It  was a bit unusual for us, but last week the pantry and refrigerator were so stuffed, we decided to forego our usual weekly shopping. Instead, we just dropped by Farm Boy to pick up fresh fruits and vegetables and a few dairy products and left the shopping at that. By this week it was clear we had managed to  produce an empty refrigerator calling out to be restocked. As it happened, we also had an appointment at the groomers for Jackie and Jillie.

First things first; we always take our pups out for a good recreational romp through the forest before these appointments, and then feel they're ready to be bathed and coiffed. They know the routine and recognize where we are when we pull up in the parking lot. This time they were to have a summer shave, given our return to milder weather from the winter months when their hair is left a bit longer for warmth and comfort.

 

When we left them there, off we went to do the shopping. And it was a whopper; we found we needed just so much to return the kitchen to a plenitude of everything to keep us hale and healthy for another week. Came to a tad under $300. That included close to $30-worth of grocery staples that we buy weekly for the area Food Bank. Returning home with both the pups and the groceries, a typical scenario ensues, where Irving trims a head of cauliflower and although by then I've given them their afternoon vegetable salad, they also yearn for bits of cauliflower, followed by one new cookie-treat apiece.

Finding a place for everything represents another challenge, but soon the refrigerator and the pantry are both full to bursting, and then my thoughts turn to dinner. A dairy meal was decided and my favourite to boot. A macaroni-and-cheese casserole would do nicely. So I cooked up some macaroni noodles, then prepared a choux into which milk, butter, flour, ground black pepper, dry mustard, shredded sharp cheddar and dried parsley along with sliced green onion went. Immersing the cooled macaroni in the choux, that represents the first layer. Over top of that went frozen green peas, then a tin of chopped-up pink salmon, another layer of noodles, and finally a sprinkle of more grated cheese topped with fried onion and into the oven it went for a slow bake.

 

For today's ramble through the ravine we had a brisk wind, sun and 12C temperature which felt cool enough for gloves. This time the creek ran clear, unlike yesterday when it was turbulently thick with clay and detritus, for some reason. The Mallards were absent from sight yesterday, but happily thrashing about and steaming down the watery passage today.

 

The trails that were so muck-slick just a few days back, to the extent that Jackie and Jillie carried thick layers of mud plastered onto their little paws, were finally beginning to dry out. Cleaning them up after our hike took no time at all, unlike the numerous passes we made with a soapy sponge earlier in the week. The forest still looks colourless, awaiting the arrival of warmer temperatures urging the growth of new foliage. 

 

We were approached by a beautiful Weimaraner, which we see on occasion, but he paused only briefly before rushing on again to catch up with his running companion.

 

They know what they know and what they know they dread. Everything is fine as long as we're putting on boots and the jackets that hang in the cupboard in the mudroom. It's when we go over to the clothes cupboard in the foyer that they pay careful attention. And the shoes, that too. They know in all likelihood they're going to be left alone at home. That we'll be abandoning them. We speak reassuringly to them, assure them we'll be back home shortly. And whenever we do return, they're cosseted and given treats.

 

To no avail. It's Jackie who does the detective work, and Jillie who awaits his verdict; he poking his head around the corner of the family room, peering at us studiously as he watches us in the mudroom preparing to leave. When his suspicion becomes a certainty, he joins Jillie in the family room and together they chorus their misery in high-pitched howling; perfect unison. Each howl begins on a high, plaintively piercing note and gradually the decibels lower, and then they start again.

 

 

When we know we'll be going out in the afternoon without them we always ensure they have a good vigorous run through the forest trails beforehand. And so, off we went with them early in the afternoon of today's balmy temperature of 19C, under an ocean of blue and the warmth of the sailing sun. They had a good trot-about, and we once again congratulated nature on presenting us with a perfect day.

 

We took a trail that partnered with the creek. The reasoning being that such a lovely day that pleased us so mightily might certainly have a similar effect on the Mallards, thinking they might grace us with their presence. And so they did. The pair was in residence, and we watched as the female dabbled incessantly, her back-end raised while her head and neck immersed in the swiftly moving creek, eating microscopic plants and insects alike. The male seemed more interested in keeping watch.

