We're in the last day of May, and right in the middle of a heat wave. It isn't at all unusual in Ottawa to have a heat wave in May, we can recall other such events. This one is a little hotter than its predecessors.Today and for the following two to three days we're expecting temperatures to soar into the low-30s. There's very little air movement, and the sky is perfectly clear, offering the sun no competition in its bid to roast whatever lies below.  It is, in a word, 'sizzling'. Bringing to mind that old quip of heat sufficiently intense to cook an egg on the sidewalk.

 

No matter, Irving is out on the deck, putting up an extended hook to hang a pot of flowering vines -- dipladenia -- we've just acquired. And putting a pair of hinges on the storage box meant for the deck that he just put together. And installing new light timers, one for the lantern we've depended on for decades to light up the backyard when we take Jackie and Jillie out for their late-night before-bed evacuation. It suddenly decided to give up the ghost.

 

Earlier in the day we'd gone over to the office of the optometrist who had examined my eyes following last month's cataract surgery. That had taken place last week, and although the optometrist told me that the prescription change was minimal I decided to get a pair of reading glasses with the minimal change. The idea was that I didn't really need bifocals since my long-range vision is good. It was only when I brought the new eyeglasses home that I realized they were useless. 

 

Newspaper print was fuzzy with them; the very purpose they were meant for; reading and computer work. So it's back to my old glasses which work perfectly fine for me. A total waste of both time and money. I was too uncomfortable in that pokey little office and they were too busy with other clients to conduct a proper test to determine whether the new lenses were up to their job.

 

But when we arrived  home there was a telephone message from the appliance repair shop that our 'part' had finally arrived. The 'part' in question is a motor. For our almost-two-year-old dishwasher, a Whirlpool. That was several months ago. It's taken that long for the 'part' to be acquired by the appliance repair shop, and we've been without the service of the dishwasher all the while. No big deal, just rather irritating. I am not impressed with the product, it seems to me never to have operated as well as our previous, less-expensive appliance.

 

In mid-afternoon a bit earlier than usual, we went off to the ravine for our daily excursion through the forest trails. Surprisingly, in that stuffy heat there were no mosquitoes to bedevil us. There were also no other people or dogs about. We had the entertainment of robins trilling from the same forest canopy that mitigated the extreme heat, giving us ample shade for protection from the day's fiery sun rays. To my surprise we saw the first of the buttercups in bloom.

 

There were bees in abundance congregating around the wild spring phlox. It looked fine, despite the heat, but other vegetation on the forest floor looked downright heat-exhausted. The Mallard drake was nowhere to be seen in the clear, cool-looking water of the creek. We've been looking out for the Great Blue Heron that we see annually in its spring transit, returning south-to-north migration. Irving glimpsed him in flight as he was returning home from a brief trip this morning to pick up those hinges. The giant bird may be around in other parts of the creek, further deeply penetrating the forest in more isolated areas beyond the trails.

A lovely day yesterday was, a moderate winter temperature hovering around freezing by the time afternoon rolled around when we went out for our daily hike through the trails in the ravine. Little wind, heavily overcast, and the trails underfoot were really quite good. A bit of slipping and sliding on the ascents and descents, but overall excellent.

Although the snow has been swept off the high reaches of the forest canopy, ample still remains on the trees of the lower story, and the result is as enchanting seen from a modest distance as we could wish for. A snow-swept landscape of ineffable beauty.

Jackie and Jillie had plenty of opportunity to sniff about to their hearts' content. We, though having to keep them on leash, are managing the discomfort of one free hand after years of all of us walking independently while still in our little group.

Jackie has a tendency, when he sees another dog in the distance, to rear up on his back legs and walk some distance that way

When we were coming down the first hill descending from street level into the ravine we came across a familiar figure in the distance. His small black Lab came rushing over to greet Jackie and Jillie, back-end rolling from side to side in an excess of friendly joy over his pleasure at the day, the environment and his freedom to roust about wherever he wished. We only wish we could do the same still with our two little dogs.

Later on, as we were ascending that same long hill to return home after the conclusion of our hike, a much larger black Lab came barrelling down the hill toward us, as happy go-lucky and in love with the world and its own existence as the previous one had been. Again, a familiar figure accompanied the Lab. This breed is invariably friendly and comfortable around people. And this wasn't the only black Lab that we've come across with a penchant to gliding between people's legs.

As this one did repeatedly with me; storming through, look out!. He is a large dog, barrel-bodied, and I'm fairly slight, now under five feet in height, and it took a bit of a balancing act to accommodate the dog's insistent determination while maintaining my upright posture, laughing the while.

