It's at this time of year when the setting sun appears most spectacular in its effects on the landscape and in the heavens as it rises and sets. Yesterday we had decided we'd take a drive up the eastern parkway into downtown (or uptown, depending on your perspective) Ottawa, then take the western parkway over to the little shop located in a nondescript strip mall that appears to be the remaining stained glass supply shop in the area.

All the way we drive alongside the Ottawa River; both parkways faithfully follow the river's trajectory. We pass familiar landmarks including the RCMP musical ride horse stables, and the national aeronautical museum. Yesterday was a cold and sunny day; little wind to speak of and just perfect for a drive after we'd taken Jackie and Jillie out for their usual afternoon turn on the forest trails in the ravine.

They knew they'd be coming with us. We had left their collars on and they only wear them when they're outside the house. We had exchanged their fluffy little winter coats for snug little woolly sweaters. I was prepared to sit in the truck with them while my husband selected coloured glass to supplement what he has in his home inventory, along with the lead and other items he needs to complete another set of windows. So they napped while I read the papers and my husband took his time in the shop he's been going to for decades.

Driving along on this spectacularly beautiful day it's a leisurely treat with the conditions that prevailed. The sun was blinding through the windshield of the vehicle -- appearing on the right, then the left, then back again, as the roads we were driving on turned and straightened, turned again -- but also strikingly exquisite as it glowed over the landscape, the river and the snow that covered everything in a virginal white glow. Traffic is always light along the parkways, most commuters use the express highways for a more 'efficient' drive. 

Looking across the wide river where the first signs of ice forming can be detected close to the shoreline, you see the separation between Ontario and Quebec, with the Quebec shoreline dotted by the presence of small early 20th Century houses. When freeze-up occurs in a month or so, and the river is securely tucked into winter mode, nearby residents, mostly on the Quebec side, drive onto the river, erect little huts and drill fishing holes in the ice. It's a time-honoured, favoured winter tradition.

We pass the National Gallery with its huge glassed-in atrium, the large piazza in front of the gallery dedicated to a huge sculpture of a spider, "Maman", with its cache of 'eggs' under its body. Its immense size and subject matter are fascinating, and far preferable to the usual non-objective art that usually graces public spaces in this era of modern abstract art.

When we come to Parliament Hill, we see that the East Block of the Parliament buildings is being renovated, with scaffolding towering high above, workers busy with the labour it takes to refurbish and strengthen the old masonry work. The entire campus is being worked on, bit by bit, before the Gothic-inspired buildings that so typify the era in which they were built to reflect a far earlier era's style of public buildings deteriorate beyond repair.

In the Centre Block, also under renovation, the House of Commons has been temporarily moved to the old Railway Station building long since transformed into a huge Conference Centre which now hosts parliamentary affairs temporarily, and in an entirely new mode, given the physical distancing between people required during this time of the global pandemic causing chaos all over the world, no less and far more than in Canada.

Before long we pass the Holocaust Memorial, a stark, cold, grey, sharply angled structure reflecting a horror in world history that was stark, cold and grey with shame for the world community that failed to act in any meaningful way that would put a stop to the annihilation of six million Jews. Ironically, as we pass, a traffic sign is lit up with the warning: 'Stop'. In a fitting tribute to that miserable failure, when the memorial was dedicated, the memorial plaque made no mention of the fact that the victims were Jews. And nor did Prime Minister Justin Trudeau in his sanctimonious address make reference to that inconvenient bit of reality.

 Further along the river, ducks and geese were floating on its steel-grey surface, perhaps soaking up the last warmth of the near-setting sun. Other waterbirds were nestled in flocks alongside pathways running along the grassy, now-snow-covered river banks, seemingly comfortable and not given to moving as the odd passerby strolled along the paths. They will likely very soon complete their migratory trip south for the winter months.

