Nature has given us a temporary reprieve from late-fall cold and wind, and we're grateful. Overnight temperatures were far higher than they've been in a month of frosty nights. And it felt so balmy this morning, it was comfortable enough to be out in the backyard with just a light jersey. It was also why during my hours of cleaning up the garden yesterday afternoon, I soon worked myself into a sweat. 

 

I had intended to hold off for as long as I could, cutting back still-flowering roses and happily blooming annuals, so whatever looked in good health stayed put, and I just worked around them. Now that we've a spate of mild weather they're in fine fettle. No sun, and ongoing rain threats, but the air humid and warm pleases them as mightily as it does us.

 

 

I've still plenty remaining to be done. Although I've been cutting back perennials and shaping the gardens up for winter's arrival over a lengthy period of time, there's still enough to be done that the backyard will still need a day's work. And after that the garden urns and pots will surrender their annuals. And the final tranche will be emptying the pots of their soil and distributing it all to some areas of the backyard gardens. 

Irving will put away the rest of the garden furniture in the large garden shed, and he'll also cover our garden statues, and the urns and pots with large plastic bags to keep them from the inevitable freeze-and-thaw cycles that occur when they fill with water that will become solid ice and strain their integrity. We've had them for decades, and wear over the seasons has become evident.

 

In the afternoon we went off for our ramble through the ravine, when the laundry had been mostly completed. I've decided on making a seafood paella for dinner tonight and that'll take some thought. In the meantime, we enjoyed the forest with Jackie and Jillie. As a result of this perfectly beautiful weather, we were able to dispense with jackets for them. Hard to say whether they felt freer and more comfortable without them.

 

 

The fall colour zenith has now passed. Despite which there are ample splashes of bright colour here and there to provide us with an ongoing autumnal landscape even if it's somewhat muted. On days like this out on the woodland trails, no hurry, fully relaxed, the minimal effort it takes to clamber up some of the hills makes for a perfect outing for all of us.

The occasional stop for chats with any others who might be out and encountered makes it also a pleasant social event now and again. Not to be compared, however, with ambling down the street after exiting the forest, to see neighbours out raking, amending lawns, placing Hallowe'en decorations on their lawns, taking full advantage of the kind of weather children yearn to have on the evening of October 31, not really caring if truth be known if it is cold, if it does rain, as long as their candy cravings for that night are satisfied.

 

By early afternoon, the rain finally lifted, although the dark-sky-menace remained and so did the wind. Suddenly Jackie and Jillie rang up a pitched volume of barking, of the kind that could only mean someone was at the front door, though no doorbell rang. I shooed them away and opened the door to two young men both wearing bright red jackets with the logo of Rogers internet service providers. One of the  young men was dark complexioned, the other light; black-hair and blonde. It was the dark young man who spoke, the other leaving it to him.

I had the impression that the one speaking was 'teaching' the other how to change a potential client's mind from 'thanks very much, I'm satisfied with my present service provider' as the sales pitch went on even though I repeated time and again we're not looking to change, and are perfectly satisfied with the service we have. Rogers, in my memory hasn't a sterling reputation and I simply wasn't interested. I  remarked it was obvious they're university students engaged in a summer job, and wished them luck.

That brought an engaging smile from the young blonde man, but it didn't stop the other from switching to a new tack, assuring me that my neighbours said they were dissatisfied and were interested in switching to Rogers. He was becoming downright obnoxious, and it was at that point, that Irving who had been in the family room and overheard the lengthy conversation and no doubt my exasperation, came along and gruffly invited them to move on.

We moved on ourselves not long afterward, to take advantage of a gap in the rain. Which had begun last night and carried on throughout the night, continuing in the morning and into the early afternoon. So everything was well irrigated: read thoroughly soaked. On came the puppies' raincoats in case rain started up again while we were out, and off we went. We've passed the zenith of the forest colour. More bright foliage brought down by the copious rainfall.