It was a nice dog-day, yesterday. Halfway between our encounter with the two black Labs, we came across a young woman we'd never before seen in the ravine.

With her was a graceful and beautiful Weimaraner with a lovely bronze-red coat, a little on the small side for the breed, with their beautiful conformation, such that it's sheer pleasure to see them in fluid motion. This fellow couldn't have been friendlier, nudging us for attention, and curious about our two little black companions. We mentioned the presence of coyotes to the young woman, and then parted our separate ways.

Later on, we came across the pair again, and once again walked companionably together briefly. And in that brief time something quite peculiar happened. Out of the corner of my left eye I felt as though we were being observed, the three people we represented and our three dogs. My eyes slide to the left and beyond, at a line of trees just before the ridge we were on sloped down again to the valley of the ravine, I saw the furtive, fleeting vision of a tall, rangy grey figure.

A dog? Without a human companion; my eyes swept as far as I could see beyond the trees and down the slope to another trail far below. Nothing.

Coyotes appear to have made inroads all over North America, making residents of cities large and small in Canada vigilant for their pets' safety in the knowledge that these skilled predators lurk everywhere. There have been reports in the past of coyotes attacking small children and pets in inner-city parks, most often thought of as urban legends. But recently a family in the town of Exeter, New Hampshire had quite the experience, when the father and mother witnessed a coyote attack on their two-year old while they were walking along a forest pathway.

The parents desperately pulled the coyote away from their son, the father tangling with the coyote and coming away with bites on his arm and chest before subduing the animal. Their swift action saved their son from any harm. Its carcass is to be tested for rabies, though coyotes, as predators certainly don't require the presence of rabies to incite them to attack small humans.

The growing assertiveness of coyotes seen singly and in small packs in our area for the past several years has been worrisome with sightings and confrontations, but it has only been this winter that concerns have been heightened with the bold presence of coyotes during daylight hours. Attested to by people we've known for a long time, showing us photographs they've taken along with their accompanying narratives.

We see no remedy to ensure the safety of our two little dogs, themselves tending to be pugnacious with other animals, other than to keep them constantly on leash. A remedy that may seem like punishment for some unknown offence to them when they discover after leaping the length of the extendable leash that they can go no further, but which they have seemed to adapt to.

Our own freedom of movement has been compromised as well, having to keep them leashed rather than allowing them the freedom to spurt about as they've always been accustomed to. Even when we used to keep them in sight as a kind of compromise, we know that is gambling with their safety, and it's simply not enough for obvious reasons. They're small enough for a coyote to swiftly grab and run off with them and our legs are no match for the four legs of a predator.

Other peoples' dogs, of all sizes, out of sight of their human companions, and sometimes in sight, but at a distance, have responded to the presence of a 'friendly' coyote's invitation to come and play, leading to being led into the forest interior where other coyotes await the opportunity for all to turn on the unsuspecting dog. Sometimes the dog in peril, will respond to their human's call to return to them, and sometimes they won't. They'll be injured and require surgery, or as happened last week, killed.

So we're vigilant. Yesterday when we were out on the trails, on a -10C, windy and overcast afternoon, we saw some of our hiking friends at distances on other trails on occasion, a wave sufficing from our position on a ridge to theirs far down below within the ravine or vice versa. On one occasion we were close enough to another trail where a break in the forest screen enabled us to spot a friend leading her three dogs on their perambulation, to hear her shout out to us whether we'd seen any coyotes yet. Meant to be a joke, because we'd seen her the day before, both of us agreeing we never had.

We noted yesterday again, as we had so many times this winter and winter seasons before, that a new crop of wild bee corpses had been tossed out of the hive high above the trail from a huge old pine growing at the junction of two opposing trails. Hundreds of dead bees have littered the snow on the forest floor; distinctly noticeable every time there's a new snowfall.

We can only speculate the number of bees that hive that we first noticed many years ago, accommodates. Every year hundreds of bees, likely mostly overworked drones, die off during the winter months while hibernating, meant to allow them to rest from their frenetic activity pollinating the forest's wildflowers and fruit-bearing shrubs and plants and trees. But it never fails to elicit from us a tinge of sadness at their still and frozen presence.

Coyotes are increasingly appearing in urban areas all over Ontario. And Bilberry Creek Ravine forest trail walkers are lately abuzz over new sightings. People we come across by happenstance who live directly abutting the ravine say they've seen coyotes in full daylight from their homes. We've been hearing of their presence for over a decade, now. Formerly we had seen them only on occasion around the great wilderness area of Algonquin Park.

