Nature is truly the original drama queen. Today is the penultimate day of November 2022. Once it's gone it will never return. It awaits the arrival of tomorrow. And tomorrow will be a rather inconvenient weather day, heralding the imminent entrance of December, with another three weeks to go before winter's official arrival. We thought, back a week and more ago that winter had arrived early. We already had a sizeable initial snowpack, the weather was unseasonably cold and windy and we readied ourselves for a cold and snowy winter.

 We've gone backward, however, with December following a day abnormally mild at 9C, complete with heavy rain. A blah day in the works for tomorrow, in other words. So we're being put through the weather-wringer, a petulant display by Mother Nature, obviously fed up with all the climate change complaints. She is going out of her way to impress upon us mere humans that she's in command here, not us.

 

Our morning began with a brief absence from home, leaving Jackie and Jillie in mourning mode, as we drove to the supermarket to get our weekly shopping done. Last week we were later than usual doing the shopping, timing it to synchronize with taking Jackie and Jillie to the groomers. The timing is just right; we leave them for an hour-and-a-half and that's about as long as it takes to get the shopping done. We were slightly taken aback that there were so many people crowding the supermarket.

Today, hours earlier, the store was almost equally crowded. Enough so, that from time to time patience must be exercised to wait while someone monopolizes a shelving section you're interested in, or positions their shopping cart injudiciously in a manner so as to make it impossible to reach a product that is part of your usual shopping list. 

 

Frozen turkeys were out n a large refrigerated case and a group of shoppers milled about the section where they lay, examining the birds for size and price. Local cranberries were on sale, and for the first time I can remember, shelled Brazil nuts. Lettuce, because of the poor weather conditions in California along with infected crops that has led to a shortage, is now an astronomical price. We'd heard that 3 packaged heads of Romaine hearts were priced at an astonishing $16. Today they were priced at $8.99. But there was Ontario greenhouse-grown Boston lettuce in a clamshell, for a mere $2.95. Lettuce just happens to be the one fresh vegetable I could readily forego.

We left for our afternoon hike through the woods with Jackie and Jillie just a few minutes after three. As we emerged from the house, Jillie saw a dog on the street she's familiar with and began barking. Almost immediately, another dog burst on the scene, one we're quite familiar with from the ravine. And we wondered why on earth he was racing about off leash, his person nowhere in sight.

As we made our way back up the street we came across that person just emerging from the ravine in quite a hurry, and she told us that while they were on their hike, not far from the street, her dog heard Jillie barking, and linking her bark to the treats Irving always hands out, he broke away and raced for the street to look for cookie treats. And was duly rewarded.

As relatively early as it was in the afternoon, a dense, low cloud cover ensured that as soon as we entered the forest we were immediately engulfed in low light, dusk already setting in at a few minutes after three. By the time we exited the forest trails just over an hour later, dusk was giving way to the dark of early night. Without the relieving aspect of a snow cover, it's pretty hard to take. When we looked up toward the sky we were surprised to see that the clouds had moved out and the moon had moved in.

 

When we went up to bed last night we knew we were forecasted to receive another two to four cm of snow overnight. When we woke this morning a serious snowstorm was underway, yet again. Not that we've yet recovered from Monday's 47 cm. When it was over we had acquired another modest 10 cm of fresh snow. Enough to fill up the porch and deck again, not to mention all the pathways, the stairs and of course the driveway. 

 

 

It certainly can't be faulted for beauty. There is nothing quite so lovely as a landscape of newfallen snow, the more that falls the more glorious the spectacle. Tree branches encased in white fluff, tracks where squirrels were up before us searching out peanuts under the snow on the porch. And what's that? Oh, our daily delivery of newspapers somewhere in there, under the snow. 

 

 

Mind, we've always had a newspaper hook beside our front door. And always in the past whoever delivered the newspapers made use of that hook. More than earning their Christmas tip. But for the past year, we've had a change in whoever it is that deposits our newspaper on the porch floor and despite putting up large handwritten signs pointing to the newspaper hook, only once did the deliverer place the newspapers where they were supposed to go. Retrieved, snow knocked off the bundled papers, good as new.

