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.

I was hoping that when we went shopping for groceries this morning at the supermarket there would still be some packages of bulbs for sale, and there were. No more peonies, but there were lilies and there were dahlias and gladiolas and other bulbs, so I was able to acquire a few more. Not that I'll be planting them any time soon. The accumulated snowpack is huge. Lawns are covered with up to six feet of snow in some places, though five feet is more the average; my height. And it'll take a while for it all to melt.

When I look at it, it seems hopeless, there's so much of it. But there always is at the beginning of March. And although it was very, very cold the past week, suddenly we've begun moderating. That too, is what happens here; the weather turns on a dime. Two nights ago the temperature dipped to -19C, and today the daytime high soared to 6C.

There's a steady drip of melting snow off the roof. The pathways in the backyard for Jackie and Jillie are no longer icy and the driveway no longer slippery, the milder weather doing a bang-up job of denaturizing the ice and melting the snow. It'll take more than one day and warmer temperatures than a mere 6C, but finally we're on our way. Those bulbs will get planted, even if it takes a month or so until the soil is warm enough to receive them.

In the early afternoon Jackie and Jillie were prepared for our jaunt through the forest trails wearing their rubber boots and this time only a sweater. We set aside their winter coats, and hope that it'll be for good before spring's arrival. The ice that had begun forming again yesterday over the creek is now gone. Just as we can see a difference in the snowpack atop the roofs of our garden sheds, it's obvious that the forest snowpack is melting too by the look of the swollen creek.

Not only was it a benign-weather day with no wind, the sun was glorying in a wide blue sky, lashing the forest canopy with streams of warm sunlight. A bumper year for pine cones, they're still coming down, littering the snow just as they had the naked trails before the snow flew. Our little furry forest neighbours had no lack of food this winter.

Despite how gorgeous this day has been and despite that we decided to stay out longer and go further on the trail network, we saw scant few others on the trails. Jackie and Jillie still had the opportunity to greet some of t heir friends, but by and large we had the trails to ourselves. Those few others that we did see out were having some difficulties in their footing on the hilly ascents and descents. 

A slight layer of wet melting snow over the snowpack on the hills lends itself to slippery conditions and that's just what people were doing. Some had walking sticks to help give them stability on the trails, but it was cleats strapped over boots that they needed. With them, we're assured of a good solid grip making negotiating the trails far more pleasant and easier.

Really, there are times that bureacracies can be downright confoundingly nonsensical in their decision-making. We could hardly believe it when one of our ravine-walking friends informed us yesterday that the municipality was balking at having the trash collectors pick up the bags neatly set aside at each entrance to the ravine, for regular weekly pick-ups when trash collection takes place.

One member of our far-ranging community has taken it upon himself for the past several years to place garbage containers at each of the ravine entrances/exits for the convenience of people using the forest trails picking up their dog droppings. The incidence of trails being befouled by peoples' companion pets has been greatly reduced as a result of this man's work. He goes to the trouble of buying garbage bags, placing new ones weekly in the trash bins he has provided, monitoring them, placing the filled ones out at street level for weekly pick-up.

For quite awhile when he began doing this he expostulated with the municipality that all it took was one short stop between houses to pick up the bag sitting at the curb ready for pick-up, but which the garbage collectors were leaving. For over a year after the situation had finally been resolved, the collection has gone smoothly. Now the municipality has advised this man, whose work is so altruistic (he has no canine companion of his own), they will no longer pick up the bags.

A decision that smacks of illogic. They suggested the municipality was not obliged to pick up the bags, that it might be the responsibility of another agency like the Rideau Valley Conservation Authority that does no such thing, and whose responsibilities are vastly different, focusing on land and forest conservation and monitoring. The municipality in fact, considers the ravine and its forest interior one of its urban forest 'parks' and performs all maintenance work within it. Using the creek running through the ravine as a storm run-off. 

Well, from wretched decision-making on the part of petty bureaucrats jealous of their wardship yet refusing to maintain logical responsibility, to our own focus closer to home, my husband installed the first of the two stained-glass windows in the shutters he made to fit over the window of our spare bedrooms upstairs. Now his attention will be given to producing its second half.

As for our near landscape, it looks as though we've finally entered winter. The forest landscape reflects an intense winter experience we've been long familiar with. There's some depth to the snow now, at last. The forest looks absolutely ravishingly beautiful, densely clothed in pure white.

There was some wind last night and this morning but it has done little to disperse the generous coating of snow yesterday's snowstorm lavished on the boughs and branches of the forest trees. They remain heavily laden, and even tree trunks are thickly coated reflecting the direction of the wind that blew the storm toward them throughout the night-long and morning-continuation of yesterday's snowstorm.

We were out later this afternoon than we had been yesterday, so the surprising hordes clattering through the forest trails were somewhat reduced, but not entirely. We did, amongst all the temporary hikers, see some of our hiking friends, stopping to talk awhile before carrying on in our separate directions. 

And when we returned home finally, to a steadily darkening atmosphere, the fragrance of the soup I'd put on to begin simmering on the stove for this evening's meal on a cold winter day, greeted us. Jackie and Jillie went berserk as usual, once they were unencumbered of their coats and boots, racing through the house after one another before solemnly gathering after me to urge me to attend to their cauliflower treat.