Originally, it seemed hard to credit that the animals were making their home in the ravine, but we've heard too many credible accounts and seen ghostly night-time photos taken by residents, of coyotes lurking over the fences of their backyards backing onto the ravine. Moreover, we trust the veracity of some of those who narrate their experience with the coyotes.

On one occasion, a white German shepherd we know well, had been 'invited' to play with a coyote, and followed it into the forest interior. His human companion caught up just in time to see his dog cavorting with a coyote off the trail, and saw another two approaching, when he urgently called his dog back to him and the coyotes disappeared. Nova would have been ambushed, if Rod hadn't appeared when he had. Forewarned is forearmed. That was an early-morning brush with danger.

Another friend, an area firefighter with two mid-sized terrier mixes, took a few videos of coyotes just outside his fence, running back and forth. He now accompanies his little dogs out to the backyard when they venture out at night. He sees no reason why coyotes wouldn't jump his fence if they had a mind to.

Before the morning light and after dusk falls in the ravine are times when they could be seen formerly. At one time, when there were more grouse, red foxes, porcupines, beavers, deer, wild turkeys and skunks around decades ago it wasn't all that uncommon to see some of them emerge on occasion from the ravine. Their habitat has been too badly impinged upon since then, so there are far fewer about and sightings have decreased exponentially.

But for the presence of coyotes, sightings have gone the other way. Today while we were out with Jackie and Jillie during our usual ramble through the woodland trails, we came across a woman we see infrequently, with her little Scottie dog which she had been walking leashed. She asked if we'd heard about the 60-pound dog that had been attacked by a coyote and needed surgery afterward. We had, everyone had; evidently it was posted to Facebook.

We're concerned as it is, to be vigilant while we're out, but felt reassured that we weren't coming out other than in bright daylight hours. Now that reassurance has evaporated, since increasing sightings are taking place at any time of day and night; it seems the animals have been emboldened, perhaps because their numbers have increased, and they need a wider food source to accommodate the pack.

So we put Jackie and Jillie on leash for our hour's ramble through the trails, curtailing their freedom and complicating ours. Jillie walks fine on leash, Jackie is a little hellion, he's here and there and everywhere; a free spirit whose freedom has been compromised, though he doesn't complain. I'm the one complaining because he's quite impossible, zipping about hither and yon, this side then the other. I'm not much of a disciplinarian, although I've tried for years to teach him to walk calmly by my side.

This was also one of those all-weather days; moderately cold early in the day, with the presence of sun and a biting wind. The temperature began slowly falling because we're expecting a low of 19C tonight, and the sky beginning to cloud over, bringing episodes of snow that the wind gusted into whipped cream at times.

When we approached the last of the bridges we cover in our circuit, we could see some of the goldfish in the frigid stream, swimming about through the cascades, leaving us to wonder yet again at the ability of some fish species we normally associate with warmer climes since these are an exotic species, to adapt to such inclement conditions.

An all-day freezing rain throughout yesterday made it unattractive for us to go out to the ravine. Freezing rain at -3C is no picnic, and makes for miserable hiking conditions. So, we experienced one of those fairly rare days when outside activity was at an imposed minimum. When the freezing rain occasionally turned to ice pellets, Jackie and Jillie went out to the backyard for some frenetic running about, happy to be outside, but not prepared to stay out too long, just making the most of the situation.

Late last night the freezing rain gave way to wet snow, and very quickly the landscape took on an altogether different aura as everything that was frozen began to turn to white as the temperature rose to -1C. That doesn't seem to make sense, that at a colder temperature we'd get freezing rain and once the temperature moderated upward the rain would turn to snow, but this reflects not only peculiar weather, but the lay of the land in the Ottawa Valley.

And so, it snowed all night; every time I cocked an eye open through our otherwise-dark bedroom in a brief waking period, I'd see brightness out the window, a scintillating, sparkling light and I knew it was continuing to snow. By morning we'd accumulated several inches of snow and everything looked absolutely glorious. After breakfast our son, still with us for another few days before returning to his home in Vancouver, got his skiing gear together and made for the ravine.

He keeps a pair of skis, ski boots and poles here for those times that he stays over with us for a week here and there in the winter, so he can take advantage of the geology and the weather, as an avid skier. He's accustomed to different terrain, of course, accessing ski trails and backcountry skiing opportunities in the mountains around Vancouver.

