Well, then, so much for my aspirations to begin cleaning up the winter-deposited detritus on our lawn, for today. 'Man proposes, nature disposes', as relevant an observation now as it ever is. Last evening snow began falling, and it came down generously all night. When we woke in the morning, it was to a white world once again. Old Man Winter cannot be persuaded -- in any given year -- to depart our landscape, this year is no different. When March comes to an end, it's with a sense of relief that we bid it adieu for another year; the month that begins to introduce melting snow, milder temperatures and rain, while invariably relenting to give pause to winter's departure, persuading the elements to display a parting winter landscape.

And that is just what confronted us this morning. The temperature below zero, sky heavily burdened with snow clouds, and wind whipping the snow into a froth. I hardly expected that before breakfast this morning I'd be out in the backyard shovelling snow for cleared pathways once again, for Jackie and Jillie, so that when they enter the house after exiting for their morning bathroom breaks they're not little snowdogs. They demonstrate their gratitude by ignoring the clearings and heading straight for where the snow is deepest.

Yesterday Irving had mentioned that I hadn't baked eclairs for a long time. I'd completely forgotten about them as an option for my Friday morning baking tradition, it's actually been that long. Truth is, I'm not myself all that fond of the eclairs, but he is. So I decided I'd give them a go after a long absence. There are three stages to putting them together, so they're a little fussy, but they're also a challenge. Beginning with the choux. I put together a half recipe, since there's only the two of us now as compared to years back when I cooked and baked for a family of five.

A half-cup water to a half-cup flour doesn't seem like a lot ingredient-wise, but even that makes at least ten middling-sized puffs, so that's more than enough. The process is to bring the water along with 1/4 c. butter to a boil, add the flour and a sprinkling of salt, quickly mixing it into the water/butter vigorously beating under reduced heat enough to incorporate everything into a thick ball. Once done, taking it off the heat, then adding two eggs, one after another and continuing stirring and beating until a thick, smooth choux results. And it takes energy to do that; a wooden spoon and strong right arm helps.

 Once the puffs have baked (400F for 15 minutes; 325F another 20 minutes), I simmer a vanilla cream filling comprised of icing sugar mixed with cornstarch, 10% cream, butter and vanilla until thick, to stuff the puff interiors, then melt baking chocolate with a little butter to top it all off. It was a hit with Irving, and I found them tolerable enough. Besides which, it's enjoyable to me to putter around the kitchen with different treats on Fridays. It's when I also put together a yeast-raised dough to be refrigerated and then used on Sunday for dinner rolls to accompany a winter-hot savoury vegetable-bean soup.

In the afternoon today we dressed good and warm for the weather: 0C, windy and by early afternoon, some vestiges of blue sky interspersed with mostly snowclouds, dropping flurries now and again. Environment Canada had warned a great swath of Ontario south of us of freezing rain conditions that had already caused electrical interruptions for tens of thousands of households.

We hardly thought, a mere three days before the calendar arrival of Spring that we'd see the forest reflecting its white winter garb again, but that's just what we saw. Jackie and Jillie were pretty happy about it, as are most dogs. There had been enough people venturing out into the ravine before us so that the trails were beginning to be trod down. Last night's layer of snow -- about 10 cm -- laying lightly over the ice on the trails. Where the snow was disturbed it was clear that the ice had glaciated back to sliding conditions in reflection of the cold temperature.

Crows crowded the sky above, mobbing in their celebration of spring, and we could hear the staccato of woodpeckers in the distance. The creek was running full of meltwater from days before; muddy and agitated, carrying detritus downstream with it. And looking cold, very cold and crowded with fallen tree trunks. 

The cleats on our boots were picking up clotted snow clumps, but not intolerably, as would be the case if the atmosphere was any milder, melting the top layers of snow. Jackie and Jillie wandered about everywhere on the newly-made more attractive forest floor, scenting what we cannot (thank heavens) and paying close and deep attention to the messages thereof. Conditions underfoot were not ideal in the sense of being slightly laborious, but tolerable. By the time we emerged from our circuit back to street level we felt well exercised.

