Descending a long hill during our early morning outing through the forest trails today, we saw Rajinder crossing the bridge and climbing the hill toward us. We haven't seen her in the ravine for quite a while. She used to come out regularly for a crisp, no-nonsense turn through the forest trails. She liked the exercise, she found it refreshing, she liked the 'getting-away-from-it-all feeling' it gave her. This was shortly after she had gone into retirement from her supervisory position at a government department. She was accustomed to being busy, and suddenly, on retirement, found herself feeling lost.

She enjoyed her solo outings for months until she had an unpleasant encounter with a dog. She isn't fond of dogs, and fears large dogs. Jackie and Jillie know her as a neighbour they often see and they never bother her, knowing they won't get any pats out of that source. The encounter was unpleasant. The dog leaped at her, and it was a large dog. Likely it was also a young dog, they tend to be pretty expressive and anxious to play with anyone they come across. The owner laughed, rather than calling the dog away from her, after seeing her fright. Clearly a bit of an idiot.

 

After that, she was afraid of returning to the daily habit of zipping through the trails. I'm familiar with dogs, I have a good idea of how to judge them, but that doesn't mean I haven't had my own encounters that haven't been pleasant. I've been knocked down by dogs on occasion, though usually the people with them are apologetic. If a too-enthusiastic dog is left unsupervised it's what can happen. While we were talking together, down the hill came a short-legged British Lab, approaching each of us in turn, wagging its tail and wanting to be noticed. We know the dog, it's friendly and sweet-tempered. Rajinder kept backing away, the dog kept approaching her too close for comfort. Eventually its owner showed and called her dog off.

It's also a cultural thing. As well as personal feelings about animals, I suppose. Though her daughter, with three young children, living in Toronto adopted a little poodle-mix dog. And she seems to be fine with that.  Mind, her daughter's dog is well-behaved and the oldest of the grandchildren, a boy, has learned how to look after the dog, in everyone's best interests.

 

Yesterday, Canada Day, we saw vanishingly few people in the ravine. Today, Saturday, a different story. We set out as has become our normal for hot summer days, before breakfast. And at the beginning of our circuit we came across quite a few people we'd never seen before. There was a young couple walking a beautiful dog, and a young family with a small child. Our little group of four, Irving, me and Jackie and Jillie made a very unfavourable impression on those two groups. J&J indulged in their usual unmannerly conduct, barking and rushing toward anyone they don't know. Which led to the little boy being picked up protectively and pursed lips of condemnation all around.

After admonishing our two imps who had ignored my orders to stop barking and return to us, I cheerily bid these people good morning, apologizing for all the fuss, and they stone-facedly ignored me. I said to the woman holding her lovely dog back on leash that our two shrimps meant no harm they wouldn't bother her dog. She retorted that they were 'bothering ME', as she huffed off with her tail-wagging dog. Which led Irving to be rather impolite in response. Not a very good start to an anticipated energetic and pleasant ravine hike.

After that, it was uphill all the way, both physically and metaphorically, as we came across countless other people, mostly familiar faces and their dogs whom we were comfortable with, from whom our two little dogs' antics elicited smiles and offers of cookies, with the offerers instructing them to biddably 'sit' before the cookies were handed out.

In the ravine, it's a dog's world.

And they were amply represented in the ravine today, dogs of all sizes, breeds, colours and temperaments. Fine encounters, all. Jackie and Jillie bark 'Hi there!' to all the dogs they know. And the other dogs bark back 'Oh no, you two -- AGAIN!'. Well, it was a beautiful day, and the right time to come out to enjoy it before the onset of the day's heat. As it was, the sun was dazzling, making us grateful for the shade of the forest canopy, a relief from the challenge to our eyes, and appreciation for the lovely cool breeze and the shade for relief from the building heat.