 

 

She is drab, her feathers brown-mottled by comparison to his bright iridescent-green head and bright orange feet, paddling along beside her. Soon, he  joins her in exploring the under-water aquarium breeding algae and other tasty bits of nutrition beloved of ducks. She seems to hover in place while she's dabbling, while he vigorously paddles. They gradually make their way upstream.

 

Jackie and Jillie don't seem to notice them. They've other fish to fry. Exploring, for example, not only intriguing fragrances, but delectable items they find on the forest floor. Including twigs which they both find irresistible, chewing on them as though they are actually edible. Edible items are those that Irving brings along in a little pack, and it wasn't long before Jackie and Jillie were joined by some of their friends knowing Irving for a reliable source of dog cookies.

Before we left the ravine, I turned back to look beyond the creek, at the forest canopy. Just then a large grey-blue form rose and floated through the air, and I realized that the Great Blue Heron had arrived back at the creek along with the ducks, on their reverse migration. The heron was soon lost to sight as it soared and filtered itself through the trees. 

It works out just fine for me, planning ahead with a mind to taking advantage of pre-preparation. Kind of a riff on the popularity of commercially available pre-prepared food products that make life easier for people who don't like to cook, or are perpetually short of time. Personally, I frequently feel short of time. There often doesn't seem to be enough time in the day to accommodate everything I'd like to do.

So on Friday when I do my baking, I also make up a bread dough for use later in the week. It's handy to have on any occasion when I feel like using it, and the basic dough itself has already been prepared. If I think I'll be using it for something like pizza, I make it a plain bread dough. If I contemplate using it for something like dinner rolls or croissants to accompany a soup, then I add to it. In this instance the additions were dehydrated milk crystals, shredded old Cheddar cheese and sesame seeds.

Because that combination in particular reflects perfection in our estimation. Hot out of the even, fragrant and tempting, crisp and flaky, they make a perfect accompaniment for any kind of soup; vegetable or pulses and vegetables. Yesterday it was a garden vegetable soup, heavy on tomatoes, garlic and onions. With the addition of celery, chopped fingerling potatoes, bell pepper, and last, corn kernels. The result is an aromatic, hot and delicious soup complemented by croissants. And fresh grapes for dessert.

The morning started with an extreme weather notice. That we were in store for a big snowstorm event. And true, at 0.3C, it was snowing early in the morning. But that soon turned to freezing rain, then spit, and finally, plain old rain, despite the thermometer hovering at freezing. The weather is confusing and must seem so to the area wildlife.

While I was in the kitchen making a batch of pancakes for breakfast, Irving called me over to the front door. There, on the walkway, in front of the porch was a pair of very large wild turkeys. WHERE was my camera?!!! In my frantic rush to locate the camera and Jackie and Jillie barking with excitement, the birds left, making their way down the street which twists and turns, so they were soon no longer in sight. All they had to do was cut through someone's backyard on the left, and disappear back into the forest.

We had anticipated a good ravine walk, with new snow down on the trails, this afternoon. But the rain continued, the elusive snow holding back. So at a freezing temperature with incessant rain, the prospect of making our way through the trails for our afternoon hike lacked inspiration. Jackie and Jillie didn't mind; their focus is always on their afternoon vegetable salad, and as long as that is in place as usual, their walk can wait. They run berserk through the house in excited anticipation when they know I've begun cutting up their salad.

 

 

The tomato plant we have growing below a corner of our elevated deck has grown to truly gigantic proportions. And its output has been prodigious. For the past several months we've been harvesting tomatoes on a daily basis. When Jackie and Jillie happen to be out with us while we're plucking tomatoes they're anxious not to be forgotten. So we give each of them a tomato. They play with it because it's an intact little oval (grape tomatoes) until finally their teeth puncture the fruit, and that's the signal for them to chow it down.

 

 

In our herb garden in the backyard, there's a luxury of parsley ready for use. During the earlier summer months it was plentiful and I used it so generously there was nothing left. But it regenerated and is now ready for constant use. Tonight, we'll have it decorating and flavouring our Friday-night chicken soup. The flowers are still holding up, given this absolutely wonderful weather we've had all September, warm and sunny with the occasional rain event.