 

 

 

Heading out to the ravine for our daily tramps through the forest has become a lot more complicated lately. The spontaneity of collar, harness and leash and off-we-go was strictly summer mode. As summer waned and fall entered, there were subtle changes; light little sweaters for all of us, including Jackie and Jillie when the ambient temperature began to bite a bit. As the days grew progressively cooler, the quality of those sweaters changed to counter the cool nip. Now that it's quite cold, early-winter gear has become necessary. 

 

And although it took an unusual length of time this year for snow to arrive, it finally did, yesterday, a cheering sight, illuminating the seasonal gloom of the forest, covering leaf-bare branches with glittering new snow, that fairy-tale aspect that forests take on in winter. With temperatures of -2C, and snow on the ground, Jackie and Jillie had their little rubber boots added to the snow-proof winter jackets. They didn't mind, they gamboled like little lambs off-trail in the forest interior.

 

Today, it's a lot milder, even though snow fell again, most of the day. The mild temperature (2C), changed the character of the snow from light and fluffy to damp and heavy. Yesterday when we ventured out we hadn't come across too many people, but they, like us, took special care on the hillsides of the ravine, finding it fairly slippery and unwilling to sprawl on the forest floor. It does take away some of the enjoyment of plodding through snow when you're not footsure.

Because it was milder today Jackie and Jillie had no need of their boots, but we pulled cleats securely over the soles of our boots to regain that footsure balance. We no longer needed to walk with such care, but the snow, because it was damp, clumped thickly underfoot so that at times it took a real physical effort to pull our boots clear of the snowpack. 

Even without boots today, Jackie and Jillie were delighted with the snow, leaping happily about everywhere. They discover unending opportunities to sniff strange (or familiar) new odours that intrigue them no end; at times it seems as though they share their thoughts, one possibly asking the other what they made of any particular 'fragrance'.

 

Today we only came across two other people on the trails with their pet companions. One of whom we were familiar with, the other not. Yesterday we'd come across a woman from the wider community who was uncertain where she was, which trail network she should be on, to return her to be able to access her street, so we did a little trail orienteering for her. Her rambunctious little scamp of a dog was having the time of its life, running challenging rings around our two.

Finally, on the last third of our circuit, snow started up again, falling in little clusters, the wind picking them up and sending them in an almost horizontal direction. Last night, Irving had gone out at midnight to shovel the accumulation in the backyard, clearing off the deck and the stairs and clearing away some of the sidewalk trails we have installed in the backyard, so Jackie and Jillie would have less to contend with in the morning.

 

As a result of the snow continuing all night, however, since I was downstairs before Irving, putting the finishing touches on breakfast, I took a break before he came downstairs and repeated his effort of the night before. And then invited Jackie and Jillie to join me out in the backyard, once they had finished their breakfast.

When they were months-old puppies they used to go a little berserk with joy in the winter, chasing one another endlessly around the backyard, standing on their hind legs and boxing, teasing one another from one end of the backyard to the other. On occasion they do that also in the house, in an excess of happiness or when they're anticipating an imminent mealtime. They've more latterly added chasing the rabbits that come about in the backyard, and intently sniffing the ground where presumably they've last been. We suspect they have little nests under the garden sheds.

Today is his birthday, January 20th. The youngest of my mother's four children. He was born 13 years after me. He was a year old when I met a boy with whom I became fast friends, and who would, four  years later, become my husband. He had retired as a professor of botany only a year earlier. He lived a fairly healthy lifestyle, a vegetarian, an active outdoorsman, an avid natural gardener, and a dedicated birder. He loved an energetic game of squash. By the time his cancer was discovered it had already metastasized and he went directly into a therapeutic state of palliative care.

There are certain things I do routinely that always cause me to pause and think of his absence. Brief times of memory, recollection of long past events, tinges of sorrow at the realities of life. And then we push on. 

Life demands attention. And we respond accordingly. Both the routines and the items that are not quite routine, some of which have an extraordinary irritant factor. Like, for example, filling out official online forms that invariably are more complex than they need to be. Finicky, at the very least; the need for which is understandable, but no less irritating because of that.

The city of Ottawa, in its search to discover more available housing in a Canada-wide atmosphere of housing shortages, people seeking housing and discovering that the purchase price of both new and existing homes have become well beyond their means to even consider, allied to the fact that the federal government has seen fit to outdistance all other G7 countries in their intake of refugees, migrants, immigrants and foreign students badly exacerbating the problem.