 

 

The brightly coloured foliage that plushed the forest trail had already begun to fade, and now newfallen leaves glow gold and red on top of those no longer fresh. The wind probed its fingers through the forest canopy and a steady shower of freshly detached leaves filled the air, languorously swirling through the air to join their cousins below.

 

The air felt freshly scrubbed, and although it was quite cool first thing in the morning, a warming trend has arrived and the frosty nip of previous days was absent, making for a relaxing and serene walk through the trails. And then it was time to return home. I had planned, despite that everything was so wet, to continue working on garden clean-up. We've so many hostas to be cut back that my previous work didn't tend to them all. 

 

So I cut back roses, and hostas and remaining hydrangeas, and before I knew it there were four full compost bags lined up to await collection. Just yesterday that collection had carried off four bags I'd previously filled, the week before. But it's taking me closer each time I set aside a few hours for the garden, to completing the entire task. Neighbours walking by stop awhile to chat, and then I resume, until I feel enough has been accomplished for the day.

Everything, from cheese to cereal is now being packaged in smaller quantities, even though most prices continue to escalate. And some commodities just seem to disappear, some never to return to the shelves in the supermarket. I could buy any kind of oatmeal I wanted; instant, or 1-minute, but not the rolled oats that cook in 15 minutes that I prefer. Crisco vegetable shortening, my baking mainstay for pastry crusts is no longer on the shelves; in its place, lard, which I cannot use. The brand of coconut oil that we've used for years no longer competes with the several brands remaining on the shelves. The store brand of soups that I buy for the Food Bank has dwindled, now it's Campbell's-or-forget-it.

Speaking of the Food Bank, where once there were paltry offerings by shoppers, that has all changed. Now there are bags and bags of assorted dried, canned and packaged foods left out in that large container in the store foyer that overflows with generosity. So much so that shopping carts are parked alongside the container and they're overflowing with donations. I'm spending upwards of $25 and more weekly; today four tins of soup, four of tuna, four of flaked chicken, a pack of four macaroni and cheese boxes. Increasing numbers of people are turning to food banks to supplement what they can afford for their families.

We keep telling ourselves how fortunate we are that we're able to buy whatever groceries that we need, that appeal to us, that we enjoy, that are a requirement to provide nutrition adequate to health. Jackie and Jillie were overjoyed to welcome us back home. Jackie sniffing about for cauliflower and any other fresh vegetables. It's great when they have good appetites, especially when they missed their walk yesterday given the unending rain.

 I baked plain rolled sugar cookies for Irving that he prefers over all others after breakfast, then made speedy work cleaning up and we launched ourselves into a ravine hike. On a very cold and windy day. We saw some early morning sun but by the time we went off on our walk dark-streaked clouds had moved in to smother the blue. A 30% chance of rain, as well, but none fell while we were out. 

Yesterday's high wind and rain brought down copious amounts of colourful foliage, just as we expected it would. Making for greater numbers of defiolated trees in the forest canopy. Leaves that had fallen days ago and retained their bright yellows and peach shades are already turning that dark charcoal grey that poplars attain, their charm entirely gone and just grim in appearance. But those that flew off the trees yesterday are still glowing with colour.

There were very few people out for the time we were out with Jackie and Jillie this afternoon. The forest was deserted of human traffic. But suddenly out of nowhere appeared one of our puppies' friends, to station himself patiently before Irving and wait for his due, as a good boy. Which of course pleases Jackie and Jillie enormously, since what's due others is meant for them as well, just in smaller, more size-appropriate portions.

And then we came across an old friend whom we haven't seen in months. We'd seen his wife, but back in June, telling us he was recovering from another operation, this time for his back. He's decades younger than us, a natural athlete involved in sport competition and marathons. Years ago he was diagnosed with an inherited condition of water on the brain. A stunt was installed from his cranium to his stomach to drain the liquid. That was eight years ago. The  mechanism to adjust its function is failing, and he's suffering those same old symptoms of nausea and dizziness.