 

We backed up over the new snow, no problem this morning before breakfast. And found the streets somewhat slippery, but we've got ice tires and they work well. Besides which there was very little  traffic, surprisingly. And it takes only a ten minute drive to get to the supermarket. Where there were few vehicles in their parking lot and fewer yet shoppers in the store. The hated but oh so necessary masks...

 

The shelves were full, lots of fruit and vegetable varieties and all other edibles there, as well. But, strangely, no corn flakes, no rice crispies. The eggs I prefer weren't on the cooler shelves but there were plenty of substitutes. The shelves of fresh orange juice were half-stocked, but by and large no complaints. I don't seem to be able to get frozen half salmon sides any more, not for the past several months, but other forms are available.

 

 

Irving spent quite some time with shovel and snow thrower cleaning up the newfallen snow. Oddly, it's Jillie now who doesn't seem to mind forging ahead through the snow, and Jackie who seems perturbed when it reaches his chest, so they were relieved when everything was plowed out in the backyard, leaping about the pathways happy as two little larks. Around the same time our driveway was plowed out but it will take some time for municipal crews to clear the street.

 

The high temperature for today was -13C, windy and heavily overcast. But it seemed much milder than yesterday even though the sky was clear yesterday. And once we clambered over the hill of snow clogging entry to the ravine, a narrow trail presented itself tamped down a bit more firmly than it was yesterday. More snow clung to trees. The wind scattered snow off the crowns of deciduous trees, leaving the understory and conifers to bear their beautiful cold white burden.

 

This time we did come across others out on the main and secondary trails, four others with their dogs, all of whom are on very friendly terms with Irving. The giveaway at a distance is Jackie and Jillie's barking, luring dogs familiar with them to an unerring passage toward the trail we happen to be on. Where they approach Irving and with exquisite docile politeness wait for him to extract some cookies for them from his pouch.

It's downright indecent to rise out of a snug, warm bed on a cold winter morning while it's still dark out. But that's what we've been doing for quite awhile during COVID. Ontario is in lockdown with the addition of stay-at-home orders, exceptions made for urgent expeditions and food shopping is considered among them. So on Tuesdays that's when we discipline ourselves to grin and bear it. Irving is up first and tries to get dressed before I'm even aware that he's out of bed. He wants to get the puppies outside to do their business and give me a few more minutes in bed.

Trouble is it's hard to persuade Jackie and Jillie that good manners excludes leaping all over a prone form deep in sleep, and so I become 'aware', groan, turn over, smack my pillow, and push myself to an upright position. From there, blurred vision and heavy limbs aside, I roll out of bed and trot into the bathroom. My clothing is already laid out, and I dress while the other three are downstairs and slip outside.

The puppies are back in the house in a trice, and after me to play with them. I have little say in the matter, I'm obliged to rub and pat and tug them until they've reached some level of sensory satiation, and then I'm free to continue on, set the table for breakfast, prepare to leave the house. Routine disrupted, they understand quite well what's next on the menu.

As we two put on our coats and boots they two stand in a doorway disconsolate, preparing to begin a chorus of yowling and howling that we're (sob!) leaving them. There's a crescendo of yodelling in perfect rising pitch, as we pull the door shut behind us. Almost no traffic at all as we drive onto the main street headed for the supermarket -- and dawn is beginning to lift its dark curtain for the day. And the day is a cold one, -10 at that point. 

We hit the  jackpot this morning, a mere handful of cars in the parking lot. We seem to be the only shoppers in the store. But then as the minutes tick by and we're deep in the fine art form of collecting our choices of fruits and vegetables other shoppers begin trickling in. By this time we've adjusted to the masks, our eyeglasses have cleared, and we're focused on the task at  hand.

On our return we're greeted with the jubilation of salvation. Treats all around. The groceries are put away, we trot upstairs to shower and begin the day as it were. After breakfast Jackie and Jillie settle down in the breakfast room where a clear sky hosting a blazing sun can be seen out the glass doors which welcome that sun's rays warming up the house and two little dogs blissfully soaking up the heat.

