We've been talking about, and looking at some of our old maps and mountain guides for trails that won't present too much of a physical/endurance challenge to us in our upcoming trip. There are all the old familiar trails we've visited over the years, some of which we can still manage, others that will remain a memory. The anticipation of returning to our old haunts is growing, and we're looking forward to the trip. There's so much we've got to prepare for, not the least of which is ensuring that Jackie and Jillie will be comfortable.

 

 

For them as well as for us a suite of coverings, from blankets to raincoats to towels (for them, not for us) and of course their food and their treats. They'll no doubt recognize both where we've made reservations and most of the trails we'll be taking them on. We can anticipate that it will be as much a challenge and pleasure for them as it will be for us. And that challenge of course includes the long drive to arrive at our destination.

 

 

We've checked the 10-day forecast and it looks as though we won't be encountering any awkward weather patterns. Lots of warm days and sun, and a few days of rain, all of which is fairly normal. And we'll be seeing our old friends from whom we rent the various cottages we've stayed at over the years. 

 

For now, our hiking remains with what we're truly most familiar with, right here at home. And today's fine weather sent us out with Jackie and Jillie to take advantage of it. As usual when they see me doing my brief exercises prior to changing into my hiking clothing they become excited, racing back and forth after one another, leaping here and there, scattering area rugs and practising for their romp in the forest.

 

 

While they're active enough out on the forest trails, they rarely break out in a frenetic series of calisthenics such as we see at home. Partly it's because the many intriguing smells captivate their noses inviting them off trail to investigate where those irresistible fragrances -- that if we were able to smell them would likely be anything but attractive -- are coming from. 

 

Down by the forest creek the wildflowers too are enjoying the weather, basking in the sun, the soil in which their roots are fixed, nicely moist from the expansive rainfalls of yesterday. It's kind of odd that the singular plant that affects so many people, the common ragweed, is the very plant that exudes the most delightful fragrance. Wildflowers like evening primrose, with its beautiful name and lovely blossoms and the Black-eyed Susans and Himalayan orchids seem to give off no perfume at all that we can detect, though they make up for that lack with their colour and beauty.

 

Back home again, to peruse the gardens, and assess what's different and what needs attention. It's a little landscape we're well familiar with and never tire of observing. It's hard to believe, actually, that our efforts over the years, have created this garden with a whole lot of help from nature who sent along her elements to help shape all the trees and shrubs and coddle the perennials that keep returning year after year following the harsh winters that put everything to sleep underground.

It's at this time of year when the setting sun appears most spectacular in its effects on the landscape and in the heavens as it rises and sets. Yesterday we had decided we'd take a drive up the eastern parkway into downtown (or uptown, depending on your perspective) Ottawa, then take the western parkway over to the little shop located in a nondescript strip mall that appears to be the remaining stained glass supply shop in the area.

All the way we drive alongside the Ottawa River; both parkways faithfully follow the river's trajectory. We pass familiar landmarks including the RCMP musical ride horse stables, and the national aeronautical museum. Yesterday was a cold and sunny day; little wind to speak of and just perfect for a drive after we'd taken Jackie and Jillie out for their usual afternoon turn on the forest trails in the ravine.

They knew they'd be coming with us. We had left their collars on and they only wear them when they're outside the house. We had exchanged their fluffy little winter coats for snug little woolly sweaters. I was prepared to sit in the truck with them while my husband selected coloured glass to supplement what he has in his home inventory, along with the lead and other items he needs to complete another set of windows. So they napped while I read the papers and my husband took his time in the shop he's been going to for decades.

Driving along on this spectacularly beautiful day it's a leisurely treat with the conditions that prevailed. The sun was blinding through the windshield of the vehicle -- appearing on the right, then the left, then back again, as the roads we were driving on turned and straightened, turned again -- but also strikingly exquisite as it glowed over the landscape, the river and the snow that covered everything in a virginal white glow. Traffic is always light along the parkways, most commuters use the express highways for a more 'efficient' drive. 

Looking across the wide river where the first signs of ice forming can be detected close to the shoreline, you see the separation between Ontario and Quebec, with the Quebec shoreline dotted by the presence of small early 20th Century houses. When freeze-up occurs in a month or so, and the river is securely tucked into winter mode, nearby residents, mostly on the Quebec side, drive onto the river, erect little huts and drill fishing holes in the ice. It's a time-honoured, favoured winter tradition.

We pass the National Gallery with its huge glassed-in atrium, the large piazza in front of the gallery dedicated to a huge sculpture of a spider, "Maman", with its cache of 'eggs' under its body. Its immense size and subject matter are fascinating, and far preferable to the usual non-objective art that usually graces public spaces in this era of modern abstract art.

When we come to Parliament Hill, we see that the East Block of the Parliament buildings is being renovated, with scaffolding towering high above, workers busy with the labour it takes to refurbish and strengthen the old masonry work. The entire campus is being worked on, bit by bit, before the Gothic-inspired buildings that so typify the era in which they were built to reflect a far earlier era's style of public buildings deteriorate beyond repair.

In the Centre Block, also under renovation, the House of Commons has been temporarily moved to the old Railway Station building long since transformed into a huge Conference Centre which now hosts parliamentary affairs temporarily, and in an entirely new mode, given the physical distancing between people required during this time of the global pandemic causing chaos all over the world, no less and far more than in Canada.

Before long we pass the Holocaust Memorial, a stark, cold, grey, sharply angled structure reflecting a horror in world history that was stark, cold and grey with shame for the world community that failed to act in any meaningful way that would put a stop to the annihilation of six million Jews. Ironically, as we pass, a traffic sign is lit up with the warning: 'Stop'. In a fitting tribute to that miserable failure, when the memorial was dedicated, the memorial plaque made no mention of the fact that the victims were Jews. And nor did Prime Minister Justin Trudeau in his sanctimonious address make reference to that inconvenient bit of reality.

 Further along the river, ducks and geese were floating on its steel-grey surface, perhaps soaking up the last warmth of the near-setting sun. Other waterbirds were nestled in flocks alongside pathways running along the grassy, now-snow-covered river banks, seemingly comfortable and not given to moving as the odd passerby strolled along the paths. They will likely very soon complete their migratory trip south for the winter months.

 It took a while before my husband finished his business in the glass shop where he was the sole customer. During that time the light began to visibly fade as dusk slowly set in. On our way driving back along first the western then the eastern parkways, the sun had set and the moon had risen. We drove home in the dark, the heavens having turned from pale blue to a deep velvety purple, the half-moon floating wan and lovely above the trees silhouetting the landscape.