Although getting out for our daily hike through the woods is always a priority with us, it just so happened that yesterday brought us a lot of other priorities. We were aware, however, that the sunny day we saw before us with its mild temperature wasn't going to last. The daily weather report is something my husband never fails to check first off in the newspapers when he brings them in from our porch newspaper hooks every morning.

We knew that the temperature flirting with us at a relatively balmy -4C which meant that Jackie and Jillie would be fine out in the ravine without their little rubber boots would soon begin to dip until a truly icy -19C was reached, at which time none of us would relish our usual romp through the ravine trails. All the more so since accompanying those clear blue skies was a cutting wind.

It was, furthermore, a wind that gusted up to 50 kmh from time to time, really reminding us as though we could forget, that it's winter, after all, and a winter presumably as 'average' as any we've long been accustomed to, living in this northern climate of ours. Still, it took us until middling-to-late afternoon before we were able to get out.

Jackie and Jillie wouldn't exactly be heartbroken if we missed a day's walk, but the lack of real exercise would affect them. It does so in not-so-mysterious ways. As in, for example, damping down their appetites. Even while they'd manage to amuse themselves and play together and urge us to play with them in the house, the energy output would never equal even a short ravine walk.

One of the compelling reasons for us to haul them out to the forest environment is to ensure that they're in good health, and of course the slop-over of that is that it does the same for us. They're in fine fettle, feeling energized and up to par when we return from our walks.

 Often, despite a vigorous and entertaining romp through the forest they return home and begin to challenge one another to boxing matches with Jackie supplying a running commentary. The kind of amusing wrestling bouts and madcap run-abouts they engaged in as puppies continue to motivate them from time to time to hi-jinks that captivate us with their spontaneous expressions of joy.

As for yesterday's walk, the piercing wind more than made up for the milder temperature. But the sun, where it fully penetrates, made for some pretty interesting contrasts in the snowpack and the surrounding forest. And whereas the previous days we had come across so many other trail hikers and dogs, yesterday there were none.

It was our forest, and ours alone, to enjoy, admire and revel in and we made the most of it. The privilege of constant and close access to such a wonderful landscape is immeasurable in its value for quality of life.

We never cease to be surprised in our daily forays into the wooded ravine we access adjacent the street where our house stands. There now are infrequent times when we enter the forest trails and fail to come across anyone else out for a stroll through the woods, with or without companion dogs. Only a few years back we would be the only people out there for days on end.

How things have changed. When one of the tallest of the heights in the ravine succumbed after heavy rains and began to slump down into the valley below, filling up the creek running through it with detritus and trees that slid down the slopes, the municipality reached the decision to invest millions in remediation.

To that end, most of that hillside was deforested, professional tree fellers came in to take down most of the trees and to haul off those that had fallen into the ravine or cracked with the stress of the slump and there was a regular ferrying of timber out of the ravine, with huge trucks hauling out the felled trees that had served us so well as forest inhabitants for so many years.

That denuding of the hillside was followed by heavy construction that worked to pound long, sturdy iron masts into bedrock to stabilize the  hill and prevent it from crumbling any further into the ravine. The waterway at the bottom of the ravine is used by the municipality as a storm run-off to prevent streets and houses above from flooding during heavy rains. So what we lost in a small portion of the natural surroundings we so much value was transformed into a heavy-duty local storm run-off system.

Using the ravine and its creek for that purpose, of course, pre-dated the slump which threatened to take down some of the houses across the street from ours which had been built too close to the slopes, and the slump most certainly took with it a small proportion of some peoples' backyards. The concern was that the ground might have been so destabilized that it threatened the stability of the house foundations. People were ordered to evacuate their homes and weren't able to return until almost six months later when the work was finally close to completion.

And when it was, the newly contoured slope of the hillside was reforested. It takes a lot to become accustomed to the new, open look of the slope while the new trees slowly grow. It will take many years for them to reach maturity. We still haven't become accustomed to the vacuum left by the absence of that part of the forest. But it's only a brief space, until we plunge into the ravine and the trails take us off much further to other areas that remained untouched by the unusual number of downpours we had experienced the spring that the hillside gave way, several years ago.

In the reconfiguring of the hill, however, a new trail was placed through and alongside, and it stretches the distance to a major road. So there is a new entrance to the ravine and the forested area of a quite large suburban area of this capital city. People who live further afield began increasingly venturing into the forest out of curiosity, using the new trail, and many unfamiliar faces began to pop up from that time forward.

