We've known the kind of poverty that floods your consciousness every moment of the day; when you're shopping for food and the price of fresh vegetables and fruits for your growing family forces you to be really creative, like giving each person seated around the breakfast table half an orange, and carefully measuring out the oatmeal/raisin/honey/pumpkin seed mix you baked in the oven, making enough to last through the week. Like viewing it as catastrophic when the old family car needs costly work, or the vacuum cleaner has seen its last days, held together with glue and tape. And using the quarters the children were given by a grandparent to put together enough money to pay for milk, and socks. 

The news of urgent need at the Food Bank, because more people than ever are turning to them for food to feed themselves and their families has a distant, fading ring to it. We're fortunate now, in our old age that we managed to look after ourselves and our children providing them with everything needed to raise healthy, aware and intelligent adults. We've no longer any cares about the cost of anything. We are well beyond comfortable, but not complacent.

And we've made Food Bank donations for four decades. Now Food Bank clients are continuing to grow in number. And who even knew that the Human Society also operates a food bank, this one for family pets? To help people struggling with the need to ensure their dogs and cats have enough nutrition through the course of a day? We're now spending on average $30 weekly on the donations we leave for the Food Bank of non-perishable food. Several weeks ago the same products cost us $25. So how are people in poverty able to manage?

Cold, today, very cold. -10C when we came down for breakfast, until the temperature struggled up to -9C by afternoon. But by then the early morning sky of blue had changed and clouds cluttered the sky, soon overwhelming the sun. And wind rose, blowing snow off tree branches. At these temperatures we needed to put little rubber boots on our little dogs' paws to keep them from freezing. And out came their heavy winter jackets and halters.

Immediately we stepped out the door to walk over to the ravine for our daily hike through the forest trails, the cold slapped our faces. Jackie and Jillie were fine with it. They remembered the ritual of pulling on those boots one after another, me lifting their little paws and Irving stretching the boots over their paws, from winters past.

They enjoy the snow, they really love it, but then most dogs seem to. As soon as we gained the forest they ran off downhill, their ears flapping in the breeze their action provided, Jillie barking happily in case any of her friends were nearby to hear her and come running. The snow keeps getting a little deeper every day as light snow falls now and again. We're now wearing those wicked cleats that Irving bought a few months back and they work very well, an improvement over those we've had for many years.

Full exposure for a period of time to the cold means you don't think about it any longer. Instead, just look around at the landscape captivating attention, the serene beauty of it all. We encounter a few other people out and their dogs are just as besotted with the landscape as are ours, the forest floor itself has become a playground, entertaining dogs' feet as they bound about in it and leap here and there with joy. And it's snowing again; gently, light drifts of snow continuing to cover the tree canopy and the forest floor.

 

Yesterday's morning-to-evening rain finally came to a halt when night arrived. No chance to get Jackie and Jillie out for their daily round through the forest trails. We always feel badly for them on such occasions, but it obviously can't be helped; nature has the first and last word on the weather. This morning, however, we woke to clear, blue skies with the sun gleaming through the windows, accompanied by much colder temperatures. It's a trade-off we gladly accept.

 

Irving had left a message for his friend Greg, asking him if he could come over and change the truck and car to ice tires. A yearly ritual. For the past several years, Greg, who operates a personal side-business accommodating people by coming to their homes to change their tires while holding down a permanent full-time job as a mechanic with the RCMP, has accommodated us, after he was referred to us by our neighbour Mohindar. 

 

It's a preparation for winter driving here in the third-coldest, snowiest capital in the world, after Ulan Bator and Moscow. Something Irving used to do with ease, but he finally acceded to my suggestion that it was a job better done by someone younger, and Greg is that, only in his mid-50s, a large, beefy man accustomed to handling vehicles. He actually installed a hydraulic lift in his garage, and a few years back changed the brakes in the truck for us. 

 

Now, we're winter-ready. This afternoon I raked up the leaves in the backyard and front for the last time; the large Magnolia and Mulberry, front and back each, have finally finished shedding. 