During the hottest summer days Mohindar's air conditioning system suddenly failed. All he had to do was get it replaced. But these are unusual times. It seems all the local companies that specialize in ordering and installing furnaces and air conditioners have been extraordinarily busy. The units are on back order and there are long wait times for them to arrive from the manufacturers and distributors. There's a worldwide shortage of shipping containers and items coming from abroad take much more time for delivery.

That's apart from the fact that there is also a shortage of transport drivers to deliver these household consumer products. And the fact that companies that do the installation are all booked up, leading to long wait-times. By the time Mohindar's new replacement air conditioner was finally installed, the hot summer months had gone. Now we're seriously in fall, and there's no need for the air conditioner.

In fact, it's furnace time, with the night-time temperatures dipping to 6C. Irving was anxious, after having cleaned the furnace, replaced the filter and setting the furnace to come on, to see whether it actually would. It's a golden-oldie, the furnace that was installed with the newly-built house 30-some-odd years ago. Ours appears to be the only house on the street where the furnace hasn't been replaced. We were informed years ago by a furnace maintenance man that the model we had had a furnace box that was indestructible. But of course, nothing is, and each winter we wait with bated breath until it actually performs.

On the street behind us there has been the constant commotion of heavy machinery for almost two weeks. It's unsettling and annoying. An inground swimming pool is being installed in a backyard up two houses over behind the one directly backing on ours. Usually, it doesn't take that long for these things to be completed. And the family that ordered the pool installation likely signed a contract either toward the end of last summer or this spring. The installation contractor like all home-improvement/maintenance contractors so busy with a multitude of jobs awaiting completion, it takes forever to get them started and completed. Likely that family anticipated having use of the pool this past summer; now they can re-adjust their expectation to next summer.

It is undeniably cool out. Rain of some intensity occurring almost daily. And plenty of wind to accompany it. So it really is fall. Not that fall doesn't come with its own unique attractions. It's cool, after all, not cold. Brisk walks in this kind of weather are always enjoyable. The air is fresh and clean, striding about feels really good to your limbs and lungs. The gradual transition in tree foliage from bright green to shades of gold, umber and red are eye-grabbing. 

You shrug on light jackets and tuck gloves into your pockets. And hope the rain will hold off while you're out. And finally you return home exercised and complacent about life in general, the concerns troubling you when you set off having been placed in perspective while you were in the walking mood and mode. And you anticipate that evening meal consisting of the kind of cool weather 'comfort food' that is enjoyable and completes the relaxation cycle.

 

For us last night it was a Shepherd's pie and brussel sprouts. It was comprised of a melange of vegetables along with the ground beef; garlic cloves, onion, celery, chopped green onion, mushrooms, a layer of frozen green peas, and the gravied beef spooned into a casserole, with mashed potatoes well peppered, the potatoes cooked with garlic clove and onion then mashed together. Herbs and spices made it flavourful, One of Irving's favourites. Jackie and Jillie also aren't averse to enjoying a tiny bowl of the beef of the filling. 

 

It was a cool, overcast 12C when we went off to the ravine, following Jackie and Jillie today. Like us, they were geared for the cooler weather in little tee-shirts. The bright white of their shirts glowed against the dark shades of the forest floor as they dashed about here and there. Not much in the way of wildflowers to be seen any longer. They lingered as long as they could; their stalks dark and brittle now, their flowers dried, many of them becoming those little prickle-bombs that end up in dogs' haircoats.

In exchange nature gives us fungi. Shorter days, earlier dusk and longer nights alongside rain events are all the encouragement that fungi needs to begin popping out of the soil. Everything now from fly agaric to dogvomitslime mushrooms. Not amply sprinkled about  the forest floor, just beginning to make their presence evident on their way to becoming ubiquitous. At least until frost begins to set in.

T

There, it's happened again. Up until yesterday we in the Ottawa area were being advised we were on the cusp of slipping out of the orange and into the red zone yet again. Led for the most part by the incursion of a variant version of the novel coronavirus that arose through a mutation that was first detected in the United Kingdom. There are a few other variants, those from Brazil and South Africa that have also barged into this country but not to the extent of the UK variant. Seen mostly in a younger age group, 15 to 35. And it's that variant that is leading this new third wave necessitating another lockdown.