On our ravine hike yesterday on a beautiful, mild winter day we came across a number of people whom we'd never before seen, to add to those that we see on occasion, sometimes never to see them again, and on occasion to recognize them as new, regular trail hikers. Most often they're people like ourselves, who value these excursions for the opportunity they present to expose our companion dogs to the outdoors without having to walk them on noisy, busy streets.

Good for their appreciation for exposure to a wonderful natural resource, and our own peace of mind, strolling through such a (usually) tranquil and beautiful landscape.

Jackie and Jillie playing follow-the-leader, leaving us behind....

We always derive pleasure from our woodland walks, but some days those excursions, due to a combination of various circumstances, are recalled with more satisfaction than others. Yesterday was just such a day. It helped immeasurably that it was a mild day with the temperature soaring to 2C, with no discernible wind, albeit heavily overcast.

The light snowfall events of the past few days, though each accounted for no more than four or five, even two centimetres of snow, made for a nice, deep cushion on the forest floor, transforming the icy trails from potential danger to absolute comfort, enabling us to stride along freely with full confidence that we were in no danger of slipping and falling.

The conditions that had prevailed days back when the trails were ribbons of sheer ice that even our booted cleats couldn't penetrate kept a lot of people out of the ravine. There's quite a few retirees in the neighbourhood around the extensive ravine and its forest who make daily treks into our privileged natural resource and it seemed they came out in full numbers with the return of safe purchase underfoot.

Not everyone is interested in exploring the full extent of the intersecting trails. Many of the area streets which give entrance to different parts of the ravine remain on level, flat ground so people are able to take advantage of short circuits, bypassing the descents that are so prevalent throughout the ravine, taking ample satisfaction of their brief encounters with nature.

That's not our habit and never has been. When we first encountered this treasure of a forest we used to energetically spurt through the trails, advancing much further distances than we cover now. Some of those old trails we used to take advantage of, however, no longer exist in areas where the geology is accustomed over time to shedding its slopes in bursts of weather-caused slumps.

In any event, yesterday's circuit was beyond pleasant. And we came across so many of our friends doing as we were, enjoying the weather and the landscape, and setting forward across the wider stretches of the forest's trails. We generally stop to spend a surprising amount of time on various types of discussions, depending upon whom we come across and our relations gained over time with various individuals, all of which adds to the pleasure derived in the walk.

Little Munchkin

People tend to divulge personal information and each becomes acutely aware of personalities and circumstances and the need to commiserate or congratulate as the case may be. One person we came across was an older woman who lives at the foot of the street we live on and whom we've known for almost thirty years. Her husband, 15 years her senior, is now living in a 'retirement home', and she, living alone for the first time in thirty years, is happy at that turn of events.

She was walking little Munchkin, a tiny long-haired Dachshund, whom she cares for in the absence of its owners who are off for a two-month stay in Australia -- themselves also neighbours living down our street -- visiting with their daughter, son-in-law and their children. She waxed enthusiastic over the fact that she has no need to have a dog of her own for company and pleasure, since she walks little Munchkin herself daily even when the little dog's owners are about.

Another couple has just bidden farewell to their single 31-year-old daughter visiting from Montreal who had brought along her large, frisky GoldenDoodle. And we exchanged stories of how our children are so endearingly eager to cook for us as a treat, producing exotic meals with strange hot spices, and how now that they're grown and so mature they're aware of the courtesy of picking up after themselves and how pleasant that is...

There is nothing short of a gentle state of melancholy that washes over us in the absence of loved ones. When our children come for a visit, the time passes so swiftly. And when that time comes as it must and as it does all-too-soon to say our goodbyes once again, the sobering reality of physical distance clangs its dissonance in our souls.

We look forward with great anticipation to the date they will arrive and when we meet them at the train terminal, bus station or airport, it is always in a state of exuberant joyfulness. And then, just a short time later -- a matter of a week or two -- our emotions are once again plunged into the dismal realization that yet another separation looms.

It is, of course, life as it happens. Children lead their own lives; they should and they will and their parents expect and applaud it. They require total independence once parents have exposed their children to the values and the qualities in the management of life, to set out on their own and make of their lives what they will. Parents wish nothing more for their children than fulfillment and satisfaction and nothing less than confidence in the future and the kind of happiness in life that everyone deserves.

Always back-of-mind, these realizations and acceptances, as when we parted once again with our youngest child yesterday morning. The very atmosphere of the house becomes charged with their presence when they're there. And the house itself seems to settle into a state of slight confusion in their absence. Then once again life assumes its normal rhythms and everyone returns to what is currently their usual state of being.