Rental apartments are far too few and far too expensive. Dwellings of any kind in major Canadian cities have become impossible to find for young people hoping to begin raising a family, let alone immigrants arriving to find themselves unable to access decent living accommodations. So the municipality has decided that all its property-tax-paying residents must annually fill out a firm attesting to the fact that they actually occupy the unit/home they pay taxes on. Any homes deemed not lived in are taxed an additional hefty sum, as though this is a measure that will solve anything.

And then there are the habitual measures we take as a tight little family to make the most of our natural environment and our need to delve into its environs for the sake of our mental and physical health. The level of pleasure derived from our daily expeditions into a nearby forest is often measurable by the state of the weather. We're now in a January cold-snap, where icy winds and low temperatures can make  trekking forest trails a mite uncomfortable.

On the positive side, however, the shimmering beauty of a snowy forest in the midst of winter, with new falling snow under a sky crowded with pewter-coloured clouds transports the mind to a winter pleasure dome. Jackie and Jillie, our two little poodles, most certainly agree. They have a tendency to exert themselves with a passion for life, rushing uphill and down, pausing for us to join them, and fully integrating themselves into the forest atmosphere of freedom and beauty.

 

Finally, winter seems to have decided to return, offering us an auspicious glimpse of a lovely day arriving when we awoke to a bright morning, sunlight streaming through the windows. It's an axiom that in the winter, bright sun heralds a very cold day. And so, with the sun we welcomed colder temperatures. And some brisk wind to complete the day's weather. 

On descending from the second floor and looking out the front door, the prospect was even brighter. A thin film of overnight light snow covered the landscape. A dazzling combination we've grown unused to, of late, and very welcome. Of course, it's understood that even with a colder atmosphere, the warm strength of the winter sun would make short work of the light snow covering.

Even so, by afternoon when we took Jackie and Jillie out for their afternoon foray through the ravine, there was snow left on the forest floor. The combination of fresh snow and icy temperatures meant also that they would need their little rubber boots to withstand the cold on their tender, tiny paws. And it was abundantly evident that those icy areas that remained on the forest trails were even more treacherous than ever.

 

Evident by the sight of the slides people took venturing downhill into the ravine, evidently not equipped with slide-stopping cleats strapped over their boots. The light snow, given the cold that accompanied it, failed to stick to the ice. It just lay lightly over the ice. Had it been wetter it would have formed a bit of a rough crust over the ice for traction, but that wasn't the case. 

People venturing into the forest on a beautiful bright day with a light layer of fresh snow down, might not be aware that under that snow was glare-ice. Even those familiar with the conditions would not be able to make out where the ice lay under the snow and where it was safer to venture, without cleats. We saw ample evidence that there were many slips, slides and falls. With no ample snowpack as in a normal winter forest landscape to cushion the falls.

 

We did see quite a number of people out, and more to the point, familiar dogs. It was surprising, in fact,  how many familiar dogs were out on the  trails, outdistancing their human companions to rush over to Irving for cookie treats. They're so trustingly confident, it's a delight to witness them lining themselves up to await recognition and reward. Apart from enjoying the sight of our own puppies taking pleasure out of their daily rambles through the forest, other dogs' presence and personalities add to our enjoyment.

It took a while coming, edging closer day by day from the longest day of the year toward the shortest day of the year. In a six-month period we moved from dusk falling after 9:00 p.m. in the summer months to the present, where we've lost over four hours of daylight hours as our planet spins slowly on its axle tilting our hemisphere away from the sun. Now the long, laborious route back to full-light days will commence as of tomorrow, when winter finally arrives.

So far it's been an odd winter, much milder than what we're accustomed to, and though there's been ample precipitation it's been mostly in the form of rain, not snow. We had the beginning of a respectable snowpack that accumulated from late November to early December, then when we settled into a mild patch of weather, rain began washing the snow away. Ground that had been settled into frost began defrosting and an unwelcome appearance of clay-muck eventuated.

