at twelve weeks already was able to discern what it means when someone asks 'can I give them a cookie?'. The infant schnauzer leaped around and onto Irving, reaching all the way up past his ankles before falling back to the ground. His excited bark was hardly more than a squeak.

It was cold and windy, and even the sun shining through a reduced leaf canopy failed to warm the atmosphere. While I had been working in the sheltered back garden I wore only a light jacket and even so I felt warm. In the ravine I was glad I had changed to a heavier jacket and wore gloves, there was that much of a difference. Jackie and Jillie aren't absorbed in weather conditions. Nor do they mind that the trails remain pocked by muddy puddles; despite the depth of fallen foliage, the trails remain slick and deep in mud.

Truth is, neither do we. We're just glad the weather has relented for a few days enabling us to be out in comfort as long as we dress for comfort. And I'm grateful to have been able to work in the garden, even if the soil is still drenched. It won't be much longer before the soil will be frozen and impossible to dig into, so planting those bulbs was a priority. And they can take advantage to prepare themselves for winter and subsequent spring blooming, beginning with the week-end's rain. 

Last night's spaghetti dinner was just what the doctor ordered (ha!) to compensate for the cold, damp, windy day it was and to comfort us from the growing, now going, discomfort from that flu shot.

To comfort us after yet another day of copious, unending rain, wind and cold temperatures we turned to an old favourite, French onion soup for dinner. A perfect combination of crusty French bread toasted in cubes slathered with butter, garlic and Parmesan, to top the soup base of garlic, onions, dry mustard      and pepper in chicken soup layered with the bread, then thick slices of old cheddar, it warmed us and titillated our taste buds to perfection. 

 

Today's weather arrived in contrast to yesterday's, a goodwill gesture from nature realizing we'd had more than enough rain these past weeks, even interspersed with ample sun. Ample sun is what we got today nicely warming things up a bit, though the wind was arrogant enough to plan on taking away what the sun generously offered. And since the weather had turned so anodyne to soothe our dampened spirits it occurred this was another opportunity to get on with the fall garden work.

 

After deep-cleaning the bathrooms and gathering up linen for tomorrow's wash day, I slipped out to the backyard with Jackie and Jillie to finally begin pulling up the annuals. A necessity, to make room for the spring-blooming bulbs begging to be planted. Up they came, petunias, begonias, daisies, looking somewhat the worse for wear. I transplanted a few little hibiscus shrubs to better advantage in the process. Then decided to break off for our ravine hike with Jackie and Jillie.

 

While I was out, Irving was in, downstairs in his workshop, beginning work on putting together his stained glass door insert. We flipped the coin on our activities to take advantage of the changed atmosphere and tripped off to the forest trails. Could it be possible that the forest trees were steeped deeper in colour over a missed day in the forest? 

 

 

The opportunity to get out with their companion dogs led others to a forest outing besides ourselves. The temperature had risen to 10C, the creek was running full and frothing from all the rain, and invariably big dogs familiar with the forest and its running water, manage to navigate their way to a good dunking into the icy depths of the rushing creek.

We took our time cruising through the forest. Now and again stopping for a conversation with people we're familiar with on the trails. A young man we've known for a while, who takes an assortment of dogs through the ravine as a local dog-walker, told us that he had been out yesterday despite the rain, and was surprised to come face-to-face with a coyote, at noon, standing on a familiar part of the trail system. It stood still for a moment, and then whipped away, descending from the height of the ravine to the hillsides below.

 

When we returned home, I decided to continue my garden work, and began planting tulip bulbs. The soil was a little wet to handle, but for the tulips I have an old garden gadget that cuts a deep hole into the soil, retaining the soil it scoops out which is then released by pushing against the edges of the funnel-like aluminum gadget. Into each hole I scatter a bit of bonemeal, then in goes the bulb, and over it the released soil. 

 

I was halfway done when Irving told me he had called our local pharmacy and they were just then receiving a shipment of the flu vaccine, the extra-strength type meant for the elderly, recommending that we come right over and we could be vaccinated. So I left everything and we went off, completed the obligatory questionnaire, waited for the pharmacist to prepare, and were vaccinated. Glad it's done and over with, no need to think about it once again, for the oncoming flu season.

Back home to prepare carrots for a sweet-and-sour sidedish for dinner alongside spaghetti and meatballs. Chicken meatballs this time, with plenty of seasoning to give it some needed oomph. Decided that stewed prunes would do well to close off the meal. All in a day's preoccupation with living the best lives we can.

 

Thinking of the next few days if the weather holds, doing the same to the front gardens. Dispatching the annuals, planting more bulbs. Because when we were at the feed and seed store there were so many delightful looking bulbs they're just irresistible. It is a misery, though,yanking the still blooming plants that have given us so much pleasure this growing season...