 It took a while before my husband finished his business in the glass shop where he was the sole customer. During that time the light began to visibly fade as dusk slowly set in. On our way driving back along first the western then the eastern parkways, the sun had set and the moon had risen. We drove home in the dark, the heavens having turned from pale blue to a deep velvety purple, the half-moon floating wan and lovely above the trees silhouetting the landscape.

After yesterday's snowfall, there was about 5cm of snow covering everything. During the night freezing rain fell. In the morning we discovered that the slippery, icy areas in the backyard had been modified by the snow and freezing rain. It was possible to get a grip on the ice; it was partially denaturized. That the sun came out in late morning and the temperature rose to 1C, would be a further aid to negotiating the icy conditions in the ravine, we reasoned.

Taking Jackie and Jillie out for walks on our neighbourhood streets just isn't the same as strolling through the woodland trails. There are no cars and buses zipping along the street in the ravine. There are no mechanical sounds, the smells of exhaust, the visuals of concrete and metal. Of course, now that everything is locked down during this novel coronavirus situation, not many cars zip along any street; they remain mostly parked in driveways and garages. As for the buses, those that come by, from the double-deckers to the linked buses, they carry so few passengers one wonders why they're continuing to operate.

We set off, strapping our cleats over our boots and Jackie and Jillie booted against the ice and loose, wet snow. Just as we began our descent into the ravine, we saw two teen-age girls sliding downhill and hanging on to tree trunks. They weren't equipped with cleated boots, and they quite obviously weren't having a good time. We told them conditions were sure to improve tomorrow, with milder weather expected, and it might be too dangerous for them to proceed. They agreed, gingerly made their way back to the top of the hill, thanked us, and went off elsewhere.

Our descent was one requiring concentration, to say the least. The ice was nowhere near as glassy and hard with the newfallen snow slopped over it, and it was clear from the condition of the snow that others had been along before us with their dogs, hoping to make a decent attempt in a woodland walk. We could see how they managed, here and there, by the visual evidence in slides we encountered, where the ice was fully revealed as people fell or slid downhill.

My husband is far more confident than I am in these conditions. He always offers to help me, but I'm adamant that he's got to look after himself; distracted with looking after my welfare as well as his, he's more liable to fall himself. I'd re-injured my right shoulder a few days back and wasn't thrilled with the thought of falling again and making it even worse, so I proceeded slowly and carefully, grasping tree trunks now and again if I felt particularly vulnerable.

Jackie nnd Jillie were just fine negotiating their way downhill and uphill and they too were sliding in places, though doing so hardly bothered them, they're pretty low to the ground. We could proceed with a measure of relief whenever we were on flat ground, but with the caution that slips and falls occur on flat areas where ice is occasionally harder and more inclined to take us by surprise. Quite obviously, our initial optimism had been somewhat misplaced.

Despite yesterday's snowfall, which really didn't amount to all that much, there are now widely visible areas on the forest floor where the snow is fast receding. Where the snow still adhered to the ice we could appreciate far less of a threat to our balance. We had proceeded quite a way through our usual long circuit along the forest trails and arrived at a halfway point, where another ravine entrance is located, some distance streetwise from our own neighbourhood.

The very thought of completing the circuit and in some part exposing ourselves yet again to the difficulties of the areas we had already traversed did anything but appeal to me. On the return we would be going downhill in difficult areas of the hillsides where we had originally struggled to go uphill. Descending can be more fraught with danger than ascending in such conditions. So we decided to exit the ravine at that point and continue on, walking on the street, where a network of streets would eventually return us to a main intersection and from there we could make our way home.

That part of our journey seemed interminable; it just cannot compare to traipsing through a forest, to walk on city streets and roadways. We did see people walking out and about on our way, and people tended to acknowledge one another's presence by brief smiles or handwaves, perhaps tinged with a bit of wry disbelief at the situation we're in. Most people prudently observe a distance between themselves and others; mature people, the young tend to make no effort to do so, placing the onus on older people.