When we first saw him approaching we could see only two of his trio of border collies. He informed us that Carter, the largest of the three birthmates, had suddenly died yesterday. He was fine, full of energy first thing in the morning, but hours later he suddenly collapsed and died. It was neurological, a fatal episode. Something that had never happened before with the dog, something that caught up with him at age 14-1/2.

Just as we suspected, their absence from the ravine with their dogs was the result of having bought a cottage and spending the summer there. We knew they'd been looking for a cottage, and they found one that suited them on Rideau Lake, just over an hour's drive from their house. Carter, Barrie told us, had the time of his life there this summer, as did his siblings. 

When we arrived back home, there were the fencing people, back at work to complete our fence. They're such nice young men. Their professionalism is impressive. There's a bit of a sour note in the fact that we've lost about a perimeter foot all around to our backyard. For one thing the posts had to be installed where space permitted; the live cedars planted on the property line that now form a thick and tall hedge behind us, forced the fence forward. But the fence, when finished, will give us years of good service, privacy and ensure that the puppies when they're outside, are secure. No coyote could leap that 7-ft.height.

What an exciting night we had. Last night was a sleeping challenge. Not often we find it difficult to fall asleep, or wake up suddenly and then struggle to fall back asleep, but last night was one of those. And to add to the misery of interrupted sleep, first Jillie and then an hour later Jackie, decided they must, absolutely must, answer the call of nature. Which meant, of course, trudging downstairs while shaking ourselves into a dressing gown, and thus clad, venturing outside. On a frigid night, no less. 

The day was incredibly blustery and cold, overcast and dark. So the piping hot soup I prepared full of fresh harvest vegetables was a good choice, as was the still-warm cheese-and-chives-fragrant cornbread, the corn kernels mixed into the stiff batter giving it an extra moistness and slight crunch. Irving slipped a few pieces of cornbread to the puppies, as usual. Maybe that's what got them going later during the night?

Today was to have been an all-day-sun kind of day. Still cool, with a high afternoon temperature of 13C, but the wind wasn't as temperamental as yesterday's. The backyard doesn't look very inviting. Quite frankly it's a mess. Although the fencing crew doesn't work Sunday and didn't show up Saturday leaving their equipment in the backyard for their return, the fencing that did get erected looks fine. Taller than our old fence and nice and bright. 

Irving decided to take his reciprocating saw out and take down an old Alberta spruce that wasn't getting any sun. When it was planted it had ample sun exposure, but over the years the purple smoke tree and the magnolia have grown and spread, their crowns soaking up the sun, the spruce getting none at all, so it was left with a little cap of green. It was too close to the incoming fence, so down it came.

In the afternoon we shoved off to the ravine.  Uncertain whether it would rain, though all indications seemed to be it would, we dressed appropriately. The forest canopy is fast thinning out; the deciduous part of the forest exposed to such high winds yesterday, lost a huge proportion of their fall-turned foliage, making the piles on the forest floor more colourful and denser than before.

There's days of rain again in the offing the early part of the coming week, so it and prevailing winds will make quick work of what's left on the trees. The colour will quickly fade and turn that dark, dirty grey and begin crumbling. Dark and dismal for the following weeks into late November. That's the pattern of oncoming winter. 

Because it's Sunday, and the spectacle of fall colour beginning to ebb, quite a few people were out hiking the trails with their dogs. Good thing Irving always takes ample large cookies along with him; they're called upon frequently. Although the dogs, especially the larger ones, are fully invested in playing, as though the atmosphere is conducive to cavorting about with their pals more than usual, they never mind taking a break to await a cookie or two or three.

When we returned home a quick look around the garden that I further denuded myself yesterday afternoon revealed that the little carpet roses are nowhere near finished blooming. That one little plant produces pink buds that turn into yellow or pink or ivory flowers; a more delightful little shrub couldn't be found. And the begonias don't fail to surprise us with their insistence on remaining fresh and beautiful. True floral troopers.