By the time he returned, my husband has finished shovelling out our walkways, and it was still snowing heavily. Then off we went, all of us, our son on his skis, as we made our way into the ravine together. Jackie and Jillie are now accustomed to seeing him on skis and they behave well now, alongside him where years ago they would bark furiously at the unaccustomed sight of a person with long things strapped to their feet, coasting downhill,  yapping at his heels.

My eyes were captured by the forest deep in snow, every branch of every tree and shrub piled high with snow, boughs bent low over the forest floor with the weight of the snow. Jackie and Jillie were wearing their boots and rushed everywhere, flinging themselves into the joy of new snow, behaving very like children in fact, delighted with the atmosphere and the challenging adventure that lay before them. How one's perspective changes from one day to another!

Snow kept falling, at times heavily, as we made our way along the trails, up the hills, back down again over the crests and ridges and into valleys, and then repeating the process as we continued along through the forest. We saw several other people out with their dogs, and at one juncture came across a tall young girl out by herself walking serenely through this winter wonderland. Although she was walking alone she appeared not to want to be alone, keeping pace with me, and seemingly eager to talk.

And then she asked me to repeat the names of our two little dogs. After which she introduced her name to me, and it was a very familiar one: Jillie.

To say that yesterday was a busy day would be an understatement. But truth is, most of our days are busy. There always seems so much to be done, and to do, routine and also entertaining. The quotidian tasks of maintaining and keeping a house in order, of course, from changing lightbulbs to taking out the trash, cleaning bathrooms and preparing meals. Not to mention attention given to the needs and wants of two little dogs.

And then there are the out-of-house issues that must be dealt with, from shopping to doctors' appointments, banking, and any number of other things popping up continually. Yesterday, in between doing the laundry, I went through my clothes cupboard to bag items of apparel that I haven't worn in a long time and likely never will again. I put together old, post-prescription and non-prescription eyeglasses, wrapping them carefully in a towel. I set aside pieces of costume jewellery that are extraneous to my wardrobe, and packaged everything to be taken to the Salvation Army second-hand shop.

My husband had weeks ago gone through the books in our library to select those that we consider non-essential; mostly novels and crime thrillers, favoured by him. He ended up with ten boxes of books and we took them along to the Sally Ann as well, relieved to be rid of them taking up space on our bookshelves. Non-fiction, history and art books have a hallowed place on those shelves.

He'd gone out in the very early afternoon to run a number of errands. Primarily to return videos to the public library, to stop in at the bank, and to go to the Dollar Store for bungie cords. He needed to secure the large plastic bags placed over the urns in the garden in preparation for the real onset of winter. He was away quite a long time.

While he was out I prepared a Cole Slaw salad  for dinner that night, because I was also intending to do a small beef roast, for a change. Along with trying out a new idea I'd read for roasted potatoes; cut in large chunks, parboiled, dusted with flour, salt and pepper, placed on a pre-heated oiled pan in the oven and crisped all over. My husband enjoys baked apples so I stuffed an apple with raisins, cinnamon and brown sugar and baked it. And then decided to bake a batch of crisp gingerbread cookies, meaning to for awhile, but until yesterday, hadn't gotten around to it.

He still wasn't home, and the puppies were getting restless, since it was about the time we'd normally get ourselves out for a romp through the ravine trails with them. Then he called from the library, said he was just checking out some videos (we watch a video together on Saturday nights) and would be soon home, so that was relieving.

When he did get home, he sniffed the aromatic essence of baked cookies, and said how good the house smelled. Then he told me he had three books for me, bought from the Friends of the Library group that sell books the library is de-acquisitioning, as well as donated books. He knows my taste in books, and they're titles that are of huge interest to me, both historical and first-hand accounts of world events and certain geographic expeditions.

And then, sheepishly, he showed me other things he'd bought; two wool sweaters for him and two for me. I'm conflicted about woollen sweaters. They're warm and comfortable, yes, but they require special care, having to be hand-washed and laid flat to dry. There's nothing like cotton or synthetic materials that can be tossed into the washing machine and dryer. But these were beautiful sweaters, and he'd chosen them from Value Village. He likes that place and I detest it; I'd rather shop at the Sally Ann. He thinks he knows my taste in clothing, too, and often brings home really nice things for me, but just as often I can't stand the things he's selected and back they go. Sixty-four years of marriage and knowing one another beyond intimately doesn't guarantee perfect accord, but it should result in patience and appreciation, and for us, it does.

So we did get Jackie and  Jillie out to the ravine. It was a cold, very windy, heavily overcast day. Despite which, they and we enjoyed our tryst navigating the icy trails through the forest.