More contagious by far, with heavier loads and apparently, more lethal. So we've now been informed that we're back into lockdown. Which means various things; mostly that people will no longer be able to access places important to their lifestyles that have gone through multiple closures and re-openings. Restaurants, cafes, gyms, will all once again teeter on the edge of profitability. And more of these small local businesses will go out of business, sadly.  'Crowd' control will be re-enacted once again, where supermarkets will operate at 75 percent of capacity and so on.

 

When we were out this afternoon with Jackie and Jillie on another near-spring day of 4C, sun and wind we couldn't help but notice that fewer people strange to the community of regular trail hikers are in evidence. Our mind-calming, entertaining and exercise-pleasant daily circuits through the forest trails have returned. And we just wonder whether, with entrance to another lockdown people in their boredom and restlessness will once again filter in groups back into the ravine.

 

Because it's substantially milder at 4C, and with the added bonus of a mild overnight temperature, the snowpack is fast disappearing. In the ravine there are now bare patches of ground unobstructed by ice and snow. The trails that only a day earlier were glassy-smooth with ice are now completely mushed. In fact they're every bit as slippery in this condition as they were previously.

 

It's just that the slide marks of people losing control of their footing descending and ascending hills is now much more readily discernable in the softened ice-mush than it was when the trail surfaces were completely frozen. And should, theoretically, serve as a heads-up to anyone using those trails. I just managed to save myself from a misstep that would have ended in a fall on a flat portion of trail, as it happened.

 

Irving wasn't quite as fortunate. On the bridges the build-up seasonal snow on their floors is substantial. In the mid-section of the bridge floor the pack is high and solid, falling away on the sides. There's up to a foot differential in height. So an incautious or oblivious step beyond the solid area sends an unwary foot slipping to the side and suddenly balance is compromised. Irving slipped and found himself thudding onto the bridge floor. Falling on snow, even hard snow the shock experienced is from being completely destabilized, more than the impact of the fall. A few aches may result from that fall, but nothing more, thank heavens.

Jackie and Jillie slipped about here and there as well, but nothing they couldn't handle. Boots shift deep into the slush making each step a bit of labour to gain traction. Conditions very familiar to us, since they're the same every year at this time. The creek is running wide, dark and fast, and that will accelerate as the days go on. Less so likely tomorrow, when we'll be back down to 0C, but several days to follow will return us to the pluses again.

 

Walking down our street there's a huge difference in the snowpack on lawns. We estimate that at least fifty percent of the winter snowpack has now melted. So though there seems to be a lot of snow yet to go, go it will, and more expeditiously than it seems possible as we warm up into spring.

We live in an incorporated jurisdiction formerly termed a suburb of Ottawa, called Orleans, now just part of the enlarged Ottawa capital city area. The street our house is located on is quite short, no more than say 40 houses, half on either side. The residents are now likely fifty percent or so retired. There aren't many young children in those family homes, but some.

If anyone ever doubted that Canada is a country of immigrants a glance at the residents of this street might convince them otherwise. Likely fifty percent, perhaps more, of the residents are first-generation Canadian. Which is to say they were born elsewhere, then came to Canada to become Canadian citizens. My husband and I are second-generation; it was our parents who were born outside Canada and then arrived here to make a life for themselves and their children born here. Our children are third-generation Canadians.

On this street live people originally from France, Hong Kong, Poland, Bangladesh, Russia, India, Egypt, Syria and Britain. There are also residents who were born in other provinces of Canada who moved to Ottawa from Nova Scotia and Quebec. And there may be others of whom we know little. Other than that they're our neighbours with whom we share a community, all part of the same nation. There are also those who out-migrate. When we first moved into our house thirty years ago, the couple who owned the house directly across from us were Black Canadians, but after a decade, they who were the first to welcome us to the street, moved to the United States with their two boys to take up an irresistible employment offer.

