For people living in the downtown core of Ottawa adjacent Parliament Hill and further afield, time is passing slowly. Some residents have temporarily abandoned their homes in favour of living -- for as long as it takes for the protesters to finally disperse -- with friends or family in the city suburbs. To get away from the airborne pollution of diesel assailing their senses, along with the incessant noise, from rigs idling, to people among the protesters partying.

 

In other instances things have begun moving, if not quickly, then faster than they had been, as the city, then the province declared states of emergency, followed by the federal government invoking the Emergencies Act to enable it to take extraordinary action to bring the Trucker Convoy protest to a halt. Intimidation and harassment of ordinary residents is not a very good formula for drawing sympathy with a protest movement, even if many people agree that the COVID mandates that have stifled lives as much as the coronavirus has, should come to an end.

 

Ottawa's police chief, Peter Sloly, has been the focal point of criticism by people living on the fringe of exhaustion from the protest's disruption to their lives, to the media, all complaining about his policing style which has seemed too careful, if not downright timid in addressing the unlawful and unethical conduct of some of the protesters. Chief Sloly has been roundly condemned for his approach from every corner, from the Prime Minister's office, to local councillors.

Today he handed in his resignation as Chief of the Ottawa Police Force after two years on the job from his former position as second in command of the Toronto Police Force. Bill Blair, a former Toronto police chief, now the federal Public Safety Minister, has also placed the finger of blame on Chief Sloly, when it seems that fully half and more of Canadians believe it is the Liberal Prime Minister who is chiefly to blame for a protect that has got completely out of hand.

That news surprised us this morning, and elicited from us a sense of sadness for the man, the first black chief of police the city ever had. In our opinion made a political scapegoat. Despite the news seeping out that his relations with others on the force has been troubled. 

 

We had gone out early this morning to do our weekly shopping, with the full expectation that as a result of border crossings between Canada and the U.S. we would surely find perishables not grown in Canada at this season in short supply. The Windsor-Detroit crossing, critical to a quarter of all shipping back and forth across the border has been shut to traffic due to a trucker blockade, for a week.

So we were relieved when we walked into the supermarket to see the shelves full. Piled high with fresh fruits and vegetables and everything in between, enabling us to do a trouble-free shopping accessing absolutely everything we needed. We did notice a spike in prices of non-perishable food products but that is attributable to the lockdown mandates and the higher costs of  both production with COVID-induced labour shortages, and rising shipping costs where a shortage of cargo containers has become a problem. The price of energy has risen, contributing as well.

 

We have the personal luxury of 'forgetting' all of this, just putting it behind us -- COVID, isolation, masks, distancing, labou disputes, hospitalization deferrals for surgeries; in total everything in our normal lives turned upside down and inside out -- through the simple expedient of making the most of our immediate environment.

A daily enterprise that Jackie and Jillie enthusiastically lend themselves to. So this afternoon, as always, saw us all on a bright, sunny day, albeit cold and windy at -7C, out in the ravine for our daily trek. Despite that a negligible few centimetres of snow fell overnight, the ravine trails are icy and slippery.

Those frozen indentations are no help, nor is the little snow fallen over the icy trails been a help since there's too little of it, and because the atmosphere is so dry the snow won't stick to the ice.

 

So ascending one of the  hills, once again my cleats gave out nearing the top, and I went to my knees. Harmlessly, other than that it's difficult on a slope that's icy to resume a standing position without slipping again. Irving to the rescue, though I hate to burden him since I have visions of my being responsible for his slipping, in turn.

 

Jackie and Jillie oblivious to our difficulties float breezily along, and we soon follow once we reach the upper main trail. Down below in the depth of the ravine we've just left behind, the creek is again encased in thick ice. The ice is opaquely white. Not much differentiates it from its snowy banks; white creek, white forest floor, blue sky above and beneficent sun illuminating all.