A few hours later clouds have moved in and the temperature has soared all the way to -8C, but no wind to make it seem even colder. And off we go with Jackie and Jillie, into a snowstorm that has just erupted, with thick clusters of snow spiralling down from above, quickly covering everything, and adding to the finally-respectable snowpack we're accumulating this winter. In no time at all, we're well covered in snow.

Today, apart from shopping, it's a leisure day. Yesterday was house-cleaning day, nothing leisure about it. It's the day I tend to plan a quick-preparation meal for dinner. So I selected a half turkey breast to roast along with yellow potatoes, and put on an acorn squash to bake at the same time. We had fresh pineapple left over from cutting one up two days earlier. It's a fragrant, delicious meal that requires little work, just thought mostly, since the oven does all the work.

When we returned this afternoon from our tramp through the beautifully snow-dusted forest, I did a little pre-preparation for a French onion soup for tonight, and decided to make rice pudding for tomorrow's breakfast, for a change. These little prepare-ahead initiatives always work well for me when I'm looking for efficiency in meal preparation.  

Last night on the cusp of midnight when I 'officially' turned 84, my husband unveiled the latest birthday card he made for me. Not a typical birthday 'card' by any measure. He thought this year he'd make it with stained glass, since he had everything handy in his workshop anyway, working on a stained glass window. So he produced a small still-life of fruit in a bowl on a table (all fairly notional), and etched his message to me on the glass.

He actually wanted to give it to me days before. He just cannot keep things from me, but I persuaded him that I'd like him to wait, and so he did. It bothers him that he was unable to rush out at will and shop around for a gift for me, but I persuaded him yet again that it was more important to me that he not expose himself unnecessarily with the coronavirus running rampant, and stay at home. He's given me so may gifts of jewellery and other things over the years I hardly need, much less want anything more. It's not a new argument, but it is one he acceded to this year.

We rose early this morning, anxious to avoid the crush of shoppers we encountered last week. We arrived at the supermarket just a few minutes after eight. Even though the morning proceeds as it usually does; my husband takes Jackie and Jillie out to the backyard when we first come downstairs and I begin setting the table for breakfast and we take our time doing everything before leaving. Including doling out little pieces of cheese to the puppies to tide the pups over until breakfast on our return, they know that this morning is different.

And when we haul out our winter jackets and boots preparatory to leaving, they go into a state of deep mourning. Beginning with pleading whines, escalating to yowls. Heartbreaking, really. What a pair! But we're heartless and off we go leaving them to pine in our so-brief absence. And when we return a long leisurely breakfast ensues. This morning after their doggy breakfast enlivened with melon and chicken, they shared a hard-boiled egg between them.

It was an extremely cold morning, particularly after yesterday's high of 2C. But a sunny day, lighting up and warming the house interior through the windows. When we prepared to take the puppies out to the ravine for their afternoon ramble it was -8C, with a nasty, stiff wind, negating the effect of the sun. But off we trotted, all well geared for the cold.

Apart from the first hill we descend into the ravine, the next hill we encountered played host to a group of young children enjoying themselves sliding and slithering downhill. Accommodated by the fact that a thin layer of ice glazed what was left of the snow that fell early yesterday morning. As yesterday progressed however, it became warmer as afternoon arrived and the snow began melting. Overnight a snap freeze-up entered the atmosphere and froze whatever snow was left, leaving that ice layer, transforming the melting snow and the slick of meltwater into sheer ice.

Not much of a problem for us wearing cleats over our boots, but a dilemma for people coming in who were unfamiliar with the ravine, the forest trails and what to expect under such weather circumstances. People taking mincing steps, slowly and gingerly feeling their way along, grasping tree trunks and branches for equilibrium. As the parents of the three children we saw whooping it up on the hillside were doing, and others we saw as we made our way through the trails.

When we arrived back home it was time to relax again. Though he had worked downstairs in his workshop in the morning, my husband decided the rest of the day deserved to be treated like a holiday. Which means indulging in reading, and listening to lectures on his mini-laptop. While I indulged Jackie and Jillie with cut-up pieces of cauliflower they crave as afternoon treats.