We know some of these people in a personal way, some with friendships that go back decades, others just slightly, in passing, as it were. Although quite a few of our neighbours are  retired, we're beyond doubt the oldest of the people who live on the street now. One neighbour older than us married to a younger woman, now lives in a personal care/retirement home in the greater community, while his wife continues to live in their house.

Newer residents who have moved into houses that the original owners have sold to move elsewhere, usually in 'down-sizing', tend to be more reserved as neighbours, less comfortable in being friendly with others, or perhaps just so busy in their private lives they cannot spare a smile or a greeting. People of immigrant stock, on the other hand, don't tend to be among those that prefer to withdraw from any vestige of neighbourliness.

When we've been in dire straits, some of our neighbours have felt moved to lend us their emotional support, their time and their energy to help us in a time of need. We're not in that position now, everything is fine with us. But we discovered today that someone has taken it upon themselves to shovel out our house walkways and our porch after snow has fallen. We hadn't noticed it before. Strange, that.

But whenever we've had snow fall, the weather has turned very mild, melting the snow, making it difficult for us to realize that before the snow melted it had been shovelled. I had put out some shelled walnuts on the porch this morning for a little red squirrel that often comes around. I had seen it earlier in the morning, looking about on the porch. Later I looked out to see whether the squirrel had claimed the nuts.

What I observed is that the nuts were covered with snow, snow that had been shovelled under the seating arrangement on the porch where I had left the nuts. I looked again and finally understood that some good soul had taken it upon themselves to do our shovelling. Who it might be eludes us, but surely in time we'll discover who it is and thank them for their generosity of spirit.

Fresh snow fell this morning, not a lot, about 4 cm. And before breakfast my husband shovelled out the back, but didn't bother with the front. The temperature quickly rose under heavily clouded skies that cast a dark atmosphere over the landscape. That deep dusk remained with us the entire day. When we cast ourselves off for a ravine hike in the afternoon it was still dark and soon to become darker, nearing four in the afternoon. Late, because it takes me many hours to clean the house, wash the floors, do the dusting.

 had put a half turkey breast into the oven under a very low heat before we left, potatoes arrayed around it in a large casserole dish. So we could take our time ambulating through the forest trails. And we did, though we decided on a shorter circuit than usual. When we returned home, it was to total darkness. Second-by-second, things are being reversed; we already passed the shortest day of the year and daylight hours are beginning to increase ... incrementally.

Another busy day. These days of Indian Summer have been a much-appreciated gift from nature. Our Western provinces are battling through heavy winter snow storms; last week they enjoyed weather similar to what we're now basking in. The takeaway is that we might want to batten down the hatches as soon as this gorgeously balmy week is done with. In the meantime, the idea is to take full advantage of this temporary return to summer, and we're doing our best.

My husband took apart the furniture on the deck for storage in the larger of our two sheds in the garden. Everything looks bare  and ship-shape, ready for winter's inevitable onslaught. The garden pots have been assembled and covered with tarps. The garden beds and borders have all seen the perennials snipped back, annuals composted.

We spent a little time in the backyard with Jackie and Jillie, so they could soak up a little sun. They adore the sun, especially Jillie, but rarely want to be outside on their own. If we're not there with them they're decidedly uncomfortable. Truth is, they're really house dogs. Just as we enjoy the comfort of our home, so do they, for it's their home too after all. If we're sitting out on the deck relaxing, reading, they're still not happy; they'd rather have us go indoors and sit around there with them.

On the other hand, they're perfectly at home in the ravine on forest trails. Their day isn't complete without a romp through the forest. Somewhat like us, all things considered. We went out a little late with them this afternoon. Yesterday the forest trails teemed with people. Today there were far fewer people, and most of them neighbours and acquaintances.

Some of whom haven't been in there for months and even years. Several whom we came upon were startled to see a large old giant of a spruce had split; one leader had detached from the main trunk and the one that was left was slowly deteriorating. That had happened several years back, but they were under the impression that it had just occurred.