Jackie and Jillie ask no questions. They may, in their own way, wonder why suddenly there are four of us again when there was just so recently five. But they adjust swiftly as do we eventually, after murmuring to ourselves quietly how strange it all is, the transformation so palpable we could reach out and touch it. And we do, smiling at one another, speaking silently and hugging with the joy of our union.

Then we head out for an afternoon walk in the forest to soothe our bruised souls. And the forest does its very best to accommodate. It offers us the splendour of its sparkling-white snowbound loveliness. It offer us the opportunity to enjoy the solitude of the forest. It affords us the pleasure of striding along forest trails cushioned by a newfallen layer of snow.

And in watching the acrobatic antics of our two little dogs it reminds us that there are so many things in our lives for which we have great reason to be grateful, for our good fortune is manifest in the longevity of our marriage, and the celebration of our love for one another.

There was a time when no extremes of temperature fazed us. We'd just dress with extra layers against the cold and set out, confident that the energy we expended would more than compensate for the cold and keep us decently comfortable. That, however, was when we had energy to burn and more. Say, up until two decades ago, when in our early 60s we could barrel right along.

Different story now. We move at a more moderate pace, and if a lot of energy has been expended, say a long climb up a snowy hill, we take a moment to rest when we reach the top before carrying on. While our younger son has been with us he has accommodated himself to our pace, but it comes at a cost to him; the slower the pace, the greater the infiltration of cold and the piercing fingers of the wind.

Usually, after he's accompanied us on a ravine hike through the forest he straps on his cross-country skies (he maintains skis and boots here as well as a bicycle, for his visits with us) and goes out to do some serious skiing, ranging much further afield than we tend to do. In this way fulfilling in part his own energy-expenditure needs and exposure to other landscapes while facing welcome physical challenges.

We'd had another overnight modest snowfall of about four centimeters the night before and the temperature had dropped from its benevolent zero centigrade to minus-16, rising to a barely-tolerable (for us) minus-14C by afternoon, with just enough of a wind to make for a bit of discomfort, despite the sun peering through the clouds from time to time.

It was still early in the afternoon when we set out to the ravine to enjoy a cold but beautiful-to-behold forest landscape. At the very start we came across a couple who also hike regularly like us, Tom and Terry with their daughter visiting from Montreal who had brought along her LabraDoodle mix, a big furry bundle of excitement at being in the forest landscape. Terry asked about the birthday card she had placed in our porch mailbox, but I hadn't seen it since we rarely look there given that Canada Post delivers to a group mailbox located at the entrance to the ravine.

But she had hugs she wanted to share with me and that was better than any card. By this time our son had caught up with us since we'd left quite a bit before he was ready. We've gone through the ravine on many occasions with him on skis and us hiking along, but Jackie and Jillie can be difficult at such times; they don't understand nor appreciate those long appendages that suddenly spring to life, and tend to run after the skis, barking furiously the while.

In any event, the conditions for skiing were pretty awful and it soon became apparent it wasn't going to happen. So our son made his way back up the first hill and went off in another direction entirely where the ravined forest continues across a major street and where skiing conditions are much improved, allowing him to have an enjoyable outing on his own.

We continued on, the wind whipping across our faces, but managing to hold our own despite the penetrating cold. Jackie and Jillie were exuberant as usual with their daily trail ramble, poking themselves here and there through the trees and the thicker layers of snow on the forest floor off-trail, their little rubber boots keeping them comfortable and protected against the ice and snow, enabling us all to enjoy another winter day in this frequently-unforgiving climate of ours.

It's always pleasantly exciting to welcome a new snowfall. And the snow that fell, though not copiously on Monday night along with rising temperatures was more than welcome. We needed both to combat the conditions imposed on this landscape of ours in the last several weeks with weather conditions conspiring wickedly to leave us with all surfaces lacquered in a thick layer of ice, so hard and treacherous it was impervious to the spikes on our cleats pulled over our boots.

People had ample horror stories to tell of close encounters with the peril of slipping, sliding and tumbling on the icy surfaces. And needless to say local hospitals were kept busy tending to people arriving with the results of bad falls. It's particularly worrisome, of course, for the elderly who venture out of doors in urban centers in the hopes of doing a little grocery shopping for themselves, half-expecting the enterprise will land them in trouble, and finding in many instances those expectations to have been predictively accurate.

As for us, we were delighted once we emerged from the house. We evaluated the situation, bearing in mind that though the morning had dawned with a 0C temperature with a nice, but modest 4cm snow covering, the first thing we would be well advised to do to celebrate the new year of 2019 would be to venture out immediately for a leisurely and beautiful-to-behold walk in the woods, then have our breakfast on our return.