These dark October days of rain, wind and cooler temperatures continue to urge for comfort food to be served at dinnertime. Yesterday it occurred to me that we hadn't had a souffle in a while, so a cheese souffle it was. I used two cheeses, three if you add the souffle pan preparation, first buttered, then sprinkled with Parmesan. I grated Gouda, and then extra-old Cheddar to add to the choux base; heavier on the Gouda, less Cheddar.

I don't think of vegetable salads as comfort food, just good-tasting and nutritious and that's what we had for our first course. I allowed the souffle to bake a little longer to produce a firmer product than usual and the results were good. And this time I also added a quarter-cup of sour cream after I had made the base; 3  tbsp.each of butter and flour, a grinding of peppercorns, and a half-teaspoon of dry mustard. It's also quicker if the milk is heated first in the microwave for a minute before adding it to the butter/flour to thicken. 

That's the point at which the beaten egg yolks are gradually introduced, with some of the thickened hot base added first to the yolks, then stirring them rapidly into the milk base until it's fully thickened and smoothly lemon-coloured. And then the cheese is stirred in, and the sour cream. I've read that adding a small amount of baking powder works well, but I felt the cream of tartar was enough when I whipped up the egg whites, folded it gradually into the hot mixture, then dolloped it all into the waiting souffle dish. A half hour in a 350F oven, and we were enjoying the hot miracle of a light, fluffy souffle for dinner.

Cold in that black night, and raining steadily. Which had dashed my hope to be able to begin planting the spring bulbs that are crying out to be placed in the soil so they can take advantage of the rain, settling themselves in, growing some roots in preparation of spring productivity. Even the work on the street that had commenced months ago in the greater community and was now in process of digging through our lawns and driveways to lay updated fibre-optic communications cables had to stop operations thanks to the rain.

And today? Well, take a guess ... heavy rain from morning right into the night hours. Too cold, too wet, too dismal to embark on even a short foray into the forest with the puppies. That much rain, even with their rainjackets would leave them drenched, cold and miserable. We ducked into the backyard several times with them, and that was the extent of our outdoor activities of the day.

But we had to go out ourselves, since it was grocery shopping day. Another nasty wrench for the puppies; not only were they cheated out of their usual traipse through the forest trails, they were also abandoned for hours, alone and bereft in a house that they had to themselves but took no pleasure in. They experience separation anxiety, even though they're together and can indulge in their little play routines, and we experience it on the opposite end, concerned that they're upset until our return.

We dropped into two dollar stores before the supermarket. The supermarket has a full extent of household products and specifically hygiene and bathroom products, but nothing resembling that indispensable bathroom tool, nail brushes. We'd always bought ours, in any event, at a dollar store, vacuum packed, two to a package. But now they're nowhere to be seen. Which is unbelievable, ordinary, everyday hygiene-specific nailbrushes suddenly absent from store shelves. Manufacturers can't make nailbrushes because they're so busy producing COVID masks? What explains the plethora of junk posing as hair ornaments and cosmetics and unguents and nailfiles and nail varnishes, but no nailbrushes?

Foiled at our usual expectation for a pleasant and restful ramble through the ravine has made me cranky. Jackie and Jillie have adjusted well. On our return while Irving was cutting away excess from the cauliflower we bought, our puppies were gnawing happily on parts of the stem they were offered. Then given doggie treats to celebrate their good behaviour. And finally, bell pepper, cucumber and grape tomatoes cut into little salads; they may have had to miss their romp through the ravine, but provision of their daily salad is sacrosanct. 

The out-of-doors has been transformed doubly, once on a long-term basis, though temporary, the other shorter-term and also temporary, though both repeat themselves interminably, year over year. Today is as raw a day as can possibly be imagined for fall. All of nature's elements in a bad mood, displaying a truly truculent face to the world. Heavily overcast and dark to begin with, then rain began and continued for hours, and with it a hostile wind to tear away foliage otherwise not prepared to depart their hosts just yet. The daytime high of 7C, seemed much, much colder. 

Not much we can do about the weather, that's nature's precinct and she brooks no interference from mere mortals. But October is fast disappearing, and soon November will arrive, with colder, wetter, windier days and by then there will be no leaves left for the wind to distribute through the landscape. Before that happens, the end of October has to come and go and with it the traditional kids' holiday of creepy Hallowe'en where normally nice children learn that threats work; if they shout trick or treat, invariably they're treated to the wherewithal of dentistry's worst nightmares.

Some of our neighbours have transformed their front lawns beyond preparations for winter by putting their gardens to sleep. They've conspired to give neighbourhood children a chill thrill. In place of traditional pumpkins, symbolic of the season and the wicked celebrations, and the witches flying high on broomsticks they never imagined their mothers capable of when sweeping up the detritus they bring indoors from the great outdoors, the morose imagination of homeowners has turned to the final frontier of life; death.

