To the present, this has been so far, an  unusual, although not entirely rare fall for the balmy weather we've been enjoying. Ample sun, wind and rain and temperatures oddly mild for this time of year. The temperature does drop overnight, flirting with frost, but hard frosts though on the way, haven't yet arrived.

 

 

Usually it's winter that is loathe to leave and this time it's summer, with fall struggling to assert itself. Still, each day we go out into the ravine we can see subtle changes. And lately, the acrid fragrance of drying leaves, that smell that brings back youth memories making us nostalgic over this season, has begun.

 

The last few days have been a little cooler than the low 20Cs we've become accustomed to this early fall, with a bit of a chill wind rustling through the leaves, bringing down a steady rain of pine needles, along with yellow poplar leaves and bright red maple leaves to clutter the forest floor. Soon it will take on the aspect of bright confetti.

 

The leaves are beginning to pile up though and already it's hard to see the partridgeberry that clings to the forest floor. The late wildflowers like asters are still around, though a bit wan, but gone are the fleabane, the Himalayan orchids, the goldenrod and the coneflowers along the banks of the creek and the trails mounting the hillsides.

 

From early to mid-October is the time I usually disassemble the garden, and it takes many days to prepare everything for the arrival of November, then December, when snow begins to cover the landscape. I've taken down the vines, cut back some of the perennials, the hydrangeas, black-eyed Susans and peonies, and now it's time to do the same with our many hostas sprinkled throughout the backyard garden and the extensive ones in the front garden; even the rock garden and shade garden at opposite sides of the house have to be trimmed.

 

I began on Wednesday of this week, and  continued today, taking several hours each of those days to begin the process. Today I also cut back our backyard Magnolia tree which has taken to hanging over one of our stone benches. The older climbing roses are no longer producing blooms and they've been cut back, but the shrubs that produce tiny clusters of roses are thriving, sending out beautiful little blooms.

 

I meant to continue a little longer tidying up and bringing fall order to the gardens, but suddenly it began to rain. And soon after I went into the house after putting away all the garden tools I was using and leaving the large compost bags that will be put out for pick-up tomorrow in the garden shed, thunder began. So we're getting a thunderstorm! Relieving me of the need to water the still-flourishing garden pots.

 

Most days of the week I'm too busy to spare time for the garden. The week's forecast informed us that Saturday would be a mild, sunny day, and I earmarked it for giving me the opportunity to continue cleaning up the garden for fall. Unfortunately, the forecast has changed since then and rain is in the offing; 90%, so there goes that plan. I had planned to go through the rock garden and finish up the backyard, cutting back vegetation. It'll have to wait for another day of opportunity. Meanwhile, the four bags of compost I collected on Wednesday will be put out for collection on Monday night.

 

 

I asked Irving what he'd like for a dessert treat and he came back with a chocolate cake. So that's what I baked, in two layers, and between them I slathered raspberry jam, with a chocolate frosting over the entire cake. Too bad I can't get baking tins half the size of the ones I have, since I'd prefer to bake smaller cakes, but these old round pans will do; the layers are just thinner, while still as large in circumference as usual.

 

 

When we took ourselves out to the ravine in the afternoon, we came across an old ravine-hiking friend we haven't seen in months. As usual, we stopped to chat briefly. From initially discussing how beautiful the forest is now in its autumnal glory, we deviated into a sombre exchange on the massacre in Israel. His daughter, he told us, is dating a young Jewish man, whose best friend in Israel just lost one of his legs during a battle.

 

 

I excused myself, and walked on down the steep decline, apologizing to our friend, telling him I just was unable to continue the conversation. Irving stayed up above, and they talked together awhile, while I waited at the bottom of the descent, looking around at the trees. Now that I was speaking with someone from the greater community, I just wasn't able to unemotionally talk about the situation. I was no longer weeping when Irving finally caught up with me and gave me a reassuring hug.

 

It was about then that the sky itself began weeping. We weren't dressed for rain. There was only supposed to be a 30% chance of rain today. But most of the forest canopy, colourful as it is, was still fairly intact. No need to return home; we counted on the rain continuing to be light. And evidently so did a lot of other people. Surprising, since so often we see no one else out, particularly on a week day.

 

But out they were, and we kept seeing dogs we know trotting and running purposefully toward us. So it didn't take very long before the large-sized cookies were gone. The dogs that stop by to say hello while their humans are off somewhere else on the intersecting trails, usually expect two cookies; that's the formula, and until both are received they wait, then turn and depart as quietly and swiftly as they had arrived.

 

 

It's all balm for troubled souls. The magic of nature's serenity, the beauty unfolding before us. The prospect of greeting old friends, both canine and human. The pleasure that Jackie and Jillie derive from their daily rounds through the forest trails and meeting up with their friends. And our quiet conversations between ourselves, troubled and sad.

