We had no opportunity to get out for our daily walk through the forest yesterday which turned out to be a weather-miserable day of relentless rain. Irving did go out to do some shopping. He had in mind looking for new and more reliable cleats to pull over our winter boots for the coming winter season. Our adventure of the day before, when we slipped and slid up and down the various hills in the ravine was a tad too exciting altogether. How we managed to remain erect is a mystery.

 

The pair he bought for my boots have some pretty wicked-looking spikes that make me a little nervous. I'm always careful around Jackie and Jillie when I'm wearing those ice-cleats, and with good reason. Contact with them could result in some very serious injury. In all the years we've been wearing them we haven't had any accidents; we're alert to where our pups are, around our feet.

 

When evening arrived last night the rain ceased and light snow took over for a short while as the temperature dropped. There wasn't much of an accumulation and we assumed because at the highest point in the afternoon when we finally got out with the puppies it was -4C, the trails that were so treacherous two days earlier, would be frozen solid. They were. We could feel just how deeply frost had set in as we entered the path leading to the ravine.

 

Then we realized that the snow that hadn't made much of an impact outside the forest had gathered on top of the thick icy slush we had encountered on Tuesday, adhered to it, and resulted in a fairly thick layer of ice that challenged our ability to remain upright as we descended into the ravine. We weren't really mentally prepared to trip the Light Fantastic again. It hadn't occurred to us we might need those ice cleats so soon.

 

Well, of course, it wasn't the entire network of forest trails that were steeped in ice. We took our time, chose an alternate, safer route, and managed to remain in charge of our well-being. The temperature was just on the cusp of the puppies needing their winter rubber boots. They faced no inconvenience in negotiating the trails; it's where bipedalism is trumped by four agile legs.

Earlier in the day I was busy in the kitchen. As usual, I'd asked Irving what he'd like for a dessert for this evening. And wasn't I surprised; he actually came up with a suggestion. He'd seen gingerbread cakes advertised at one of his favourite haunts. So gingerbread it would be. Most gingerbread recipes use a combination of baking soda and boiling water in the cake batter. Since I really heartily dislike baking soda in cakes, I thought I could do better.

So I increased the butter content, used yellow instead of dark brown sugar because last time we were shopping they were out of the latter. Instead of baking soda, I used baking powder, along with the ginger, cinnamon, cloves, salt and molasses. Typically, a single egg is used with about a cup and a half of flour. I increased that to two eggs and reduced the flour to one cup. And substituted sour cream for hot water.

I used my countertop convection oven. I had turned it on to warm it to 350F, then popped the batter in its baking dish into the oven and set the timer for 42 minutes. Then I was busy preparing a bread dough, putting on a chicken soup to simmer and preparing chicken breast cutlets for breading. Just before the timer went off I looked at the convection oven and saw what looked like a flat cake. I opened the door and realized what I was looking at was the inert batter, and there was no heat emanating from the oven.

Somehow it had shut itself off. Out came the cake pan and batter. I fiddled with the oven's electrical plug, shoving it deeper into the wall receptacle, and on came the oven. After it heated up properly, back in went the cake. And then it finally baked.

 

It takes a while to adjust to reality, even if it is the norm for us, for our little intimate family unit to be reduced down to four again. Driving home from the airport yesterday afternoon we were quietly contemplating how quickly a week goes by. The house seems too still. It is remembering that when our son was with us there was more activity, more voices, more gaiety and more serious conversations.

We keep expecting -- through a reflex of so-recent memory -- him to appear suddenly. Coming downstairs from the library where he set up his computer and his papers and was busy constantly editing other authors' papers for publication, and finishing up one of his own. Mealtimes have reverted from two people turning their heads in attention to a third party's considered opinions -- not necessarily synchronized with ours -- and discussions that followed, to the more usual combination of casual, light conversation.

Our attention has swerved once again from its focus on two little dogs and one another, to a concern not to miss anything about the presence of our son, with us again. Always at the back of my mind, a ticking clock whiling away the hours until his all-too-soon departure. A little wormhole of a nagging repetitive reminder to live with the moment, not in fear of the imminent future. 

When we returned from the airport we felt relieved that we had gone out much earlier in the day for our usual ravine hike. We had him with us, then. Neither of us felt much like embarking on a hike at that point. I always find it helpful though to be busy, doing things. So I turned my attention to preparing dinner; a cheese quiche for a change. Light enough, flavourful enough and satisfying enough for both of us. 

An email awaited us this morning. And although it needed no response, a simple reassurance that all went well, one was sent. Then we went back upstairs to shower before breakfast. It had rained all night, heavily, interspersed with some freezing rain. According to the forecast we were supposed to have up to 5cm of new snow. Instead, we had a sodden landscape, the rain carving away a little more of the snowpack.

After changing bed linen, doing the weekly laundry, we all went out for a jaunt through the ravine. We were, in fact, a trifle less jaunty than usual. Once again, the ravine's hillsides presented with more snow shaved away, and larger patches of the forest floor visible. The creek down below could be heard from the hilltop we descended to enter the ravine and the forest. Fed anew by both rain and snowmelt, since the temperature had risen to 4.6C, the creek roared down its winding course through the forest.

The trails were more icy, more slippery, the ambient atmosphere decidedly springlike. No one would sensibly enter the ravine to course through the trails without cleats on these early spring days. We saw a few acquaintances out as we were, appreciative of the changing landscape and the opportunity to stretch our limbs. Because of the heavy overcast threatening rain we were all geared in rainjackets, but none fell. In days to come we may yet have a snowfall or two, but Nature cast her de for spring, and spring it is....