It had taken me a year to finally feel that my arms had strengthened to what I would consider to be normal, able to do just about anything without discomfort. The result of too much physical exertion at the same time last year, emptying our garden planters. Now, a second's slip, an accident that could have been foreseen but was shifted aside as manageable, yet turned out not to be has put me not only back to square one, but beyond it. It seems likely that I've suffered a rotator cuff tear, the mobility in my left arm at the shoulder and impacting downward from there has been compromised and I've been compensating with my still-reasonably-intact left arm.

So I felt kind of relieved when I was able to manage dressing myself into outsized tops yesterday, carefully slipping my right arm into garments, then slowly placing the rest, left arm, torso into said garment, avoiding anything else for the time being that might present as an unworkable solution and sticking to tops I can get into bottoms-up,  from feet up to hips up to shoulders, or garments that zip or button right up the front. I felt good about solving that problem.

Yesterday turned out a dull, heavily overcast, cool and extremely windy day, but no ongoing rain events unlike the day before. So, on with a really large zipper-front fleecy and over it a large water-proof windbreaker to both break the wind and keep me dry in the event of rain while we were out. Jackie and Jillie were dressed for the weather in their lined rainjackets and off we went. Ferrying them up the street to the ravine entrance meant holding Jackie's leash in my left hand.

As soon as we entered the ravine, off came the leashes, and off they both sprinted ahead of us. The forest floor fully reflected the deluge of the day before, though newfallen leaves had managed a good job of covering everything, including the sidetrail to the  right where I had slipped and sustained my injury the evening before. We took the trail to the left as usual, and set off for an enjoyable hike with the puppies to fulfill our leisure-pleasure obligations to them and to ourselves for the afternoon.

Eyes drawn to the colourful masts of maples and poplars and the windblown landscape of scurrying fallen leaves is mesmerizing. The vibrancy of colour shadings, the thickening piles of foliage, the brightness of it all simply captures the eyes in a fascinating conceit of wildly vivacious transitional beauty. It's as though memory is telling us to look deep and hard and store that beauty for memory-refreshing recall in the darkest winter months to convince ourselves that the cycle is timeless. Soon enough the poplar leaves, so bright and as gold as the sun will change again, this time to an unappetizing grey-black tone, unpleasant to regard after the thrilling yellows, pinks and reds.

Oblivious to our impressions, Jackie and Jillie focus on trotting ahead, scoping by sight and by hearing and by smell whether there might be any others on the trail, up the hill, across the bridge, taking the opportunity like themselves to check on the state of the glorious day, dark as it was without benefit of sun. Just as the night before when we were meandering along the trails in near-darkness and Jackie was intent on spurting off-trail into the underbrush to satisfy his curiosity, now, unleashed, he did the same, effortlessly leaping uphill in a series of bounds that made him look almost airbound.

No, no one else had ventured out, but ourselves. The cold, brisk wind and dark overcast obviously failed to convince others that it would be worth the effort to get out on the trails, so once again the area became our private preserve. I felt perfectly normal, no discomfort, much less pain from my injured arm. It's only when I attempt to raise it, to exert a motion with it as I would normally do that it informs me in no uncertain terms that anything beyond allowing it to hang by my side is out of bounds.

I was able to do some basic clean-up after breakfast which I also managed with patience to cutting a breakfast melon in half, the knife firmly steadied in my unmoving right hand, while my left hand slowly turned the melon until it was halved, then halved again. Coffee, tea, toast? No problem. Shuffling a dry mop over the kitchen floor, then a light electric broom over the rugs? Manageable with my left arm, albeit clumsy and time-consuming.

And for dinner, coating chicken breasts with Panko and seasoning, slicing potatoes and pulling cauliflower apart, check. All in their separate casserole dishes embellished with olive oil, to be oven-roasted for dinner. I'd been unable to bake anything for dessert, or make up a bread dough, though. We had wonderful fresh strawberries from Quebec for dessert.

But my husband thought he'd go ahead and 'bake' a dessert. He'd bought a greaseless little doughnut maker years ago, and he put it to use yesterday. He mixed together 1-1/4 cup of flour, 1 tsp.baking powder, 1/4 tsp.salt, 1 tsp.nutmeg, then 1/4 c.butter, 1/2 cup granulated sugar, one egg, and 1/2 cup milk. He had the kitchen to himself. I was reading in the family room, with Jackie and Jillie snoozing beside me. And tablespoon by tablespoon he carefully placed the resulting batter into his heated little contraption, to produce bite-sized doughnuts. The only preparation of the electric doughnut-maker was to spray it first with a small slick of vegetable oil.

Its delicious fragrance spread through the house. And complemented our meal, later that evening.