 

 

 

Because we're Canadians-eh! and like everyone else, obsessed with the weather -- will it be a nice day so we can enjoy ourselves out-of-doors today? -- the first bit of 'news' we're interested in usually once we're awake, is the weather. Not transfixed by it, exactly, perhaps more curious than anything else. But uppermost in mind at first from long experience is the weather report. And today's was the assurance that there'd be no rain, but we could expect sun, a nice trade-off. 

 

So it didn't rain, but nor did we have sun. Both conditions which perfectly suited my personal plans for the afternoon, excluding our ravine hike with Jackie and Jillie. We left earlier than usual for the ravine, because I planned to do some outside work in the garden, seriously preparing it for winter that will be arriving all too soon.

 

In fact, dressed for it in comfortable clothing, cool and overcast days are bracing and pleasurable. And going through forest trails with colourful foliage gently tumbling through the air brings back never-forgotten memories of these very same scenes, from childhood to parenthood and seeing our own children so long ago, enjoying what nature prepared for us at this seasonal time.

Raking leaves, hearing migrating flocks of geese flying overhead, seeing children plop themselves into piles of leaves with squeals of delight presaging the same actions and reactions in months to come when the snow flies is so nostalgic and mind-soothing. 

 

And then suddenly, Jillie launched herself into one of her hysterical barking fits. A large poodle mix was approaching, a beautiful white dog, and she was reacting to the presence of a dog she'd never before seen on the forest trails. Her initial reaction is invariably the same; sighting, barking and hysterics. 

Somehow she senses when a dog is cautious and frightened, a condition that serves to increase her hostile behaviour. And oddly enough many large dogs are timid and fearful when small dogs behave like this.

No amount of reproach, of calling her to behave serves to halt this behaviour. So she was put on leash and didn't like that very much. She kept trying to lurch forward to freedom from restraint, but I wasn't having any of it. I've resolved to continue leashing her whenever she embarks on one of these emotional-blackmail adventures. Jackie is less inclined to this type of behaviour, but she influences him.

 

Back home again from our hike gone sour mid-trail, I remained out in the garden, and starting in the backyard began the work that will occupy me in my spare time to prepare the garden for winter. I spent several hours, and in that time filled four large compost bags with cuttings, with spent annuals, and even so managed only to make a modest start on what will be weeks of preparation. It's hard work, but there's still satisfaction in getting it done. Not the least of which is sweeping up all the detritus that has fallen on our walkways from our many trees.

Finally, it was time to call it a day. In I went, to be greeted by two puppies who had surely begun to despair that their afternoon vegetable salad would be forgotten this day. So first off, I chopped up sugar peas, cucumber, bell pepper and tomatoes for two eagerly-waiting little dogs who know which colour bowl is theirs and where it will be placed.

And then I turned my attention to chopping up other vegetables; garlic, onion, celery, bell pepper, tomatoes, herbs for a savoury chicken-broth-based soup to simmer for dinner; corn kernels will be the last thing to add before the hot, flavourful bowls will provide the comfort we need on these overcast, cool fall days.

When cold weather arrives, our Friday-night dinners become somewhat furmulaic. In the sense that Friday night meals customarily/culturally for most Jewish families -- at lease those with a European background -- revolve around a predictable cuisine ... chicken soup and a chicken-based dinner to follow. Irving has developed a taste for dark chicken when all of his life he has preferred white chicken and it has been chicken breast in various cooking styles he has been accustomed to. In contrast, I always preferred the dark meat of poultry.

We've now reversed, where my preference is for the breast meat and his has definitely gone over to the dark meat. And the way he most appreciates it cooked is in a gravy comprised of chopped onion and garlic browned slightly in olive oil, mushrooms added and cooked a few minutes until they've diminished in size considerably, then the seasoned chicken pieces quickly browned each side, and set aside for flour to be added to the vegetables, then hot water to create a thickened sauce to which I add a chicken soup cube, paprika, and sliced carrots. Last, the chicken pieces to simmer (covered) in the gravy for 50 minutes. Plated over freshly cooked/steamed rice.

Irving was out after breakfast this morning using a leaf blower/vacuum, to scoop up fallen foliage from the Magnolia, the Mulberry and from the Norway Maple next door. Our own Japanese maple beside the back of the house has turned a delightful red but hasn't yet lost one leaf. When I took Jackie and Jillie out they were convinced the apparatus was a monster attacking Irving and reacted accordingly. 

Today has turned out to be a perfectly wonderful weather day. Just right for working out in the garden. But first, the full sun, light wind and afternoon high temperature of 8C demanded a tramp through the ravine. Evidently the very same impetus influenced other people in the wider community, as we soon discovered. Several years ago we could be out on the trails for hours and see no one else. That time has passed. 

