After dinner last night a forecasted snowfall began and it snowed and it snowed. By this morning there was quite an accumulation of fresh snow, fluffed grandly over the existing snowpack. So out we went to shovel out the walkways in the backyard before breakfast, so Jackie and Jillie could more easily get around. When they went out first thing they were confronted by a wall of snow. Last night there was already so much snow at midnight they could hardly make their way down the stairs of the deck.

 

By this morning considerably more had come down and for them it was literally swim or sink until they reached the bottom step and slipped over to the paved area under the deck free of snow. While Irving cleaned them off and towelled them back in the house I grabbed the smaller of two snow shovels and began lifting snow. Most of the walkways were done before we called it quits, since Irving planned to take the snowthrower out and complete the job once snow stopped falling.

 

In the afternoon it was still snowing.  By mid-afternoon when snow finally came to an end we went out for our hike. Some of our neighbours were out shovelling their driveways, and for one of them faced with a driveway piled high with snow and ice facing the road by the municipal plow, it wasn't much fun that his snowblower had suddenly decided not to work. We sympathized, Irving offered to clear out the mess when he got our own machine out, but it just happened that one of his sons was visiting and would do the work.

 

We weren't sure we could even access the ravine, seeing the depth of t \he snow that was left on either side of the street, but we clambered over the barrier and made our way to a trail that had already begun being tamped down by those who had gone into the forest before us. We sighed in relief, with memories of past years when we were the only ones to break trail.

 

The height of the snowpack is evident now as we look at the forest; familiar landmarks tell us the difference in the snowed-in height of the trails themselves, and the snowpack that has surrounded and elevated itself around trees. We estimated that around 20 cm of snow had fallen from last night to this afternoon. When we did the shovelling on the pathways in our backyard the visible depth was about a foot.

By afternoon the winds had abated somewhat and the temperature hovered at -4C, so a bit milder than yesterday. Anyone lacking a good sense of balance on this snowy terrain with its loose, uneven surface would have had quite a time of it. Jackie and Jillie love the snow, love to frolic through it, and they race about happily, still able to sniff all the messages left behind by their friends.

 

Our uphill slogs were far more of an energy challenge, the depth of loose snow both an impediment and a help as we mustered a modicum of energy reserve to finally reach the top of the hills and alternately slide downhill when we descended. Momentum is certainly different and so is normal cadence, since  you end up shifting from side to side in the uneven terrain.

But the beauty of the landscape cannot be overstated. We heard a pileated woodpecker nearby but were unable to see it. The only time I came literally face-to-face with one of these magnificent birds was before the advent of digital cameras and I've been  hoping ever since I'd have another opportunity to photograph one up close and personal; no luck yet.

 

Everything is plush with snow, the landscape softly off-white in the dusky atmosphere of a heavily overcast afternoon. The soft contours of the ravine's geology, the stark contrast of the dark tree trunks now lavishly piled with snow, presents a breathtakingly beautiful picture of winter perfection. By the time we rounded out our afternoon circuit there appeared an unexpected bright blush on the horizon.

The setting sun cast a brilliant pink hue onto the clouds as it made a passing presence while setting. The clouds on the horizon had begun to break up, the snow long since over, and the sun found an opportunity before leaving for the night to cast that evanescent glow of bright light as though promising to return as soon as possible. Perhaps tomorrow.