 

 

Our roses like this weather, although they would also do well in slightly colder temperatures. At the front garden and in the back, they're enjoying what is left of a holdover summer into early fall, blooming beautifully. Not all of them, mind, but some of the old standbys. Although the perennials are mostly finished for the season, some things like the Harlequin vines have turned colour for fall, while morning glories are still addicted to blossoming in the sun. 

 

I decided to bake a cheesecake today, and thought I'd supplement the cream cheese in the filling with ricotta, sour cream, eggs and sugar. Along with vanilla flavouring I added brandy, so it'll be interesting to see how much that will influence the finished product.

When we were out in the ravine with Jackie and Jillie this afternoon, it was a strange coincidence that the thought passed my mind that we should be seeing the returning Great Blue Heron that usually drops by for a rest period of a week or so while it is migrating back south for the winter months. And darned, when we approached the creek close to the first bridge, if it wasn't there, standing in the creek, a picture of regal beauty.

 

Until Jillie became aware of its presence, that is, and began her irritatingly eternal barking and the bird rose majestically into the forest canopy. We watched as it was transformed from an awkward-appearing take-off, to a graceful glide over the treetops. We ascended the hill that came next and as we made our way across the broad top, kept looking for the heron. And sure enough, he had temporarily roosted in a tree, and as we passed, he once again flew onward, in the same direction we were headed for.

 

Going back to the creek, Irving said. Eventually we made our way back down from the elevated portion of the forest and we saw in the distance a couple walking by the very point in the creek where we've often seen the heron resting. I wondered if the bird would be there, and as we walked closer along the trail, there he was, looking like a tall stick poking out of the creek.

 

And with our passage, although Jackie and Jillie didn't see the heron this time and simply trotted on before us on the trail, the bird slowly rose out of the water and, flapping its great wings went aloft, turned left, then right, and made off into the distance. I attempted repeatedly to get a photograph of the bird, but to no avail. It moved too quickly and my camera takes its time focusing before it will click the photo.

 

Years ago there were a number of cats that used to prowl about the area. Their owners would call them in before lights-out for the night and Jackie and Jillie seeing them around the house always took exception to their presence. Time passed and we just don't see them any more. When Jackie and Jillie go out to the backyard they often burst through the doors in a hurry to get down off the deck and into the garden. A drama unfolds but too quickly for me to really identify anything other than that some creature is being chased and our pups have been foiled and frustrated, as evidenced by their sniffing and pacing under the garden sheds. Where a resident rabbit or a chipmunk has slipped away from them.

 

 

They're not very hospitable to others, our two little dogs; territorial aggression is second nature to them. Last night around 11:00, we became very aware of the odour of skunk wafting through the open patio doors. We've got at least one that lives nearby, and obviously many more originating in the forest beyond our street. We catch the occasional glimpse of one, and they're beautiful little creatures. Best left alone, other than to occasionally put out food for any wild creatures in the harsh winter months.

 

Neither of us actually mind the odour of skunk. By the time we went up to bed it had become somewhat fainter. And we wondered what had upset it. A wandering cat came to mind, but then we don't see them any more frequently any more than we do the skunks, so that's a mystery. Mind, we wouldn't much want Jackie or Jillie to come across a skunk with their belligerent behaviour...

 

 

Another warm, but not intolerably hot day today. Heavily overcast all morning and into the early afternoon. As it was when we set out for our afternoon ramble in the ravine with Jackie and Jillie. We hadn't got much further than the entrance to the ravine when I could suddenly feel raindrops on my bare arms and I thought I was imagining it because it looked as though the sun was arriving. Irving had ventured into the bracken to pick some ripe berries for Jackie and Jillie, and by the time he emerged the sprinkling had stopped.

 

 

By the time we reached the crest of the ravine the forest had taken on a dusky appearance and again there was the occasional raindrop. At such a warm temperature, rain, unless accompanied by a heavy wind to cool down the atmosphere wouldn't be too uncomfortable for us, but it would be for our puppies; when they're wet to the core they're miserable and chilled.

 

 

We noticed that the first of the wild asters are preparing to bloom. The Himalayan orchid plants growing among the pilotweed, ragweed, thimbleberry shrubs and raspberry and blackberry canes and thistles on the forest floor are beginning their bloom season. The plant itself grows immensely tall -- about to my height -- yet its bright pink flowerheads are dainty in size.