We set out earlier-than-usual with the puppies for our ravine walk, anxious to get out and to get them out to fully enjoy the sun coasting through an almost-cloudless sky. And because it was so pleasant we decided to make it a longer hike than usual. Soon realizing that quite a few others from the larger community had a similar impulse. So Jackie and Jillie got to see a fair number of other dogs, large and small, known to them, and others new acquaintances.

 

Now that the forest canopy has been denuded, save for the conifers, more of the sun's long fingers of light and warmth manage to illuminate and moderate the landscape. It's at this time of year that we notice the bright green richness of mosses that seem to thrive the colder the atmosphere becomes. 

 

We renewed acquaintance with a fair number of dogs ourselves, seeing some we don't regularly come across. Invariably, however, they remember Irving, and make haste to plunk themselves down expectantly beside him. Even little dogs we've never seen before appear to recognize opportunity their extraordinary sense of smell leads them to, and they're a delight to behold.

 

When we finally made our way up the last long hill out of the ravine to reach street level, we realized that the great blue ceiling above had become a spectacular theatre. We watched as wave after wave, each of hundreds of crows flew overhead. While we were in the forest we did hear crows, but thought little of it since their presence is familiar to us. 

 

 

But on this occasion we witnessed something we've never before seen; a murder of crows sweeping the sky, hundreds in each wide-spaced wave. Irving conjectured they might be juveniles gathering not necessarily in a mass migration, perhaps prepared to remain in situ for the winter months in gatherings representing 'communities'.

 

We were a few hours earlier out to the ravine this afternoon. Routine usually sees us there in the mid- to late-afternoon. So when we come across people we know -- which would describe the majority of people that make the ravine a daily destination -- it's clear that they too answer to daily routines involving time.

Any day that we're out on the forest trails with Jackie and Jillie at a time that deviates from our usual routine we tend to see people for whom those times are routine. Many live close to other people we often see in the ravine, and if we haven't seen someone in particular for a while, we always tend to ask after them. That the larger community through which the ravine runs is comprised of a much smaller community of residents who value proximity to the ravine confers on us a kind of link to nature.

Jackie and Jillie too are treated to more unusual occasions when they see companion dogs they're familiar with at times like today, and it's a little bit like 'old times' day for them. Almost as though you can hear them thinking and speaking to one another: Hey, how're ya! Haven't seen you in awhile! How've things been going? The major difference is that we greet one another in a more restrained manner, standing in one spot, gesticulating, talking.

 

Unlike our canine companions who invite one another to tussles and run-abouts after the mutual ceremony of sniffing one another's back-ends. But then, we don't read messages they leave to one another on snow banks, either.

We found that although the thermometer casually informed us that the temperature was a full six degrees milder than yesterday, there was still a wind, and it felt just as cold as yesterday. That is partly a reflection of our age, at 86, since one of our smiling ravine acquaintances was clearly feeling a kind of body heat we weren't -- his winter jacket unzipped and fully opened.

 

By last night I was feeling the effects of the day's shovelling; a bit cramped. Not muscle soreness, but a feeling of gentle decreptitude enveloped me at midnight. Time to go to bed anyway, but this time I was unable to read more than a page of my bedside book before turning off my lamp and snuggling deep under the duvet.

 

It was still and quiet out in the ravine. But for brief conversational stops. Mostly the vast expanse of forest and sky and trees was ours alone, with its multitude of different landscapes, all so familiar to us yet presenting themselves somewhat differently each time we see them -- which is part of their everlasting charm.

 

 

The forest canopy, despite the wind, still has some of yesterday's snowfall left limning branches and trunks. We find ourselves now walking at least a foot higher on the floors of the bridges over the creek, given the firmly tamped-down snowpack frozen on the wooden boards. I can look with ease now over the top rail of the bridges, at the spectacle of the creek, crystal clear and running downstream.

For the last week or so crows have been gathering, flying high and swooping on the wind the sound of their cawing reverberating through the stillness of the woods. I have the impression that they know something we don't. The anticipation in their calls of oncoming spring, although calendar spring is still a long way off. Could be they're complaining about that very reality, clever birds that they are...