And then starting to put together the constituentts of dinner. We're having a quiche tonight. With green beans on the side, and poached pears for dessert. I made the pastry dough, grated cheddar cheese into it, scattered chopped green onions over, covered it and refrigerated it at this point. Before dinner I'll add the green peas I'm defrosting and beat the eggs and milk that will comprise the filling, and all will be done.

I've fielded birthday calls and emails, and I'm ready for complete relaxation myself, back to reading the newspapers. Happy birthday, me!

 

We were up early this morning intending to get out to do the food shopping even a little earlier than usual. Leaving two disconsolate little dogs whimpering and yowling to look after themselves in our absence for we had, after all, explained to them time and again that we were going out to bring back all kinds of edible goodies for them, so we set off with a good conscience.

There was less traffic on the road than we usually see. We assumed that the frantic Christmas shopping rush hadn't yet taken over the morning. And then we drove into the parking lot of the supermarket we shop at and were amazed to confront an unusual spectacle. Even at any time of the day that parking lot is never full. And when we usually arrive early morning to do our shopping it's almost empty on most occasions.

Not this time. We soon approached near enough to see a long line of would-be shoppers snaking two meters distant from one another the length of the store exterior, continuing to take in all the other storesfronts, none of them yet open, that comprise the bulk of the shops in linear fashion on that side of the plaza. All.those.people.waiting.to.get in.

This, we know, is a Toronto thing. We aren't in Toronto. There are supermarkets galore in our neighbourhood, plenty of venues where people can shop. And rarely are there such lineups. People were panicking, we guessed, as a result of the provincial premier having announced yesterday a province-wide lockdown to begin on Boxing Day for the following three weeks. Or was it that everyone was intent on getting their Christmas food shopping done three days before Christmas? Or was it the general impression that early morning shopping isn't just for seniors seeking to avoid the human, virus-vending crush?

My husband turned the car around, headed for home. Not so fast, said his wife, we're shopping. So we waited, at first away back of the line, but it moved steadily ahead as people were being admitted while those who had already completed their shopping left. It took about a half-hour before we entered the store, and by then the line had regrown itself behind us to about the same length as when we had originally joined it.

The idea was obviously to avoid bottlenecks. The gradual admittance ensured that people would move steadily forward, welcomed bit by bit, each taking possession of a disinfection-sprayed shopping cart. We were apprehensive that the shelves would be empty, and some were, but not most. We had no difficulty selecting what we needed for the week although in several instances had to be satisfied with substitutes when confronted with a wide, yawning shelf empty of its offerings.

What a joyous reunion when we returned! No longer abandoned our puppies generously forgave us and nicely obliged us by gobbling up a few treats. They followed us around while we re-distributed the food into the refrigerator, the pantry, this shelf and that shelf until it was all completed. They take their supervisory role in this household quite seriously.

The temperature for the day hovered around zero, so it wasn't very cold. Light snow was falling, the sky was heavily overcast, and there was wind. By the time we emerged again led by Jackie and Jillie who recommended that we hold the leashes and follow their direction, the wind had picked up substantially, clearly bringing in another front. It was damp feeling and colder than it should have felt thanks to the insistence of the wind raking our faces.

We discovered today that someone had snapped a photo of a fisher standing on one of the bridges. He'd had a swift response on seeing that ferocious little creature, snapping it before it left the scene. So now we know that small animals like squirrels, raccoons and foxes have fishers to contend with. We stood for a short while discussing the critturs in the forest while five dogs patiently waited for four people to get on with their trail hikes. One fellow had seen a wild turkey presumably killed by coyotes; if so why wasn't it eaten?

Another a large beaver corpse which, he surmised had been confronted by at least two coyotes, since beavers are well known to be able to look after themselves when attacked. The population of the forest has taken quite a turn with the introduction of coyotes. The abundance of small wildlife we once saw regularly years ago is no longer in evidence; partly responsible is that around the top of the ravine more houses were built in the past thirty years, and part of it is due to the presence of alpha predators represented by coyotes and fishers.

Jackie and Jillie will just have to remain content to be on leash forever now, it seems. Although truth to tell they haven't complained about the leash restraints on their freedom.