 

 

The bee activity is impressive this year. We saw honeybees and a wasp-like creature, along with hoverflies in and among the vegetation, and in particular among the reams of ragweed growing high on the banks of the creek. And it was as we were about to cross the final bridge to approach the last hill to bring us to the level of the street above that rain began, light at first but soon picking up momentum.

 

By the time we reached the street it was fairly steady, but still relatively light. That changed as soon as we walked up our driveway toward the garage. A sudden wind pick-up drove the now-heavy rain in sheets across the landscape. Our garden thirstily drank it all in. And ten minutes later, the dark clouds moved off and the sun moved into the space formerly occupied by rainclouds.

 

 

Our phenomenal summer-like weather is continuing, yet another day of unobstructed sun brightening spring's sere landscape, with light breezes and a high of 22C. The kind of weather that, following hard on a week of extreme cold and an ice storm, makes you want to pinch yourself in disbelief. It's even too hot for Jackie and Jillie to splay out on the deck floorboards for any length of time. They do that briefly, then succumb to the heat by looking for the coolest spot in the house immediately afterward. 

We went out with them into the backyard to stroll about, assessing winter damage and spring's surprises And we were surprised. Earlier than I can recall, scilla are beginning to bloom. And though there was no sign of them yesterday, today's perusal revealed irises coming up.

We ventured out earlier than usual for our ravine hike and it was quick work to get ready. Jackie and Jillie only need their collars, harnesses and little rubber boots now, and we our boots and cleats in readiness for those parts of the forest still locked in snow and ice. And since we can no longer take our usual route we anticipated coming across some areas we haven't visited in quite a while, knowing there would still be snow there and ice.

It took little time for us to see coltsfoot beginning to bloom down by the banks of the creek, their brilliant yellow heads poking up out of the leaf mass piled thickly on the forest floor. We were surprised at the suddenness of their appearance. But then we also came across hazelnut shrubs dripping with catkins, another surprise.

We were doing an old familiar route in reverse, with a few sidetrails. And I became disoriented, hardly recognizing where we were. Good thing Irving knew. Much of the forest floor, now released from snow and ice, is deep in muck. The cleats on our boots serve the purpose both on snow and ice and on muck, to keep us from slithering where we don't really want to go. Jackie and Jillie were happy and excited because the hike was different, out of routine in compensation for being forced to abandon our usual route. Anything different arouses their interest.

And although they didn't notice, we did, as we entered the last phase of our new circuit that kept us out in the ravine for two hours; the presence of a pair of old friends, male and female Mallard ducks that return every spring for a brief hiatus before flying on to their summer destination. They were placidly swimming in place close to an area of rapids, the female dabbling for food, the male seemingly imperturbable, soaking up the sun.

We all have our rituals, large and small. They're essentially personal social habits and can be comprised of anything. Human nature thrives on routine, although it also seeks out the unusual. The pendulum swings heavily toward routine the older we get. There's a comfort in the routine, whatever it happens to be. An anticipation and expectation, one that has no requirement for deep thought, since it's so familiar. And  since we are basically creatures of habit, usually there's a fulcrum, one of ethnicity, heritage, religion.

So it is with Friday night dinners for Jews, since Friday evening marks the solemn occasion of bringing in the Sabbath. This is religious in nature, but it is also cultural in practise. Even most secular Jews with no religious leaning whatever, recall the culinary habits of foregone generations. Diaspora Jews from a multitude of adoptive nations of the world integrated cuisines into their own. Those from different parts of Europe welcomed prevailing tastes based largely on what was most familiarly available and desirable.  Jews from the Arabian peninsula, the greater Middle East and North Africa are inclined toward the cuisines more common in those countries.

Friday night chicken soup is a dietary tradition brought down from vast generations of dietary adaptation. As a routine, the habit of making Friday night dinner special with or without religious connotations reflects the Jewish character in terms of food. Chicken soup in a variety of guises; with rice, with noodles, with matzah dumplings and any number of variations on the general theme exemplifies that heritage food tradition. It's what we have every Friday night.