Someone has put up signs warning of coyotes in the area. Most people who go regularly into the ravine are very well aware of the presence of coyotes. They've been quiet in the summer months, but now that cold weather is approaching they'll become more visible again. One hiking acquaintance whose backyard is contiguous with the ravine told us she heard them howling last night.

Another friend informed us yesterday when we came across him in the midst of the trails resembling a super-highway, that the city parks department had placed the ravine location online on a list of municipally-maintained, accessible 'walking trails'. So that explains quite a bit. For example, why it is that so many cars were parked on the street yesterday. Another friend we met up with yesterday said her street too was packed with parked cars.

Because we were out so late, after four o'clock, we could see dusk encroaching even though the sun still shone through the newly-bare forest canopy. Looking out over the rim of the ravine toward the other side of the forest reaching into another community nearby the darkened silhouette of the forest was ornamented by bright light pouring through from the setting sun.

When we finally wound up our circuit for the day to ascend the last hill  taking us out of the ravine to access street level, we could see the entire rim of the sky in all directions boasting pastel pink clouds as the sun set. This was as perfect a fall day as can be imagined. Today's temperature soared up to 21C, with light breezes and an ocean of blue -- with the sun sailing blissfully in its new arc across the sky. 

For the next few days similar weather will prevail before the departure of this anomalous weather system, plunging us back into seasonal temperatures, robust winds and ever-increasing chance of snow. And so, winter will begin.  

We heard the house rafters creaking last night in response to the blasting wind and the freezing temperature. Nicely enough, sun greeted us this morning. Accompanied by wind, of course. But the temperature had nudged up above freezing and there was hope that the promised high of 11C would materialize and there would be no more of yesterday's snow flurries.

We kind of forget when we set out for the ravine that there are now an awful lot of other people doing the same thing. The days when we could be perambulating along the forest trails for hours and see no one else are gone. There's even plenty of activity out on the street, people walking by at all hours, walking dogs, pushing strollers, riding bicycles, jogging.

At an earlier time in history that would be a normal city streetscene. But not in recent memory. People never seemed to emerge outside their homes. Where at one time children would be out playing in the street together, that had become a quaint occurrence that no longer commonly happened. No one walked along the street, either for recreational purposes or for a brief bipedal shopping expedition.

That's when people had the freedom to do such things, when there was no spectre of a novel coronavirus threatening should anyone be unfortunate enough to expose themselves unknowingly to the infectious virus.

Now, in lockdown conditions, people have suddenly discovered the beneficence of nature, how good it is to breathe fresh air, to feel the wind and the sun, even the rain. That peering outdoors from the confines of one's home is a stifling way to live. Now that people are admonished not to venture out-of-doors unless absolutely necessary, people have suddenly discovered the absolute necessity of getting out and about.

Well, many were getting out and about on the ravine trails today. Presenting obstacles in certain places where the forest presses in closely on the trails winding through it, to achieve adequate distancing, without some awkward step-asides. Jackie and Jillie continue to be noisily hostile to the presence of those they've never before encountered. And the majority of people we come across now fall into that category.

Who can blame anyone wanting to get out and amble peacefully along pathways running through a forest on a sunny day? When vegetation is just beginning to evince itself, on treetops, branches,and the forest floor. And finally, we came across two little very shy trout lilies poking their graceful little yellow heads poised on their flower stalks, above the trout lily foliage. There are thousands and thousands of plants in thick drifts across the forest floor taking advantage of the spring sun and the still-bare-of-foliage forest canopy, but a mere sprinkling of them have yet flowered.

The masts of the tallest trees in the ravine were heaving back and forth, sometimes clacking against one another from the force of the wind. The blue sky was a landscape complete with herds of white puffy clouds moving swiftly across the sky, maneuvering themselves around the sun, respectfully avoiding obscuring that golden disk.

We were out quite a while, not only because we decided on a lengthy circuit to fully enjoy the 11C and sun that had eventuated, but because from time to time we encountered some of our friends and stood across from one another at an appropriate distance, shouting out our conversations, moving further aside each time yet another group of others passed by.