It seems we've been enjoying fewer sunny days than normal so far this winter. Today may be the shortest day of the year, but we've been in the thrall of short daylight hours for quite awhile; and now the long slow reversal begins. Meanwhile, we live in a kind of perpetual dusk and in the forest interior that light darkness prevails.

When we hauled ourselves out of bed at six this morning, it was to start the day early, but not for the purpose of getting out to the forest trails while the cooled-down 17C temperature of night lingered, but to arrive at our usual supermarket at seven, prepared to do the grocery shopping before an influx of later-arriving shoppers. To ensure, of course, that we weren't exposed to crowds, during this time of COVID overtaking the world as it threatens to wipe out the existence of the elderly frail and health-compromised in any population.

Masks on, gloved, we moved around the mostly empty aisles (of shoppers, not food), my husband reminding me when I've begun to go against the aisle-directional arrows, forcing me to pass through aisles I would normally ignore, the shelves of fast food, soft drinks, and other junk food. So we sweep down those aisles with our food-laden carts to access the aisles we're interested in, moving up and down them in directions opposite to what I'm accustomed to. And discover that many aisles have undergone a transformation between our last shopping expedition and this one.

Items moved here and there, for no apparently intelligent reason, completely re-arranged, and a sudden increased proliferation of ethnic foods of all descriptions, though we've never really noticed a rise in the shopping habits of people of ethnic origins. Condiments and products whose use is a mystery to us, all an effort to be all-inclusive, laudatory but it seems in this part of the city, peculiar. There's a strange, quiet aura in the store, not just that there are so few shoppers at this time of morning, but as though everyone present is touched with a sense of imminent disaster. The older cashiers we've known for years are now absent, in their place young men, lacking none of the skills and personable traits of the women they have replaced.

We return to an anxious little pair of dogs, prepared to help us unload the groceries and put everything away. Prepared as well for their breakfast, and to help us with ours, as well. Following which, after cleaning up and dawdling, we all embark on a ravine tramp, the day still relatively cool and breezy before noon, sun out now and again although darkish clouds are moving along from west to east.

Today, we see for the first time in ages, on two separate occasions, old familiar walking-trail companions. Nothing wrong with our puppies' memories, they recall the women and their canine companions very well, excited to see them and to reminisce just as we did. Time passes, there are so many people with whom we've become acquainted through the years of striking off through these forest trails, sometimes you forget not having seen familiar faces, then it strikes you when you do.

As for the natural scene surrounding us, little vignettes present themselves as they invariably do; cowvetch working its way up and around the raspberries beginning to ripen. Staghorn sumacs reaching their bright red candles to the sky. Thimbleberries still flowering, their lovely pink blooms waving in the steady wind.

Though it's cooler and extremely pleasant, my husband took along water for the puppies. On the really heated mornings, despite panting from the high humidity, Jackie and Jillie will often be disinterested in refreshing themselves, lapping up cool water. Oddly enough, today is not one of those days, they're bright and unhindered by the more reasonable heat level, not the least bit panting, and decide they really, really would appreciate that nice cool drink.

Back home again, to wander through the garden. After the puppies been settled down, and we've cooled down from the exertion of our woodland ramble, I put together a bean-and-vegetable salad, make a vinaigrette, refrigerate it, and finally I take myself back out to the garden to tidy things up a bit, taking advantage of a cooler atmosphere and occasional cloud cover, and while I'm deep in the business of cutting back spent roses, rain begins to fall.

Now that we shop bi-weekly at one of our local supermarkets to minimize the chances of contracting COVID, it seems grocery shopping has become more difficult. For one thing, we're hauling around more food from supermarket to home than formerly, at one fell swoop. Trying to fit food items into spaces -- refrigerator and pantry -- that seemed overtaxed when we shopped weekly. I've even had to increase the items bought and deposited for the area food bank to compensate for shopping once every two weeks.

And perhaps most painful of all, we cannot go whenever we feel like it, we've now got to prioritize time of day and day of the week to ensure there is less contact with other shoppers. Busiest and less-busy shopping days and times of the day are monitored and the results can be found on the Internet. So we discovered Tuesdays are best for our particular supermarket, and of course arriving at seven in the morning is optimum, giving us an hour to shop, when between 7 and 8 are restricted for the elderly and the health-impaired.