Winter in this northern hemisphere must have cold temperatures and the lack of snow thus far heading into December is hugely unusual. I can recall only one winter many decades ago when a similar situation emerged and people who celebrate Christmas were bereft of the snow that helps make the event a magical time of year. Still, people have put up their decorations, lights are blinking as soon as dusk falls, and colourful displays mark the traditional season.

We can hope that we're finally moving a way from the unusually mild temperatures and we'll be receiving some of our usual seasonal snowstorms. But they'll be too late for the holiday season. Cold and sunny is what we're headed for, and that too is something we can appreciate. With a daytime high of -6C today, Jackie and Jillie needed their little rubber boots to protect their tender pads, and off we went to the ravine for our afternoon hike.

The conditions of the past several weeks have led to the trails being completely iced over. Not a problem on a plateau, but certainly challenging on ascents and descents. When Irving was climbing one of the hillside trails, several large dogs swarmed him expectantly, threw him off kilter and he slid backward. Without upward momentum it's difficult even with cleats, to climb over ice. So down he went, and came back up on an alternate route.

Once firmly in control on the elevation he was able to satisfy the cookie-crazed pups' expectations. We saw a surprisingly large number of people out today, given the cold and the walking conditions, not to mention that dusk was settling in by 3:30 p.m. Jackie and Jillie had quite the exciting experience themselves surrounded by a passel of dogs, familiar and unfamiliar.

The view from the forest interior up at the sky under these conditions where the deciduous trees are naked of foliage and stand like dark sentries reaching up to the sky that has been transformed from a pale ocean-blue to a darker version approaching blue velvet, with the bright disk of the moon floating above, wanly illuminating the world below.

 

Well, that was quite the surprise this morning. Although not totally unexpected, since the forecast called for overnight or morning snow. And sure enough, when we came down for breakfast and looked out the front door, there it was! Despite foreknowledge, however, it's always a shock this early in the season -- late fall no less, not even winter by the calendar year -- to see an accumulation of snow.

Ordinarily a light snow event like this would speedily melt. But not today, since the temperature didn't budge above freezing. Besides which, there was no sun. The sky, in fact, was an overall, opaque white although no more snow fell during the day. On days like this there's little colour variation between the sky and the overall mantle of fallen snow.

 

First thing this morning, Irving shovelled snow off the deck, the stairs and the garden walkways. Jackie and Jillie were enthusiastic about the snow; they remember it well. They've always enjoyed it, unlike rain events, even on warm days. In our experience most dogs seem to like snow down on the ground, for whatever their reasons. Our little dogs have never divulged that secret, but we note how happy they are about it.

 

So out came their light winter coats. Their recent grooming has left their haircoat pretty short. But their body heat always seems to stand them in good stead. At -0C, the light coats will do to protect them from the cold, but when winter really does set in and the temperature plunges considerably lower, and bellicose winds blow, they'll be outfitted with much heavier, warmer coats.

The snow coating the forest canopy is a sight to behold, especially now, at this early stage of the changing season, even with winter officially more than a month away. We saw more people out with their dogs, everyone enjoying the altered landscape than we would normally come across. Many of them distant neighbours we haven't seen in ages.

 

By the time we completed our chosen circuit for the day, dusk was already settling in. And when we returned to the house, the standard lights in the garden were already on. Night falls earlier and earlier these days.

 

We're in spring. Spring that is, in the calendar year. Spring mode and mind as well, in eager anticipation of all that spring brings in renewal. We've been viewing a monochromatic white landscape for so long it's as though we're on the verge of forgetting what other colours look like in a landscape. Truth to tell, we're seeing the snowpack recede, but slowly. It's barely noticeable and we know how long it takes, year after year, for winter to finally grudgingly leave and spring to assert its fresh, new presence.

 

 

We also know, born of long experience that winter isn't over until it's over. And it's over when it eventually slinks off to nurse the grievance of under-appreciation. The piles of snow on our street reach high, accumulated over the winter months. Over people's gardens the snowpack remains about three to four feet in height, but where the lawns meet the road the snowpacks tower over me. They will take a long time yet, to melt. But here and there the effect of the sun sitting higher and warmer, along with milder daytime temperatures hovering at freezing are doing their work.