Later, at home, when five in the early evening arrived, Jackie and Jillie began one of their bark-fests again. We had noticed that when a tiny mouse on occasion dashes about on the porch picking up bread crumbs left by the other animals, our two mischief-makers will sit there at the door, silently watching the tiny animal. Although they see squirrels and raccoons every day, and watching them has become one of their favourite entertainments, they must signal their presence by barking.

It's bright daylight now at five in the afternoon, but no matter, if it's five there's the little raccoon. By then the porch floor is bare of any offerings, gobbled up by earlier-appearing guests. So he sits there. Until my husband comes along with another bowlful. This time leftover pancakes from breakfast cut into small squares, along with the cubed bread. The raccoon moves aside slightly on the porch, waits for the refill to be deposited and before the door is even closed again, settles himself into a stuff-fest.

Just as we had almost cleared the dinner table yesterday evening, Jackie and Jillie informed us they had an inclination to go out to the backyard. So I continued removing our dinner dishes to the kitchen sink, and my husband accompanied our two little imps outside on a still-balmy spring evening with a gentle breeze and the setting sun. This, just before dusk began seriously arriving.

And then my husband called out to me to come over to the patio doors and look out. My reward was the sight of a wide sliver of bright pink sky painted on the horizon by that setting sun. Beyond beautiful, though not as spectacular as many we've seen in other years, but there will be other evenings when the sky presents in jewel colours, in a much wider scope that will take our breath away. It's that time of year. One of mother nature's gifts.

We'd had a busy day for a Sunday. When we were out on the street walking back and forth from our daily ramble in the ravine with our puppies we saw more neighbours out on their lawns than we would ordinarily see, and each lawn we passed was an invitation to linger and enjoy a conversation with people we've known for many years. At a discreet distance, observing the novel-coronavirus-recommended separation.

Lawns and gardens have dried out finally given a lull in the rain and warmer temperatures, wind and sun. People have come out of their confinement in their houses with rakes and determination to spend some time out-of-doors and prepare for spring clean-up.

When we arrived home, I set about preparing dinner. Rolling out bread dough, spreading it with butter, sprinkling sesame seed over, then grating cheddar cheese, folding the dough in thirds, turning it, rolling it into another rectangle, repeating the filling process, folding and rolling again. Then leaving it to 'relax'. While I chopped up onion and garlic into olive oil in a pot, sprinkled over fennel and cumin seeds and garam marsala to briefly saute. Chopped up tomatoes, zucchini and carrot, added that with the rinsed lentils, then boiling water and tomato paste, and let it all summer with a chicken stock cube.  Back to the dough, to roll it out for the last time, cut it into triangles and roll it into shape.

Today, a meal that requires far less preparation; omelettes, vegetable salad and leftover blueberry cheesecake, because we've been busy all day. Cleaning the house, clearing away detritus from the winter outside on our own lawn. And then finally, heading out with Jackie and Jillie leading the way, to the ravine for an afternoon hike through the woods. Not as warm as yesterday, absent the sun and the wind brisker this time around. It seemed very warm while we were in the backyard doing some yardwork, but on the street and then in the ravine it was considerably cooler.

We all took our time moseying about, noting how dry suddenly everything looks. How deep the fall foliage appears on the forest floor. How monotonous the colour in the landscape before  any leafing-out takes place; were it not for the presence of conifers with their dark green needles the landscape would look even more bleakly sere than it does. But the trails are finally beginning to dry, not as muddy as they have been.

And as soon as we move into May we'll be met with one welcome surprise after another as the spring wildflowers begin to emerge bringing form and colour to the landscape. A natural routine that couldn't be more familiar, but guaranteed to excite us every time it recurs. Trout lilies and trilliums, violets and strawberries, foamflower and Jack-in-the-Pulpit, Solomon's seal, anemone, daisies, apple blossoms, honeysuckle, and more....