The forest itself has changed, but only reflecting the seasonal transition from summer to fall -- fall preparing for winter. The trees now stand dark and gaunt. They seem a little lonely as though bemoaning their loss of green cover. In areas of the forest where the deciduous trees dominate, they look almost funereal, in contrast to the vibrant, living green of the conifer portion of the forest. 

In those areas where both hardwood and softwood grow companionably, the landscape has a softer appearance. In both, the profusion of fallen foliage and their still-colourful mounds appear nostalgically beautiful. Both colour and fragrance evoke early childhood years of delight in deep piles of fallen leaves. Only to be surpassed by the heady excitement that the aftermath of a snowstorm with its bright, buoyantly sparkling layers of snow elicit in children who clamour to be allowed to build snowmen and produce snow angels.

Back home again, garden work in the front commenced. With Irving digging out the two huge Canna lilies from their perch in our giant garden pots, followed by the emptying of the pots for winter storage. I had earlier cut back the green fronds of the tree peony in the backyard. Now the larger one in the front garden had to be done. It's careful work, to cut away the green and make certain that the emerging buds forming to bloom the following spring are left intact.

So though we contemplated investing in an ark, though we still have a canoe, the rain finally stopped. The sky's struggle with cranky dark clouds prevailed and all was clear, an ocean of bright periwinkle-blue this morning. The house interior was iridescent with gleaming light, electric with the rays of the sun probing every corner, Everyone was cheerful when we hauled ourselves out of bed.

 We basked in the bright light, eating our breakfast. Lingered with Jackie and Jillie in the backyard, warmed by the sun despite wind bursts of cooler temperatures. Mondays are busy. It seemed a shame to apply ourselves to the minutiae involved in cleaning the house. But I'm kind of dogged about that. Nevertheless, Irving looked at me and said how about an early trek through the ravine before housework?

He articulated verbally what had been going through my mind. That's the thing about living together for 67 years, you get to think alike, and come to conclusions both spontaneously and simultaneously, revealed when one or the other of you verbalizes what the other has also been thinking. We laughed, and agreed that was an excellent idea.

When we asked Jackie and Jillie they agreed. They had been a little forlorn now and again the past few days that comprised the weekend. A weekend of uncompromising, incessant heavy rain, with no breaks to allow us out on the trails as usual. And we missed our outings. It just felt as though each day was a failure, not having the opportunity to cap them off with the pleasure of looking about in the forest.

As we approached the ravine entrance we were surprised, though we shouldn't have been, at the difference two days makes at this time of year. But given the combination of shorter daylight hours, cold, wind and rain, predictable that so many trees would have shed their foliage. It's not that the only verdant areas owe their bright, dark green to evergreens. Many of the hardwoods continue to retain their foliage in defiance of autumn and resist losing their still-green leaves.

On the other hand, enough of the deciduous trees are now bare of leaves, the forest floor below thick in bright colours of gold, pink, red, orange and browns. Beautiful at present, soon to turn grey. The atmosphere is redolent of fall foliage, the unmistakable smell that takes us back to childhood when we raked fall leaves into crisp piles, and the musty, sweet odour met us, or when dove into them, and we kicked our boots through those piles to hear them crackle underfoot, smelling them release their autumn bouquet.

Yesterday was windy and with the rain, unpleasant. Today not quite as windy, but gusts now and again, roil the foliage that is left on the forest canopy, sending pine needles and drying leaves floating through the air. The poplars with their bright yellow leaves still intact, while others are bare, choreograph a leaf-dance of flickering yellow leaves.

The forest is well saturated with all the rain that's fallen. Wide rain puddles play host to floating leaves and the wind sends ripples through the water, while sun rays flicker like diamonds in the miniature lakes. We took our time, in no big hurry, wandering the trails. And we pretty well had them all to ourselves. Surprisingly, few other people were out with their dogs, and so it was a contemplative, quiet tramp with Jackie and Jillie satisfied to just enjoy the ambiance and forgetting the necessity to bark because people were about and they have to show who's in charge...

Last night's damp chill called for the comfort of a piping hot bowl of soup. I used a mix of dried peas and beans that don't require overnight soaking. Garlic, onion, zucchini, tomato and carrots comprised the vegetable component, perked up with fennel and cumin seed, paprika, pepper and garam masala. Served with a fresh-baked sesame-seed yeast flatbread topped with cheese and rosemary.

Today, after I finished cleaning the house and washing the floors I thought I'd put together a quiche, since we haven't had one for a long time. I decided to use Mozzarella cheese because I wanted something that wouldn't clash taste-wise with the smoked oysters I intended using. I also scattered in green peas. So it'll be interesting to see how those tastes blend in the finished product. I used sour cream instead of milk when I beat the eggs into the pie crust.