Today was the weather antithesis of yesterday. We involuntarily exchanged sunshine for overwhelmingly dark, angry skies. The fencing crew failed to return today, and perhaps just as well, since they'd have had to cope with rain. We're pleased with how the fence appears, although it's completely up just on two sides, the third yet to be done. There are wheelbarrows and other equipment left in the yard, and thick mounds of sticky clay. So our new routine with the puppies, taking them out the side door to the side garden continues. They're getting the hang of it, and so are we.

Actually,there was some morning sun; a brief period that was cheerfully bright until the cloud cover moved in. The house became dark, really dark. And it always feels cool without the sun, brightening and warming the house through our tall windows. But viewed from another perspective, it's also cozy.

Rain held off and in the very early afternoon we decided to head out to the ravine. Take our chances, as it were. Of course everyone geared with rainjackets. With the clouds came blustery, heavily gusting winds. As soon as we entered the forest it became immediately apparent that the wind was making quick work of foliage undecided whether to fall. With each tremendous gust at random intervals, a flood of leaves came tumbling and whirling down to the forest floor.

One of those episodes occurred while Jillie was some distance in front of us, distracted with something. We watched as a tremendous gust barrelled through the deciduous trees causing a huge flush of leaves to tumble like a violent waterfall, settling toward the very area where Jillie was standing and completely engulfing her. She took action immediately, racing back to us, and as she did the wind picked up that section of fallen leaves and lifted them en masse back toward the forest interior.

It did rain lightly while we were out. Nothing concerning. A strange atmosphere though; the combination of the early afternoon, the howling wind and light rain. And an odd feeling being in that landscape of quickly disappearing overall colour. Oncoming rain and continued steady wind blasts will make fairly quick work of what remains on the deciduous trees. Not that the conifers aren't losing loads of dead needles as well, along with cones. It's just that time of year.

It does seem to us that the colour this year is more emphatic, more spectacular than we recall from other years. Possibly, we think that way every year. The striking atmosphere, the ambient colour, the brightness of the reds, golds, surrounding us gave an air of unreality to everything, as though we were walking through a dream. 

When we returned I decided to remain outdoors. The hostas are fast yellowing and drying; their arcing foliage and sweeping presence completely marred. I wanted to cut everything back. Including the lily fronds and some of the hydrangeas. Good thing I've already done the rock garden at the far side of the house and most of the backyard; it's such a mess now I could never get at everything.

The rain began while I was out at the front garden, sweeping up the walkways and filling compost bags. Irving came out to urge me to come in, but I felt so invigorated I wanted to stay out and continue, and so I did. Eventually I felt I had enough. There was still dinner to prepare, after all. And even after cutting back as much as I managed to, it's just starting to make a dent in the fall garden clean-up; there's so much to do yet.

In the house, I decided to bake a cornbread. This time with lots of grated sharp cheddar cheese and chives. To pair with the vegetable soup I put on for dinner. And then I relaxed. Irving was busy re-wiring one of our table lamps. He has a habit when he finds himself short of something, to 'borrow' it from another source; a riff on robbing Peter to pay Paul. Eventually Peter comes calling, insisting he be restored...

My computer has decided it  has been working too hard lately, and has as a result been balky, stubborn, slow to respond, evidently determined to deliver a message that it isn't prepared to be treated like a communication workhorse any longer. I haven't given too much thought actually whether I've treated it too harshly, just more or less take it for granted it's there for me to take advantage of as a communication tool that I rely upon. Decided to give it a rest today, and shut it down at the power bar in the morning, to see if that would appease its righteous sense of annoyance. It hasn't, although perhaps it's relenting, and beginning to come a round a little...

Outside in the backyard with Jackie and Jillie this morning, everything looked desperately dismal. No more flowers, bare trees, all too sad. And then I looked about again and realized there's still colour. The Purple Smoke tree hasn't lost one leaf yet. And they are, those leaves, like the name of the tree, sturdily purple. There's colour, after all. Another little thing I've taken for granted, scarcely noticed.

 

And for heaven's sake, sitting right beside it is an old -- again, taken-for-granted burning bush, and its leaves have been turning red, and nor has it lost any of its foliage, unlike the corkscrew hazel and the magnolia and the weeping mulberry. All of which in concert with one another, in another type of standoff -- this time with nature and the seasons -- speedily lost their foliage with the onset of night-time frosts.