The reason being was that the weather forecast was for the winds to pick up to considerable gusts much beyond what the morning had brought, and the temperature to plunge to -14C. So off we went, to the great excitement of Jackie and Jillie who had found, like us, that walking along the street to begin a tour of local byways and encountering noisy road traffic rather than the peaceful serenity of a forest was definitely not to our liking.

The soft, evanescent blinking of new snow on the trees capturing what light was available under a pewter sky always makes us catch our breath with its bewitching qualities. Our boots crunched securely into stabilizing snow, though the underlying ice manifested itself visually from time to time, but our confidence had been restored in our ability to remain upright and we simply set aside the concerns we'd nursed so recently about broken bones.

Soon conditions began to change, as stray fingers of sunlight haphazardly stroked their presence through the forest canopy briefly illuminating the snow before once again disappearing. The clouds were beginning to break up and from time to time the sun could be seen doing its utmost to cast its brilliance over the snowy landscape.

We came across a handful of other trail walkers, all enjoying the atmosphere, everyone fully appreciative of the wonderful opportunities we have so close at hand to nature's best qualities. Jackie spurted everywhere in his anxiety not to miss anything, and it's doubtful there were any 'messages' left in the snow and the floor of the forest shrubbery that he failed to interpret.

The soft snow captured the sounds of our voices, our son and my husband speaking of many things together as we all strode with comfort and confidence through the trails, each one of us at various times pointing out areas of interest to everyone else. My husband again pointed out the beauty of the bittersweet vine's berries now outlined in snow as it twined its way up and around tree branches. The creek tributaries remained frozen but now had a thin layer of melted ice overtop.

Our son pointed out the swaying tree canopy as the wind sent its brute strength through the masts of tall old conifers. From time to time the sound of two trees clacking together informing of the strength of the gusts produced their unique forest chorus. In the distance there was a hoarse cry of a raven. A pileated woodpecker rattled somewhere off in the forest, its metronomic cadence telling us it wasn't too far away.

At one time our daughter had the care and responsibility of looking after eleven dogs of all shapes, sizes, breeds. Most were rescue dogs. Some she adopted after caring for them temporarily while they awaited permanent homes, but were never taken into other families. They ranged in size from a  Chihuahua and a toy Pomeranian to a rescue from Nunavut, a cross between a Malamute and a German Shepherd which had been abandoned as a puppy. One of the dogs was a boxer that had been horribly maltreated and that resulted in a lifetime (his) of violent attitudes toward other dogs though he made fast friends with the Chihuahua.

As will happen with dogs, they grow old all too soon. All of the dogs with few exceptions were young when they joined our daughter's household. And her home, of necessity to be enabled to keep so many dogs without violating municipal bylaws, had to be in a country setting, which determined where she would live. As it was she had to take out a special license even then so she could keep them all without coming afoul of any bylaws.

Her home, on just over five acres of land, an old converted log schoolhouse that saw service in the 1860s, since updated to a house, gave ample room for the dogs to roam about freely though they always chose to be indoors unless our daughter was with them. One by one she lost them as they died of old age. She now has just the Chihuahua, elderly and wanting nothing much more than to rest and sleep, and a 13-year-old part German Shepherd slowing down considerably.

They visited with us last Saturday and that was the first of three days in succession that we found ourselves locked out of a ravine walk. Our daughter's dog Sara had somehow fallen and twisted her hind end in their house of all places a few days earlier and was still in some discomfort. We thought at first she could walk in the ravine on the forest trails on leash, but because the trails were icy, we had to think differently and forgo a walk for that day.

As it happened, the weather continued to give us icy conditions underfoot. The succeeding two days, Sunday and then Monday, saw us forced to take Jackie and Jillie for walks on the street, around the block sort of thing, an exposure that confused them and displeased us, even as an alternative for the opportunity to get some fresh air and a bit of exercise for our limbs. When we'd ventured into the ravine under those unusually icy conditions, it became speedily clear that even the icers over our boots failed to grip the glacial ice deposit on the forest floor, leading us to a speedy exit.

Ah, but last night, finally, there was some snow; not much, just 6cm, but snow withal. And the temperature had risen to zero degrees, although there was a good wind. So we decided, we and our son and Jackie and Jillie to hie ourselves out to the ravine before breakfast to take full advantage of these new conditions and enjoy a long walk through the forest trails, and that's just what we did.

Our rare disappointment of the past several days of being locked out of the forest due to dangerous conditions lifted, and as we hiked along the newly-snowed trails, we heard a raven, made out countless tracks on the fresh snow of various little furred animals, and came across other hiking acquaintances as pleased as we were to be out there in that gorgeous landscape, able to negotiate our way up and down hill with no problems whatsoever.