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.

No more cooling cotton sheets on our bed for quite a while into the future for now, at least until spring returns. On the positive side, I won't have to iron sheet sets weekly until they return to our bed. Well, there's no negative side to the flannel sheets that now comfort us when we get into bed at night. And they'll be used until winter itself arrives, when we will switch over yet again to snugger sheet sets made of fleecy material. When we slide into bed there's isn't a cool sensation, then a wait to warm up; with the flannel and then the fleecy in its turn, it feels instantly warm and comfortable.

Jackie and Jillie too are becoming comfortable with being covered with a blanket at night. The house furnace is automatically set to go down to a cooler temperature at night during our sleeping hours. And like most two-story houses, the upstairs tends to be cooler than the downstairs. We can feel the difference when we walk up the stairs at night transitioning from the first floor, where the fireplace has been warming us in the evening hours, to the upstairs where it feels eerily as though a window has been opened. 

We're flirting with frost-weather now. The temperature at night falls just a tad under freezing. And if the day has been without sun, the house hasn't warmed up as it does on those days when there is an absence of clouds thanks to the sun sending its warmth through our large two-story windows. It makes an enormous difference. The stained glass over all the windows also conveys the heat of the sun. We've had lots of rainy days, not so many sunny ones lately, although that will change once November has passed.

So thoughts turn to meals that are a little more substantial and weather-comforting as well. Ontario fruit is now available in abundance. We're no longer focusing on berries other than those from the U.S. and Mexico and at this time of year they're pretty iffy. Peaches and nectarines from Niagara are done with, their season over. But there's pears and there's plums aplenty. So I decided to bake a walnut-crumble-top plum pie for dinner tonight. And of course we'll have chicken soup and rice. The main course will feature the same; chicken drumsticks in gravy with chopped bell pepper and sliced carrots served over rice.

At a high temperature today of 6C, and icy wind under cloudy skies we thought it best to haul out little woolly sweaters for Jackie and Jillie when we headed off to the ravine later in the day. They're so accustomed now over the years, to wearing various kinds of clothing they don't mind. Jackie was once adamantly opposed to anything constraining him; he still doesn't care for his collar and dangling tags, so they never wear them in the house. Their harnesses are a necessary part of our outdoor trips because we wouldn't hear of leashing them to their collars.

As for us, under those weather conditions intermediate-weight jackets were definitely called for. And lots of facial tissues because cold and wind make for tearing eyes and runny noses. And we're out there in the forest for a considerable length of time. It had rained through the night again last night and so there was ample evidence of it through the forest. Including rain puddles festooned with floating fallen leaves.

In some areas where trees already present a bare appearance, their leaves long fallen, those leaves on the trail are no longer that enchanting mixture of yellows and reds. They've turned dark grey, utterly unappealing. But for the most part there is ample foliage left on trees, and time yet for the green leaves to turn colour before falling. The acrid fragrance of the drying leaves is beyond nostalgic. By the time November rolls around, however, much of the colour will have gone and with it the delight of autumn.

Nature has so many surprises in store for us, though; we never know what we'll come across, aside from the many trail-walking acquaintances we've made over the years. One of our friends showed up with a chocolate-lab/poodle hybrid, a year old, large and feistily intelligent. He called the dog a 'COVID-dog'  and what he meant was that the person who brought it home during COVID isolation mandating work-from-home, a friend of his daughter's, found that now he's returning to work in person, it is no longer suitable for him to care for a dog. For one thing, he left the dog kenneled 12 hours a day. Unthinkable. So his daughter bought the dog from her friend and our friend was introducing it to the forest.

As for nature's surprises, today they came in the sight of fungi catching our eyes. One, a group of small mushrooms blooming out of the side of a tree, nestling on its bark. Another, a number of fungal colonies occupying space on an old decaying birch trunk on the forest floor. Each representing the most exquisite of aesthetic designs. We do, after all, look to nature's handiwork to inform and instruct the human version of artistic endeavours. But nature's is the more authentic for obvious reasons. So overwhelming in our lives that our admiration for her beauty inspires in us that most sincere form of appreciative flattery; copying the original and flaunting it as our very own creation.

When we returned back home again I decided to stay out for awhile. With the thought in mind of  continuing my extended fall-clean-up in the garden beds and borders. There is just so much to be done. And it's also, strangely enough, when I turn a critical eye to the perennial plants and admire them before lopping, snipping and cutting them away for the winter. Filling up those giant compost bags for weekly pick-up by our local compost collection where the city maintains huge compost piles. Doing that kind of work is in a sense, sad, since we're preparing the garden for its burial under four feet and more of snow. On the other hand, it's an invigorating ritual, one I don't mind one bit.