Best of all, and originally planted close to the back corner of the house, beside the smaller of our two garden sheds, hoping it would be sheltered there from weather excesses in acknowledgement of Japanese maples not being hardy to our northern growing zone, our little maple planted long ago and experiencing some level of dieback every spring, and which had grown spectacularly this spring, in a surprise turn of events, is now a blaze of red, and not one leaf has yet detached itself.

It's far different in the forest. There, the dark, gaunt sentry-like figures of recently denuded trees, stretch toward the sky, looking for the time being newly bereaved. All their foliage has tumbled to the forest floor. For a while we appreciated that phenomenon, for as long as their vibrant autumn colour lasted, now fast turning to an overall homogeneous blah! grey. We take all that for granted, too. But there are exceptions. Immature beech, ironwood, sometimes oak and maple tend to hold on to their leaves throughout winter.

And there are shrub-sized and taller trees in the forest whose foliage remains yet bright green. They're the cadre of invasive privet that have made themselves at home in the forest landscape. They bear fruit in the summer with the appearance of dark blue berries, and known to be poisonous. 

On occasion Irving will forget to take along a bag of doggie cookies. He doles them out circumspectly, offering the very small ones now and again as treats to Jackie and Jillie since they are, after all, very small dogs. It has become routine. They take it for granted that when we're out in the ravine it will mean they have delectable treats to eat, along with the excitement inherent in traipsing through the forest trails and meeting up with their friends.

On those occasional times when the cookie bag is forgotten, Irving feels stricken when other people' dogs, confident that here comes the Cookie Man, sidling trustfully up to him, are disappointed. It happened yesterday, when he had to explain sorrowfully to two tiny dogs that there were no cookies to dispense. One of the two, about half the size of our little fellows emitted disbelieving cries of anguish.

That didn't happen today. As often occurs, suddenly a dog we know will suddenly appear, cheerfully acknowledge us, and sit down beside Irving, patiently awaiting cookie distribution. As though saying, hi, glad to see you, and just in case you're handing out treats today, I will gratefully accept your contribution to my day's fulfillment...

Fall harvest means plums, apples and pears are freshly picked and available in abundance everywhere we shop. I thought of baking an apple pie today, but that's so passe. And then I stretched my mind back many years ago trying to recall baking something quite different with apples. It was a time when our children were young, more than 40 years ago. We'd been somewhere, to a pioneer village, I think, and there were apple fritters someone was making for sale, and we thought they were pretty good. 

So later, when we got home I theorized the ingredients and made apple fritters. We really liked them, but I didn't make them very often, and now it's been decades and I couldn't really remember the details until now. Earlier in the day, I thought if I Googled 'apple dumplings' it would be interesting to see what came up. I didn't think 'apple dumplings' would actually make an appearance in fact, but they did, a myriad of recipes for them.

I decided I'd give them a try. I looked at a Mennonite recipe, and at others as well, and went ahead putting together apple dumplings. At least my version of them. The pastry required would be far different than anything I use for a pie. A scant 1-1/2 cups of flour, a dash each of salt and sugar, a tsp. of baking powder, a half-cup of chilled/cubed butter, and to moisten it, very cold milk. I don't, in fact, measure anything, just go by eye-and-feel.

The pastry turned out a little sticky, so I kneaded a little more flour into it, then cut it into four pieces, kneaded and flattered it into a round, then rolled it out into a thinner round I figured would be generous enough to encapsulate a good-sized apple within. And the apples, I used four Royal Gala, cored them, filled each with a tsp. of brown sugar, then shoved raisins into each. Each apple was planted on one of the rolled-out circles and the sides drawn up and over, then pinched together.

The next step was the syrup; butterscotch. Comprised of brown sugar, water; cup of each in a little saucepan over moderate heat. Once the sugar melted I added a 1/4 cup of butter to melt, added a tsp. of cinnamon and another of vanilla flavouring after I shut off the heat. I drizzled the syrup over each apple, and placed the baking pan into my little convection oven, pre-heated to 350-F, and baking took about 40 min. Smells divine. Looks tempting.