This time I didn't forget our face masks. And they are horribly uncomfortable. I've got chronic rhinitis, tend to breathe through my mouth often, and simply can't abide anything too close to my nostrils. I've got to blow or wipe my nose frequently; like my mother I've inherited a permanently runny nose. Beyond inconvenient, to say the least. Mask-wearing impairs my ability to wipe my nose, and to breathe. Moreover, it also interferes with my eyesight. And wearing eyeglasses is another thing; they tend to fog up when warm, moist breath is funnelled up the mask onto the inner eyeglass lenses.

Complaining? Who, me?! My husband has a far easier time with the face mask than I do, but that's life. We also wore gloves. Rubber gloves are an absolute nuisance, so we wear light pull-on gloves and just wash them in soapy water on return home. We were surprised, after a long weekend and with everything closed yesterday, Victoria Day, to see yawning spaces on the shelves in the grocery. Some items were simply not represented.

If anyone was hoping to bring home flour, any type of flour, they'd be sorely disappointed. There was no yeast to be seen anywhere where we normally find it. We hardly expected, after seeing these items in full display the last several times we shopped, that we'd reverse back to earlier times when flour and yeast were impossible to secure. Personally, we found ourselves short of nothing, save for an absence of fresh asparagus and paprika spice.

In the early afternoon we went off with Jackie and Jillie for our daily ravine walk. Another mild day, albeit windy and mostly overcast. Poor little tykes, they get so dreadfully upset when we leave the house and they're left on their own. They're frantic when we return, and ask for reassurance. So how could we disappoint them by leaving them alone again, twice in the same day?

Since, after our traipse through the ravine, where we came across very few people, and were able to enjoy the trails unimpeded, we decided to go along to a plant nursery, figuring that the big rush before and during the long weekend formally opening the planting season, would have exhausted peoples' desire to buy bedding plants. Our neighbours appear to have acquired all the plants they mean to decorate their gardens with; we bided our time this year.

So, we took them along with us since we felt there was little other option. They were so emotionally exhausted with anticipation they'd be left again, they were panting as though from heat exhaustion, although it was cool enough for light jackets today. When we arrived at our destination the plan was for me, equipped with face mask and gardening gloves, to select the usual number of plants, from geraniums to dahlias, daisies to begonias, lobelia to petunias, to begin planting our garden pots.

I had tried to persuade my husband to fill fewer of those giant glazed clay pots since it's such a difficult, arduous chore to empty them at season's end, but he's adamant, he wants the usual garden. So be it. We noted that suddenly our society had graduated from empty roads to busy-as-usual traffic. And we could hardly believe our eyes when on arrival at the garden centre (an old converted farm, actually) there must have been at least a hundred cars and trucks in the parking lot. Where usually there would be maximum, five.

I was prepared to give up. Then thought I'd better have a look around. And when I did, I was truly dismayed. All the low-slung, plastic-sided 'greenhouses' that extended beyond the parking lot were empty of plants. With the exception of a paltry few offerings. As for all the people buying plants as evidenced by the vehicles, I had no idea where they were, since each of the 'greenhouses' I entered was devoid of their presence; besides myself one or two others rummaging about looking for absent plants. Then I realized there was an awful line-up to enter one of the greenhouses, the one that usually houses vegetable plants and herbs.

I did buy a few of the flowering plants I had set out to acquire, but at premium prices, since all the flats I'd normally buy were nowhere in evidence, only single plants housed in pots, more mature and of course more expensive. We came away with a fraction of what we intended to come home with, a reflection of the fact there was little to choose amongst. Everyone, it seems, is bored as a result of the lockdown, of having to work from home, or having work postponed, or losing employment.

Suddenly, everyone has time on their  hands, and gardening seems like a good option. They're right, good for their mental and physical health. Not to mention the immense pleasure in being able to appreciate and nurture nature's vegetation in a landscape of one's own, however large or small. And with the scarcity of some foodstuffs, what could be more elemental and satisfying than growing your own herbs and vegetables?