Accompanied as a main course by poultry in an endless variety of recipes; the most common for a family would be roast chicken, but chicken lends itself to a wide spectrum of interesting presentations. One of which we also had, last night. And so, this is the kind of meal that's heavy on tradition and fairly heavy on the waistline. The result of which is that on the following days, lighter meals are preferred; a compensation of overindulgence.

Indulging in food beyond the amount we really need to sustain life is a universal habit of all animals. We eat not only to preserve ourselves but to pleasure ourselves. The flip side of overindulgence is the acknowledgement that an expenditure of daily energy through physical activity is also required to maintain health and stave off the buildup of unneeded extra pounds.

We did that as usual with one of our daily recreational hikes through the forest we have the great good fortune to live beside. Today turned out yet another beautiful late-winter day. That's the good news about today; light wind and lots of sunshine on a moderate-temperature day. The bad news is that we've got to turn our clocks back an hour and no one enjoys doing that; we feel cheated out of an hour of a 24-hour period. In the larger picture, while it's upsetting to routine as it were, the end result is that we enjoy  an extra hour of daylight.

We came across quite a few people from the larger community out on the trails with their dogs. Hard to imagine a better, more healthful and enjoyable routine than that. When we encountered our old friends Sheila and Barry, we exchanged pleasantries as usual, then a hauntingly beautiful series of sound, a kind of familiar music. First from one direction, then another. A conversation was ensuing. And it was loud enough to tell us that the owls were very close by; in fact, right above our heads.

Our friends, younger with sharper eyes were able to make out on either side of the trail, just above where we stood, two owls. Just their shapes, not details. Irving caught a glimpse of one, I strained to make them out, but wasn't able to. They were perched up quite high and the density of tree trunks and branches made it difficult to make them out at that height peering into the sun, but barred owls they were. We've been hearing their calls for some time, so they're preparing to nest. It's obvious to the wildlife that we're beginning to veer toward spring.

Walking back home afterward, it struck us how much snow we have left. It's a large snowpack this year, which is why Environment Canada has warned of flooding this spring in our area. When mild enough weather does intervene, we'll be thinking that it will take forever for the snow to melt, but melt it will, it always does.

 

We're stuck in another ritual this winter. In the morning putting out peanuts and buttered, cubed toast. In the afternoon or early evening out comes the carrots. We've only seen the black squirrels coming around lately. Red squirrels, we believe store up food for winter more efficiently and tend to semi-hibernate in their nests, and grey squirrels are fewer in number though last winter when we fed them on the porch, not the back stoop, we would see them all gathering as for a winter picnic.

 

Every evening the little rabbit makes its entrance. Usually spending more time at the side door where broken-up carrots are left, but on occasion venturing out to the front porch as though in memory of last year's abundance. Irving is no longer acquiring 50-lb bags of peanuts. Ergo, we have fewer takers coming around. While the temperature was dropping into hitherto  unforeseen depths of cold, we just cannot imagine how these little warm-blooded creatures manage to endure that level of frigidity.

 

Breaking records for extreme weather conditions is fine and good when you hear about it, not so wonderful when you experience it in living colour. It wasn't so awful, missing two consecutive days of traipsing through the snowy woods. Truth is, Jackie and Jillie didn't mind at all, but they were  happy to be back out there this afternoon. And so were we.

 

At the morning's rise in temperature from its overnight -20C to  -17C, it just kept steadily rising. Mind, there's a big difference from last night's -20C and the low of the previous nights of -30C, with  howling winds placing us in the range of -43C windchill. So we waited out the morning, welcomed afternoon, and finally when the temperature sat at a relatively balmy -10C, off we went for our hike.

 

In our absence for those several days when to venture out would risk frostbite, a light amount of new  snow had fallen overnight, and the winds of the days previous had brought down an unsurprising amount of detritus from the forest canopy. Jackie and Jillie were delighted with the seductive selection of narrow little twigs perfect for chewing.

 

Unsurprisingly, a thick layer of ice now caps the creek running through the ravine. While we were out on the trails snow began falling gently, creating a glittering veil of white and dimming the clarity of the landscape. As it falls over the frozen creek, the snow will serve to insulate the creek against the ice melting as the atmosphere becomes milder.