All it takes is one day of sunshine and reduced temperatures and you think, hey winter's over! Past experience doesn't dull the weather-optimist in us. So weren't we surprised when the morning met us with a rather pushy wind and another temperature drop to -11Degrees C. Winter, we keep telling ourselves sensibly, has a long way to go before it's finished with us for this season; we just don't believe it, though we should.

We left the house early, to get our grocery shopping done as expeditiously as possible. And another set of surprises awaited us there. We've been noticing -- who hasn't been? -- food prices steadily rising for quite some time. They don't seem to really stabilize, just keep teetering upward. This week that changed; they were bounding steeply higher and we just couldn't believe the price of some food stuffs.

Even my weekly choices of non-perishable food I put together for the community Food Bank was affected. Nowhere could I find cans of tuna below $2 each; last week we were paying $1.39 and I usually get four of them, four of the canned meats at $1.99 each, although I suspect by next week that'll be increased too.  I usually buy a pack of four boxes of macaroni and cheese, but only single boxes were available on the shelves. I was still able to get the store brand soup for $.99, but the shelves were bare of  anything but brand-name beans.

All dairy products have gone through the roof. Meat prices are teetering on the absurd. None of this particularly affects us other than for its surprise value, since we can afford steeper prices for our food. We've always felt that food prices were reasonable and an astute shopper could feed a family well if they concentrated on whole foods. But these high prices will certainly negatively affect a lot of people on fixed incomes in the lower middle-class and more so those living in poverty.

Yet it never ceases to amaze us that when we stop by another close-by supermarket, where the prices are always far greater than they are where we regularly shop, the parking lot is stuffed with cars whereas it's half-empty where we do our food shopping. We've never been able to figure that out. Same community, the stores not that far apart, and there's lots of them to choose from, but people tend to go to the high-priced supermarkets, bypassing those whose profit margin is lower.

Dinner last night fit the bill for comfort food. It's becoming routine for one day a week to roast a Cornish game hen, and produce a noodle-egg-raisin pudding alongside it, with an accompaniment of green vegetables. It's easy to prepare, just pop it all in the oven and forget about it until the house is steeped in the fragrance of dinner ready to be served.

After breakfast I decided to bake sugar cookies. They're for Irving, they don't appeal to me. They're absolutely plain rounds of crisp cookies with few ingredients and he loves them. The cookie dough is soft and easily handled; the kind of dough that is kneaded to a smooth consistency, then rolled out, cut into shapes and baked. An altogether simple operation.

We haven't seen very many people out in the forest these last few days, so our hikes have been quiet and peaceful. Today made up for all of that. And Irving had ample opportunity to greet the many dogs who know we're out somewhere in the ravine when they hear Jillie barking her irritating invitation to come and visit. And they waste no time searching us out. Because, we're convinced, if other dogs come around, there'll be a cookie party and if they get treats, so will she and Jackie, even though they've already had their treats.

The creek is in a confused state.  While it froze completely in last week's Arctic cold, the following days of milder weather led it to begin shedding the ice, then it refroze, and acquired a layer of snow over the ice at which time we thought it would retain its frozen state. Yet today, with -10C and wind, there were some openings in the ice; granted, where there's a series of little rapids.

 

We both work off a lot of energy through the course of a day. The natural biological corollary to that is nutritious food to provide for the energy we've expended and for any more to come. So we eat well. We can afford to. Last night we enjoyed a meal of Cornish game hen accompanied by a noodle-egg pudding and sweet-and-sour beets. Oh, and blueberries and yoghurt for dessert. We don't really count the calories as it were. Jackie and Jillie help out where they can; the roasted game hen suits them perfectly, and leftovers to enhance a few following meals for them completely meet with their approval.

Good wholesome ingredients to make up a satisfyingly good-tasting and healthy meal plan are readily available. Canadian food prices, I believe, are reasonable. For whole foods, in any event. And where we tend to shop there are always both advertised and in-store specials. In our community, though, as in all communities in the country, there are people just managing to scrape by financially.