Just before we finally arrived at our own street, out popped our old friend Max whom we haven't seen in months, from a trail adjoining the main street. He stood on the trail, we stood on the street beyond, and we had a long conversation, voices raised, discussing the news, the leadership of heads of government, our vulnerabilities and acceptance of what we can do little about other than to adhere to authorized medical advice as best we can.

They weren't exactly glum, as though high expectations had been dashed, since they really detest rain and would far prefer to be indoors when it's wet out. But they were quiet, a little unsettled yesterday, as though anticipated routine had been interrupted -- which of course it had been. We awaited an opportunity from morning to mid-afternoon for the rain to pause and give us an opportunity to make our way out to the ravine yesterday, but it didn't happen.

Finally, we went off to do the grocery shopping, and Jackie and Jillie were left alone to engage in a little introspection and mourn our absence. Still it rained. As the afternoon drew closer to early evening the rain finally stopped. The urge to get out into the sopping forest somehow bypassed us, and Jackie and Jillie were cheated out of a tramp through the forest trails yesterday. So this morning when the sun shone we all brightened up considerably.

Mind, yesterday's mild temperature had given way to an overnight low of -7C. That could explain why there was a raccoon on the porch, looking for peanut leftovers. And in the morning it was cold, though the harsh wind of the day before had departed. Jackie and Jillie knew they'd be taken out for a nice, prolonged hike through the woods today.

Yesterday's mild temperature, above freezing, and the continuous rain had succeeded, as expected, in melting some of the snowpack on the forest floor, and it also made the trails treacherous, particularly on the many ascents and descents. Jackie and Jillie know enough to avoid the middle of the trail where the ice tends to be glassier and smoother, and make for the edges where crusted snow remained for better footing.

As the top layers of snow melt, they reveal the underlayer of ice. So there's that change. But there's also the aesthetic component involved in our changing landscape, for as the snow melts it reveals layers beneath hosting all manner of winter detritus, from the expected bits and pieces of branches and twigs and related woody detritus, to the inelegant leavings of dogs relieving themselves.

Halfway through our tramp, we came across Timbits and his person, close to a ravine entrance some considerable distance from our own street, Timbits is a miniature schnauzer that his people for reasons known only to themselves, expressed in a shrug, require that whenever he goes out, a long orange rope trails him, affixed to his collar, even though his people are always nearby. Timbits's predecessor, Kira, an even smaller, lively schnauzer was allowed by the same people to romp about on the trails without a rope trailing and entangling her. Go figure.

Before long, Nova, the white German Shepherd, came loping along, to join the company of three. He too had a predecessor, a female white German Shepherd who was imbued with a temperament as sweet as her successor's. Nova has a tendency to rush headlong at people and/or dogs approaching on the trails, toward  him. His size and conformation alongside this mannerism tends to make people fearful and other dogs uncertain, though he is very gentle. So Rod, his person, is belatedly teaching him to wait patiently for people/dogs to come along, then quietly greet them.

Although the sun had shone earlier in the day, while we were out it hid behind banks of fluffy white clouds, making a brief appearance now and again. A cold day, given the more moderate temperatures that have given us pleasure the past several weeks, absent yesterday's sharp winds. Once we returned home, however, the sky had cleared and the sun was in full, glowing display.

Snow flurries began to twinkle through the dark night just before we hauled ourselves upstairs to bed, last night. Well, that made sense; the forecast was for a possible 5 cm of snow to fall overnight. To add to the 20 cm we'd just been gifted with a few days ago. When we awoke this morning an unexpected landscape greeted us, and it wasn't the result of a mere 5 cm, but a snow dump that at least equalled that of a few days back. That, on top of the snowpack we've acquired over the winter, is finally bringing us up to 'normal' winter snow levels.

Jackie and Jillie were excited, eager to get right outside, and when we let them out, they stopped  to pause at the deck stairs leading down to the backyard. Deep, deep snow. Finally, they girded their intention and down they trotted. And they found it more to their liking to slip under the deck, where snow doesn't tend to accumulate since the deck above catches what falls excessively around the steel-topped canopy on the deck, rather than do a breaststroke through the backyard itself.