Oh yes, there are ghosts and goblins and ghouls galore, but there are also tombstones, graves, skeletons turning ordinary lawns into cemeteries. If that doesn't frighten innocent little kiddies with the apparitions of the afterlife, what would? Even little dogs respond. On one lawn sitting very comfortably not far from ours is a newcomer to the community whom Jackie and Jillie had never suspected existed. On their way up the street this afternoon padding along to the ravine, they were suddenly confronted with a pumpkin-headed bumpkin seated on a chair, surveying the streetscape.

Puppies don't scream in fright, they bark in high decibels of fear and back off from near proximity to the threat. The bumpkin failed to respond, obviously considering itself too dignified to be outraged over two little dogs' yelping recommendations that it absent its presence from the street that two little dogs are accustomed to patrolling as guards of the public weal. Finally, they parted, Mr. Bumpkin assuring them it was prepared to take their recommendation under advisement, and the puppies reassured that soon all would return to normal.

It felt beyond cold, in the ravine, the wind doing a thorough job of making the high temperature for the day as miserable as possible. The rain had stopped, but the trails were slippery still, the sky turning even darker as though the plan was to begin wringing the overload of moisture from the raggedy grey clouds above in celebration of nature's cranky attitude today. But the rain held off, for which we were grateful.

Despite being dressed for rain, when it's this cool combined with pelting rain and nasty wind, things can get pretty miserable. And Jackie and Jillie had suffered enough today having to put up with the bumpkin-scare; they needed a break...

When we wound up our hike through the forest trails and returned home, we stopped briefly to admire our neighbours' handiwork, then surveyed our own lawn. No Hallowe'en decorations, none at all, not a one. Not even a pumpkin or two. There are still some annuals left in pots, though the perennials have been cut back severely to greet winter and their long sleep. 

The house was vibrating with brilliant light this morning when we awakened, the ascendant sun gleaming through the front of the house so that I was certain at first we'd left lights on when we went to bed last night. The other result of all that illumination was the warmth that poured through our large windows with the light which made for a very comfortable interior to our house today.

Jackie and Jillie could smell French toast and they were excited through their own breakfast, gobbling it up then chasing one another upstairs and down anticipating their little bowls of cubed French toast when we sat down for our own breakfast. They offered to help in the preparation, standing beside me as I flipped the toast in the frypan, transferring it to a warming bowl, then proceeding with the rest. It's a regular Sunday-morning breakfast, hot and buttery, though they get theirs served without maple syrup.

Irving went out to run a few errands after breakfast. He had a book waiting for him at our library branch, one by Thomas Sowell that he was anxious to read. While he was out he picked up a Toronto Star with its New York Times insert for me because the two newspapers we subscribe to, one local, the other a national paper, just don't publish on Sunday. They can be accessed online, but it's hardly worth the bother since they don't seem to bother updating their content constantly the way the BBC does. Still, they consider themselves daily papers.

We did a bit of an inventory of the gardens front and back this morning. Most of the annuals with the exception of the ipomea, have fared well to date, looking moderately fresh and bright. And as long as they do, I hesitate to end their lives just because winter will. Perversely enough, the backyard which has a much warmer microclimate than the front of the house has seen the same annuals that still flourish in the front, look pretty exhausted in the back. I'll be tackling them first.

The thing is, as soon as I can get the garden beds and borders clear of the presence of these sad disposables, I'll have a way clear to finally planting all the spring-blooming bulbs awaiting my attention. So I'm quite anxious to get a final handle on all of that, and hoping that weather conditions will lend themselves to my gardening plan.

By the time we set off for the ravine this afternoon the presence of the sun had shifted to occasional appearances. Fluffy white clouds had moved in to occupy the wide blue yonder, and by the time we returned from our hike through the ravine, a much lower ceiling of dusty-grey clouds began arguing with the the marshmallow-white ones ... the upstarts!

It was a pleasant walk on a pleasant day of 10C, with little wind to speak of, the air feeling nicely warmed by the disappearing sun. Each day we go out to the forest we can notice a diminishing leaf mass on the forest canopy, although there's yet plenty to tumble to the forest floor before fall is over. It's become easier for Jackie and Jillie to see through the forest at the presence of squirrels busying themselves acquiring forage for storage.

 

When we arrived back at the house, the fragrance of simmering soup greeted us. Before we left I had prepared soup for this evening's dinner. Starting out with a dried-bean mixture, chopped garlic, onion, fennel and cumin seeds, and masala, adding chopped carrot and tomatoes, tomato paste, salt and pepper, and left it to cook itself into a palatable stomach-warmer. With plans on our return to bake a sesame-seed and grated sharp cheddar bread dough as a flat bread topped with rosemary and Parmesan over olive oil.