Food banks are more in demand now than ever. In the last several years greater numbers of clients are registering with these community resources of available food aided by community charity. I get frequent requests from our area food bank for financial donations. I usually send any donations directly to them online. But for the most part I ignore those frequent requests. Rather than send financial support I've long been in the habit of donating non-perishable food stuffs where I shop.

I've seen a huge increase in the donations collected at area supermarkets and other places in support of those around us who need help in feeding themselves and their families. The large wire cages that collect the donations brim with donated food. I had trouble finding space where I could leave my own offerings; a bag containing 4 tins of tuna, 4 tins of flaked chicken, three cans of baked beans, five boxes of macaroni and cheese dinner, four tins of soup.

We leave those items and bring home what seems like enough food to feed an army, when it's just two elderly adults. We're fortunate beyond measure. It takes us awhile to put everything away. Then, because we do our shopping as early in the morning as possible to avoid crowds, we have our breakfast, relaxing and reading the morning newspapers.

Time seems to fly by on Tuesdays, shopping day. Before we know it, it's afternoon and Jackie and Jillie remind us there's more to the day than shopping and sitting around, so off we went to the ravine. The morning was sharp, windy, cold. The temperature rose to -7C with a light wind under clear skies and we even had snow flurries off and on throughout the day. Yet another typical January day.

And typically, other people were out exercising their limbs and their dogs were doing the same. Every now and again we'd have a visit from a familiar dog responding to Jillie's barked invitations to come along. Since Jillie knows that if other dogs are being given treats, she'll score some goodies too.

It's hard to find a piece of good roast that's a decently small size for two people. So there's always leftovers. And the sirloin tip roast we had on Monday was just far too large. I refrigerated the slices we couldn't eat, and yesterday cut them into strips. I decided I'd stir-fry them, and began with garlic cloves, onion and shallots chopped and stir-fried in olive oil. When they were translucent and slightly browned I added cubed Yukon Gold potatoes and stir-fried them, then added the beef strips. The combination made a pretty good meal, served with green beans. But the truth is I don't really favour leftovers and to avoid them I try to cook meals that will serve two, once only.

I decided to change the comforter on our bed and today was as opportune a time as any, since all the bed linen was destined for the laundry. So I exchanged the medium-weight comforter for the winter one and that was a whole lot of fun. Takes quite a bit of energy to shuck a comforter out of its cover, and to do the same in reverse with a new one. But it's done, and it's just in time to greet an oncoming winter storm.

We're expecting between 15 and 20 centimetres overnight and into tomorrow. Not an awful lot of snow, but enough to finally put down a permanent snowpack for the duration of the winter. If it turns out to be too windy, along with the falling snow we might not even get out into the ravine tomorrow for our daily hike through the forest trails with Jackie and Jillie.

With that in mind, we took an extra long circuit both yesterday and today. Sunny yesterday, but the sky today was packed densely with those pewter-shaded snow clouds that always seem to promise an imminent snow event. We had a moderate temperature in an afternoon high of -2C, but it was also damp and windy. We didn't feel we had to really bundle up today, it almost felt balmy despite the wind.

The little snow we did have down has gradually worn away, so the coming snowstorm will be a timely event. Hard to believe, but we've had a deficit of precipitation so far for the past month and the current one. We were more than a little surprised, descending the first hill leading into the ravine, where close to the bottom two fair-sized trees lay across the trail. 

 We had noticed a few months ago that a large poplar had fallen partially over, its weight suspended on a companion tree a little smaller than its own size. Now, it's evident that the younger, slightly smaller in circumference tree could no longer sustain the dead weight of the fallen tree. The smaller of the two cracked about twenty feet up its trunk and both had fallen over, onto the trail. Glad that no one was about when that happened!