And that canopy needed to be swept clean of snow, since the metal can't hold more than a foot of snow, and there was now over a foot accumulated. We were snowed in. The backyard walkways too needed to be shoveled out. But that didn't deter a little red squirrel from visiting the porch where I'd scattered peanuts over the bouffant snow, wondering if the neighbourhood squirrels would detect their presence, since they tend to sink right into the fluff. That little red fellow certainly did, and his snacking gave Jackie and Jillie the opportunity to enjoy a little live entertainment.

Eventually, we decided we'd get out for a ravine hike. The reason, obvious enough. After the snow had finished, out came the sun, and the temperature soared to 0C. Utterly irresistible, the prospect of reveling in an exquisite forest landscape of newfallen snow on a mild, sunny day. So off we went. Jackie and Jillie dressed in waterproof jackets and little boots. Which kept their bodies nice and dry, but did nothing for their legs which soon became well encrusted with hard little balls of snow sticking to their hair.

Not that they minded at all. And soon they came across some friends, the motley crew of three sibling border collies, each with disparate temperaments and characteristics. While his brother and sister wandered off, Carter sank into the snow with, I swear, an audible sigh, while Barrie stopped awhile for a chat with us.

His charges don't wander far from their human caregivers, the most intelligent, alert dogs ever to be met. And brilliantly trained, which is more than can be said for ours. We often think how nice it would be for the three exemplary-behaved dogs to mentor our two undisciplined little imps.

The snow was deep and fluffed with air, yet wet enough given the temperature, to stick to our boots and to the silken-puffed and grown-out hair that Jackie and Jillie sport. We knew we'd have quite the time brushing those icy snowballs off their legs on our return home. And we did. But while we were out in the ravine, seeing the sun illuminate everything was a treat to be savoured.

Unlike our first decade spent in this neighbourhood allowing us daily tramps through the forest trails in the ravine when few others ventured out to enjoy and appreciate those opportunities, so many people in the surrounding community now value and recognize the leisure and exercise opportunities its presence represents, that it takes only a matter of hours before most of the trails have that trodden appearance, with little snowbanks piled high on either side. Beyond helpful when you're not the one breaking trail, as we were.

Back into frigid, windy, icy days again. But sunny. Last evening the temperature plummeted from the =14C we'd had throughout the course of the day, and which we'd girded ourselves against by dressing extra warmly when we were out in the ravine, to -24 by late evening. An hour later, at midnight, it was -25C and still falling. We have been using our fireplace quite a bit this winter, and are grateful for its presence. It does warm up the first floor. When we haul ourselves upstairs to bed invariably we're shocked at  how cold it is relatively speaking, on the second floor.

When we came downstairs first thing this morning the thermometer read -20C, so it was plenty cold, and the presence of light wind makes it seem even colder. Jackie and Jillie wasted little time, once they went out, in returning swiftly to be let back into the house. Even a light wind at that temperature tends to be sharply icy. But the sun was out, and remained out for the rest of the morning before clouding over in mid-afternoon.

Mid-afternoon, of course, is when we generally get ourselves outdoors with Jackie and Jillie for a jaunt through the forest trails, and today was no different. We were skeptical of the weather forecast that gave us -4C for the high today, and weren't surprised when the temperature rose, and then got stuck at -10C, since it's what we expected.

And even though yesterday's high was colder than today's, it seemed colder when we were out today because of a feeling of dampness and a somewhat brisker wind. But the scenery before us in the ravine was just as captivating as it had been the day before, the trees well laced with snow. From a distance there is that inevitable black-and-white prospect when we view the forest floor bedecked in white, the dark trunks of the forest in stark contrast, and what can be seen of the sweep of the sky above the forest canopy; a reflection of the same white aspect of the ground; a wide, thick layer of diffused white clouds.