 

 

Yesterday came word that another snowstorm is on its way. To begin today and carry on through the night and into Sunday when the temperature is set to rise and snow will turn to rain; that's the forecast. By midday today, no snow. A few south-eastern states in our neighbour to the south have been hit by extremely high winds causing havoc and it is that weather system that began moving steadily toward Canada.

 

When we entered the ravine around half-past two this afternoon, all was calm. Frigid, despite the thermometer telling us it was 0C. And an icy wind as well. Fifteen minutes into our hike through the forest a few lazy snowflakes twirled out of the sky. And before we knew it we were engulfed in a blizzard of snow, windswept and icily smacking our faces. Jackie and Jillie's bright little blue and red coats, along with their topknots were soon covered with snow.

 

We saw only one other person out, with two dogs, like ourselves. Sightlines were obscured by a thick veil of snow, sometimes falling in thick clumps, but otherwise falling so thickly as though some giant hand had suddenly yanked an opaque curtain over the landscape, it was eerily beautiful. All around us the landscape was being converted back to winter, a pristine layer of new snow over everything.

The trails that had been so sloppy yesterday with melting snow and ice, today were firm and icy making for a much improved footing climbing and descending hills. Th exquisite beauty of the landscape was breathtaking. Winter telling us how much we'll miss it when it's really and truly gone.

 

When we were very young and lived in a community just north of Toronto in our first modest little house, Irving decided one day that he would build a little barn in the backyard. There he would house animals he was interested in. He wanted a dovecote and settled for a little barn into which he built shelving and separations, perches and cubby-holes for individual pigeons. On one side of the barn was a flight portion with perches where birds could remain outdoors but for the winter months. For pigeons is what he was interested in. On weekends we would drive to a rural country market where pigeon fanciers would gather.

There were also banty-hens, small chickens and roosters to which he also responded. We loved tohear the rooster crow in the mornings, and our neighbours never complained. And there too were to be had rabbits. We eventually acquired a Peking duck as a young duckling, and a Muscovy duck as well. The Peking duck became a responsive familiar and the Muscovy we soon discovered had a miserable temperament. Feeding and caring for the animals, cleaning up after them became a daily chore, one Irving devoted himself to in his leisure hours.

One day we bought a tiny Dutch, black-and-white rabbit and decided it would not join the others we had in the barn, but would live with us in the house. That little rabbit we named Benji. Any time I would open a shelving unit in the kitchen to extract a bread, Benji came hopping along. He loved ice cream, cheese and bread; opening the refrigerator door brought him on the hop as well. He slept under our bed, tearing up the carpeting there to suit his nesting instinct. 

In much later years, our daughter as an adult began to assemble a menagerie of animals of her own. She acquired a dog companion, then a cat, another dog, and a rabbit. She named that rabbit Benji. He hadn't the sweet temperament of our original Benji and would attack the dogs. That too is a long time ago. More recently, for the last several years, in this, our third house that we've now lived in for over 30 years, we've had a winter neighbour visit daily. He comes to visit because he knows that carrots will be put out for him. And he sits on the porch late in the day and in the evening, eating those carrots. We've named him Benji, bu dispensed with the III.

 

Unlike yesterday, today was a bit milder but not sunny. We had all-morning and afternoon snow. But in that temperature of 2C, as soon as the snow touched anything solid, it melted. Touching down on the huge winter snowpack however, it added its slight downy heft. Walking up our street with snow piled high on lawns is akin to walking through a refrigerated unit, with an icy blast radiating off the snowpack.

 

It's the same in the forest. There, the snowpack is well integrated, covering everything but the tree canopy and the creek running free at the bottom of the ravine. Because it was so mild today, when we went out with our little dogs to the forest for our usual afternoon hike, the snow was denaturizing, and the firm trails were soft and semi-slushy. Climbing uphill and descending those hills required effort in slip-backs. 

 

 

Jackie and Jillie wear their little rubber boots and will continue to, until the snowpack has melted some time next month. All the orange booties have been worn through and discarded. They're now wearing black rubber booties and they're scarcely to be noticed slipped over their tiny black paws, but they keep their paws insulated against the cold. They also keep their paws clean, requiring just a towel-wipe when we arrive back home.

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.