It was awkward and a bit of a challenge clambering over the tree trunks. Jackie and Jillie found them a surprising impediment; after all, trees are not supposed to be horizontal, and hesitated to duck under them, so Irving picked them up and dumped them on the opposite side. We had a good ramble through the trails. People we came across were of the opinion that it was a good idea to get out, mightn't be possible tomorrow. A thought that brought a happy grin to everyone's face.

Crossing the second bridge and ascending another hill we came across a regular hiker and he was carrying a smallish-looking, battery-powered saw. Powerful enough, he said happily, to make quick work cutting the trees to haul the trunks off the trail. That was halfway through our circuit. An hour later, on our return, the trail was cleared, the shorter pieces of the downed trunks dragged off the trail. 

This community treasure, held in gratitude by a good many people, has any number of regular users prepared to do what they can as joint stewards of this urban forest. By the time we returned to the 'scene of the crime' on our way back home, it was pretty dark, but more than light enough to take note of the gift of care that a community member left behind.

On a sleep-in morning, following a breakfast of honeydew melon, banana, French toast and sausages, coffee and tea, there was work to be done. So much for a day of rest. No such thing. There's always something that needs to be done. Even if it's only cleaning up after oneself, which explains why beds must be made up, kitchens cleared away, bathrooms put in order, etcetera everlastingly. 

For Irving what took his attention was a planned shopping expedition. He picked up a few items at a grocery, then went on to several big box stores to see what could be had for his latest campaign of ameliorating the mess on our lawn that Bell has inflicted on us time and again. Not only did he select and bring home the items he was interested in, he came home to tell me of what he had seen and that led to a bit of a philosophical discussion.

Omicron knock-offs have been detected in alarming numbers in this city's wastewater. Apart from which and certainly linked to the fact that area hospitals are burgeoning with patients to accommodate, leaving them beyond overcapacity. Most alarming to parents of young children, hospital emergency rooms at children's hospitals are so busy they simply cannot see any more patients, and getting to see a personal family physician is becoming absurdly difficult.

Which brings us to my husband's observation when he was out. At the food stores we frequent all personnel wear masks. Those who shop at those stores for the most part also wear masks. Irving dropped by a few of the big box stores comparing their garden supply products and prices, then ended up at Walmart. There too the store personnel wore masks. But for the most part people shopping there eschewed mask-wearing. Provincial guidelines continue to recommend indoor mask-wearing, but the mandate was lifted weeks ago, freeing people up to chose their own personal COVID-avoidance solutions.

We were both agreed after some discussion, that this is a reflection of a cultural situation. And that culture is perhaps indicative of the people whom Walmart attracts, where relaxation of rules reflect a reflex reaction.

Since today turned out anything but hot at 24C, with a lovely breeze, and mostly sunny, we saw no need nor impulse to get ourselves out early to the ravine, and Jackie and Jillie were in full agreement. It was mid-afternoon by the time we sauntered up the street and into the ravine. And we discovered something else that we hadn't really thought much about. Morning hikes through the ravine appear to appeal to more people in the community than do afternoon hikes.

The result of which was that at the time we were threading through the forest trails, there were scant few others about. And Jackie and Jillie were just fine about that; they're of the impression in any event, that they're the stewards of the forest and all others trespassers. It's likely why they respond so negatively to the appearance of strangers having the unmitigated gall to access their personal territory without permission and they aren't about to give that assent.

Oh, and that shopping expedition occasioned the truck filled with bags of garden soil, grass seed, seed starter, to once again make the effort to return our lawn to its original condition that work crews fouled time and again, fixing Bell connections for Internet that failed repeatedly. On one occasion it was ours, on the other it was our neighbours' and the third time around it was to lay new upgraded cable, presumably in preparation for the 5G rollout. That'll be a lot of work for him to commit to, yet again.

He also brought back cedar mulch to spread over the garden beds and borders. Frustratingly, although we've had so much rain, the garden seems to dry out quickly, too quickly. So mulch-time it is, for a happier garden able to retain moisture for longer periods of time in between irrigation or rain events. Work, work and more work. And the reward is a healthy and colourful, hard-working summer garden.