We had Jackie and Jillie on leash, a condition which has become unfortunately habitual now. At one juncture when we rounded one of the major trails, they both became alert and began straining forward on their leashes -- and soon we saw a dog approaching at a fair clip in the distance, as they do when they're curious and determined to get to the root of what lies ahead as expeditiously as possible.

It took no time for the dog to come abreast of us, a really beautiful, red-coated Labradoodle, friendly and full of life. He ran whoopsie circles around Jackie and Jillie who attempted to chase him but were held back by their leashes, so we did the only sensible thing, in view of the fact that we had to keep untangling them all from the leashes, and detached them to enable them to whip about with this larger cousin of theirs. And back and forth they went, endlessly, the antics of the larger dog really quite hilarious.

Soon her human caught up, and we discovered the happy dog was only just passed her first birthday; a puppy still and full of puppy tricks. The three continued playing together, while we spoke at some length with the woman accompanying the puppy, until we all finally decided to part, since standing around talking when it's really cold tends to emphasize the cold, creeping past and through protective clothing.

We hadn't the heart to put our puppies directly back on the leash, so kept calling them to remain close beside us, when what they really wanted to do was to cut loose and run madly all over the place. They did this, particularly Jackie, whose energy level is usually super-high. It was a treat to watch them, just like old times, in mad spurts of energy flying effortlessly up the trail, then back again, leaping at us in sheer exuberance at the pleasure of freedom they were once again experiencing.

Monday is house-cleaning day in this household. For the past several months my husband has insisted he would do the vacuuming while I do the dusting of furniture and objects sitting on them of which we have far too many, as well as the dry-mopping of hardwood floors followed by pail-and-hand-sponge washing of the bathroom floors, laundry room, kitchen and breakfast room. It's the furniture-and-object dusting that takes the lion's share of time and effort. What I mind least is getting down on my knees and hand-washing the floors.

Taking on the vacuuming has meant that a large segment of my cleaning time has been removed, and I've appreciated it even while I've regretted it. I certainly didn't want him to do the vacuuming today while his knee is still recovering, but he insisted and no contrary argument moves him when he insists on doing something. And then he suggested we plan for a hike in the ravine this afternoon when the housework was completed.

I was adamant that he wait at least another day or two before attempting the hilly terrain. He was equally adamant that it would be fine, and in the end, out we went. Jackie and Jillie seemed rather phlegmatic about it, the routine of dressing them up and preparing them with boots and harness. As though they had adopted an attitude that they they could 'take it or leave it', even while we've felt so guilty about their having missed four days of being out on the forest trails.

But this day was irresistible, just a perfect winter day, so mild that the snow of yesterday morning was melting quickly off the deck canopy. The sun was playing peekaboo all day; blazing in the sky amidst clouds awhile, then retiring behind a greater proliferation of clouds. A slight wind, but so mild at 3C that my husband felt we just had to get out with our two little dogs. And so we did.

My husband carried a ski pole for a bit of an assist with his right leg, and to his surprise it wasn't at all ascending the hills that was difficult, but descending them. So we hiked along a little slower than usual, and Jackie and  Jillie thought they were obliging us by energetically pulling on their leashes to haul us uphill and doing the same for our downhill efforts, leaving the ridge for the lower portions of the ravine.

The trails were in fine shape. We came across women on two separate occasions, each walking a rambunctious puppy, both black, both about 12 weeks old, curious about everything and everyone, cavorting here and there, just little heart-stealers. One was a Portuguese Water dog, the other a miniature Schnauzer and Jackie and Jillie courteously introduced themselves to these young ones, no doubt imparting to them some hints on their developing social lives.

It wasn't a particularly lengthy circuit that we took, but long enough for us to appreciate the cool, fresh air that we'd missed for too many days, and the bracing feeling of exercising our limbs in a beneficent atmosphere. On our return home, once back in the  house, Jackie and Jillie went a little berserk with one another, tumbling about in a frenzy of sudden action, grappling together, racing about; as though to make up for the fact they can no longer roam about on the forest trails freely as they've so long been accustomed to.