When I was finished pottering about the kitchen in dinner preparations, and made a cheesy bread dough, I changed into outdoor clothing and Jackie and Jillie went on a mission with me to alert Irving, down in the basement in his workshop working on his stained glass, that we were ready to head out to the ravine? Was he? Almost.

Another hard frost hit us last night. But today there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the sun reigned supreme, with no wind to diminish its warmth. The temperature had risen to 6C, and it was comfortable enough as we booted our way through trails thick with fallen leaves. The forest floor may be plush with an astounding depth of foliage, colourful where the newly-fallen leaves have deposited themselves, but it takes some time to become accustomed to seeing deciduous trees bare once again. 

Foliage that fell days earlier has already begun breaking down, the crispness underfoot well macerated and the colours fast fading. For some reason we can't quite fathom, Friday seems the day of the week that brings area residents in the community out to the forest. On our street, of the many people who occupy the houses, vanishingly few ever venture into the ravine. Including those home-owners whose backyards actually back onto the forest.

It's a puzzle.

 

Yet again summer convinced autumn it was not yet time for cold to prevail, and autumn courteously stepped aside, permitting summer to temporarily continue its presence, warm and comforting complete with wide blue sky and a shimmering sun to further warm the atmosphere. Autumn seemed content to sit on the sidelines envying summer's popularity as it witnessed disbelief and joy on the faces of those who peopled nature's precincts.

 

We can hardly believe this weather as it continues to see the sun glow, rain sprinkle the landscape, warmth pervade and the gardens wanly responding. The garden knows its time is up for another season. It still struggles to provide pleasure, and it succeeds in its mission while understanding it is with profound regret that the gardener must prepare everything for oncoming winter. The flowers will be gone, frost will nip its late buds, the foliage will drift down from all the trees that comprise the height of the garden architecture.

 

Remaining berries and tiny crabapples will obligingly provide treats for overwintering birds. The masses of geese flying overhead on their fall migration will be stilled. They join the songbirds and hummingbirds on their annual trip to kinder winter climes. Jackie and Jillie will be slightly less amenable to popping out to the backyard on purposeful trips, morning to nighttime. 

 

The weather forecast told of light rain events for this afternoon. The sun had other ideas and it came for a prolonged visit. Not wanting to waste its effort, we took ourselves out to the ravine with Jackie and Jillie towing us along. There, we found the forest floor and the woodland trails just as steeped in as-yet-unabsorbed rainwater as in previous days. Although no rain fell today, fallen leaves continued to cup yesterday's rain, glittering like crystalline jewels in the half-light of the forest interior.

 

Despite the ambience of the day, there weren't many out on the trails today. A situation we selfishly applaud, since little detracts us from our observations of the natural world embracing us, in their absence. Jackie and Jillie run ahead, then return and walk calmly beside us or at our heels. Jillie has always had a habit of rubbing her head on the back of our legs as we all toddle along. She does this if on occasion she knows she has not behaved well. It is her way of ingratiating herself, of asking forgiveness.

 

 

They are so unalike in character and temperament, she and her brother. When she is scolded she affects to be unimpressed, sloughing it off. But it does bother her when she is not in good grace, and her tendency to rub her head on the back of our legs is her signal of repentance. Her brother, on the other hand, becomes quite demoralized when he is reprimanded for anything; his reaction is instant and alarmed; his tendency is to distance himself, then drop behind as we progress, walking at our heels. As for those dogs we did come across, they instantly recognize Mister Cookie Man.

There was no need at all to admonish them for anything today. Other than to 'shush' them when they bark hellishly at other dogs approaching. There were scant few occasions today. But what we did see was a number of new fathers and mothers from the wider community accessing the forest from streets nearby, separately pushing those tough-wheeled baby strollers on the upper portion of the main forest trail where it describes a circle, well above the ravine itself.