Irving has decided to haul me, kicking and screaming, back to New Hampshire for another week of hiking forest trails in the White Mountain National Forest, forcing me to enjoy myself with him and Jackie and Jillie, exploring those long-familiar trails that always delight us with their seasonal changes. I knew it was coming, he has the soul of a restless adventurer. When we were a young family, he always had trips planned for us. Guess we were just born 'outdoor people'.

Some of my earliest memories as a child were of feeling right at home in green spaces, and though I wouldn't as an infant know them as city parks, something within always drew me to them. Not entirely unusual for any child. When Irving and I were just into our teens, our idea of enjoying a perfect day together would be to wander through a park. At that time, the park of our choice was the distance to travel to Toronto's High Park.

Smaller, neighbourhood parks would do in a pinch. And when we became parents to a brood of three young children, no weekend would be complete without venturing off to the then-newly established nature preserves that Toronto inherited when it bought out surrounding farmland, transforming them into what was then called conservation areas. Often, bringing the children there for an afternoon of sun and picnics, we'd be the only people there.

Well, that was then, this is now, 60 years and a lifetime later. Now, we have the great good fortune to have a comfortable home in another city that values its green spaces. And even more fortunate to be able to leave our house, walk up the street of a populous city suburb and enter a forested ravine where we have easy access to miles of hiking trails running through the larger community.

There too, we enjoy the fascination of witnessing seasonal changes in the forest. There's much to be said for exploring different places with some basic similarities, but a different terrain. Even Jackie and Jillie respond to such changes, becoming more energetic and curious and anxious to look around at new, unfamiliar places offering the same kind of green comfort they look forward to being treated to on a daily basis closer to home.

 

Being close to and within nature for periods of time is an enriching experience, personally valuable as a temporary reprieve from the pressures and sameness of urban life. We know this because Jackie and Jillie have patiently explained it to us time and again; our two little mentors in quality living.

Irving was busy again this morning, tending once again to the physically taxing job of clearing away detritus that has gathered over the years and vegetation that has grown in close proximity to the fence and behind the two garden sheds in our backyard. So for him it was relief to break off and leave more of the same for another day, and get ourselves off into the ravine.

It's a kind of social event, in some ways, encountering others in the same mindframe, seeking serenity in nature, treating their companion dogs to the carefree opportunity to wander about the woods, take a cooling dip into the creek, indulge in a temporary absence when discovering the Cookie Man's presence, and racing over to quietly await the ritual of fumbling for the cookie bag and doling out the cookies.

 

It's over sixty years ago that we bought our first house, a semi-detached bungalow just north of Toronto in Richmond Hill. A few years later we had a little family of three very young children. Irving has always been busy doing things. In those early years he decided to build a little shed in the backyard. Where he would keep pigeons. Before that, we had brought home a very young Pekin duck, and the poor thing did nothing but wail the first day expressing confusion and loneliness.

Soon banty hens followed, including a little rooster. And eventually some domesticated rabbits. One of the rabbits was a black-and-white Dutch and he was so tiny we decided in a spur of imagination that he would be an indoor pet. We named him Benjy. Benjy was never confined, he roamed about everywhere in the house. He learned to leave his droppings on paper in the tiny front vestibule. And at night he slept under our bed. We would hear him preparing for sleep; scrubbing up the carpeting under the headboard.

We thought that though we were living in a city suburb, our children would benefit from being a little closer to nature, becoming familiar with animals. We also had a little dog. The children were interested in none of the animals. But all these years later we continue to be interested in the wildlife around us living now in an area adjacent to an urban forest that teems with wildlife.

We noticed in the last few days that the little wild rabbit that visits the porch day and night along with the squirrels and birds to pick up little treats has re-engineered the tunnel he dug out of the snow under one of the garden yews where he now has his den. Now he has an ingress and egress point. The latter on the side of the house, making it handier and closer for him to just emerge and saunter up the walkway to the porch when the nibbling mood takes him.

And finally, it seems he has decided to vary his diet a little more. Although peanuts appear to be his favourite treat, he regularly nibbles then hauls off the carrots Irving puts out for him. But now he has finally given the bunny kibble Irving bought on the weekend a try. We thought the squirrels might be interested in it, when the rabbit seemed to take no notice of it placed in a low, square plastic container. But there, after days of sitting ignored, was the rabbit nibbling at the kibble.

It was just a tad milder today, at -8C, with morning sun and slight wind. By the time we made it out to the ravine with Jackie and Jillie for our afternoon walk it was late, just after four, and clouds had moved in. We had slept in again and it took me a bit longer to clean the house. But off we went up the street thick with snow and ice that will remain plastered on the road until the arrival of March. The nice thing about approaching February is that we'll be enjoying longer daylight hours.

Already, on this last day of January 2022, there's been a big difference, over a half-hour -- more like 40 minutes -- of daylight before dusk begins falling. So we're not so anxious going out to the forest trails and leaving Jackie and Jillie off leash as we were in December when by 4:30 dark had crept in and we were concerned over the presence of coyotes.

Even at -8C with wind, it tends to feel cold when you're not striding along. When we were about four-fifths through our circuit this afternoon we came across two older men, acquaintances of ours, and stood around talking for far too long. Earlier encounters with other people and their dogs were of a much shorter duration. This time we felt the cold. And before we reached street level, Jackie was lifting one of his booted little feet, hopping along on three legs, which he manages quite skillfully until one of us picks him up.