Then they lined up in front of the refrigerator to remind us they were ready for the afternoon treat, a post-hike delicacy, each awaiting a large cauliflower floret. 

Now that we're closing in on the end of January, our wacky weather conditions continue. As they usually do. Nature asks for no advice from mere mortals. And since we've lived in this part of eastern Ontario for close to a half-century not that much has changed, really. We can recall one winter when we literally swam through drifts of snow, and another where snow failed to materialize until the Christmas season had passed.

When we first moved to Ottawa from Toronto so many years ago, our children were young and our initial concern was to outfit them adequately for a frigid, snowy atmosphere. Warn and stout winter boots, and hooded winter jackets, mittens, scarves and toques the like of which we never felt they required while we lived in Toronto.

When we were ourselves children in Toronto there was an occasional bumper snowfall, but nothing like what we began to experience here. Yes, there was skating, and there was sledding, but once in Ottawa the focus really was on winter sport. Not to avoid the cold and the snowpack at their seasonal height, but to make the most of it all, as a recreational resource.

It was here that my husband's ambitions to have us all enjoy the winter season saw full cooperation. Earlier, when we lived in Toronto, as a child from the inner city I had never owned a bicycle. My husband had one, and as a pre-teen he used to deliver prescriptions to households from a neighbourhood pharmacy. It was only when our children were old enough to have bicycles that we scraped enough scarce money together to acquire bicycles for all three, and my enterprising husband looked for discarded bicycle parts and put together a usable bicycle for me, then taught me how to ride it.

That having been done, he set about teaching all of us (while he was himself learning) how to ski after he  bought used boots, poles and skis at a second-hand shop for every one of us. The first home we had here was located within the green belt encircling the city, so we had easy access through our backyard directly into the greenbelt through a series of parks, which welcomed us at all hours, day and evening, to make use of it. Snowshoes came next, and finally skates. The children took to all these activities effortlessly. I was awkward, but my husband has limitless patience and plenty of encouragement did the trick.

Now, we simply hike through our nearby woods. And we're beyond grateful that it's so simple to access this area, adjacent the house we now own. Where once we spent limitless time at Gatineau Park, a short drive from our house with the children, hiking, canoeing (another of my husband's enterprises), picnicking, picking wild berries in season, we now rarely drive off to hike elsewhere than right here.

Yesterday began with bright sun and moderate temperatures just hovering on freezing again. We knew that was destined to change and quite quickly as happens here, with snow on the horizon.

Because we were uncertain when the snow (and freezing rain) would erupt, we decided to dress Jackie and Jillie in rainproof winter jackets, but we went through the ravine circuit we'd chosen for the day while the sun was still out for the most part. It did disappear before we left the ravine as the sky changed to overcast, but no snow, much less rain materialized. The moment we arrived back home, though, snow came tumbling out of that pewter sky.

My husband meant to clear the light metal canopy over our deck of the snow accumulated in last week's snowstorm that left about 6 inches atop the canopy, about the most it can safely hold, particularly if freezing rain is anticipated,which would make the snow wetter and heavier. So, while snow came down in great blobs he was out there on a ladder, using a looooong-handled snow-rake, clearing the snow off the canopy.

The snow came down so thickly it was as though some supranatural force had decided to pour an immense vat of dried curdled milk over an otherwise-unsuspecting landscape. I couldn't resist taking a video of it, but it hardly does justice to the spectacle, much less how entranced we felt, watching it and experiencing it, while Jackie and Jillie anxiously scrabbled at the patio doors to get out into the snowfray and enjoy it too.

They did, eventually, running mad circles around one another, diving into the swiftly-accumulating snow, to finally re-enter the house looking like fantastical like snow-dogs, anticipating a good toweling rub-down.