I happened to be looking through the Leisure section of our local newspaper on Wednesday which features recipes, and occasionally I'll discover one that appeals to me. This was a recipe for peanut butter cookies and it was different in that among the ingredients listed was ground roasted peanuts. I didn't keep the recipe, but I did retain the idea of grinding up peanuts, and yesterday I took out the old coffee grinder that I use exclusively for grinding flax seeds. I thought that, while I was about it, I'd grind up a half-cup of flax seeds, along with a cup of peanuts and think up my own recipe.

And I did just that. I used a half-cup of Becel margarine, a half-cup of chunky peanut butter, a half-cup each of dark brown and granulated sugar, a jumbo-sized egg, a tsp.vanilla and beat it together, then began adding a cup of unbleached white flour, dash of salt, 2 tsp.baking powder, and last of all the ground peanut and flax I'd mixed together. What resulted was a fairly firm dough, firm enough so I could form nice round balls to place on cookie sheets. Then I cut pitted dates in half and stuck a half-date atop each of the cookie balls, and baked them for 28 minutes in a 350F oven.

They're about the best cookies I've ever made. Not sweet, full of flavour, texturally light, both crisp and soft and with that indefinable 'healthy' taste that lingers with food containing nutritionally good whole ingredients.

I was preparing to make oven-baked sole fillets for dinner, along with 'potato chips' done on a greased cookie sheet in a hot oven, and the obligatory but fresh and fully-appreciated vegetable salad, with strawberries and apricots for dessert, so a cookie (or two or three) afterward seemed just about right.

Soon as the cookies were removed from the oven we prepared for our afternoon walk in the ravine with patient little Jackie and Jillie. The night-time lows continue to be anywhere from -14C to -20C, with the day-time highs running around -10C to -6C, so they continue to need those little rubber booties to ensure their feet don't freeze and they can run about carefree, enjoying their sprints through the snow-and-ice-packed forest trails.

We had yet another sunny day yesterday, which doesn't quite make up in comfort for the wind that makes the cold temperature feel much more extreme, but does add to the beauty of the surrounding landscape. This wasn't a day when we saw very many other people and dogs out and about in the forest. Whenever we reach high spots in the ravine where Jackie and Jillie can look down below at the trails and bridges spanning the creek, they're on the lookout for other dogs. None to be seen yesterday, however.

 

We were fairly surprised yesterday afternoon at the number of people we came across along with their dogs, most known to us, a few not, while we were out on the forest trails. Weekdays are often pretty quiet in the ravine, although we know of quite a few regular ravine-hikers who are retired. For one thing, it wasn't the most weather-welcoming of days.

We seem to be pretty stuck in an Arctic-air cycle that just doesn't want to move. Even Toronto had a day that hit -10C yesterday. That was our daytime high, but there was also a cutting wind, intrusive enough to be felt throughout the forest trails where we more often find shelter from prevailing winds down in the ravine but for the relatively open areas on the ravine heights.

We came across a young woman with a real teddy-bear of a giant poodle mix, a genial, carefree customer who wanted nothing better than to romp happily along the trails, back and forth, curious about Jackie and Jillie, but quick to move on to discover other new interesting things. Might have been its first time in the ravine. He was a real beauty.

And then next up was a happy little black Lab, still in his puppy stages whose pleasure at the surprises that life keeps throwing at her makes him insatiable for more of the same. She whips back and forth across the trails, inviting our two now-more-sedate companions to follow her as she snakes her way everywhere, a whiplash of constant motion. We know her two people, they had pretty bad luck healthwise with their two other dogs and were in despair at one point that they could do nothing but try to alleviate the pain the younger of the two was in before he died; the other of old age.

The trails are considerably widened. All it takes is a week from the last of the big snowstorms for enough people and dogs to go through to tamp them down and make them more accessible. Truth to tell, the weather has been so unstable the effects of the all-day rainfall that preceded the last monster snowstorm is still obvious in the unevenness of the trail. An unevenness that has been exacerbated by conditions that led to ice covering everything.

We've had a few small snowstorms since but not enough of a sustainable pack to fill in the gaps and straighten out the trails. Not to complain, however, the footing is still good. We estimate that we're walking on a winter-elevated forest floor densely steeped in about 2-1/2 to three feet of accumulation. That will mean a lot of snow to melt when we finally enter milder days, and as the sun keeps gaining spring strength.

We had almost completed our circuit yesterday, heading for the last long hill up to street level, when I stopped on a narrow trail we were ascending, to take a photograph because though we'd been hiking under partially overcast skies with light flurries, out came the sun, and I wanted to capture it. I heard my husband shout something to me, but with my impaired hearing it took a bit for me to fully grasp that he was warning me.

The two giants of the ravine, the black part-Great Dane and its Bull Mastiff companion had burst onto the scene as they tend to do. My husband wanted me to be alert to them; they had, on a previous occasion bumped me sprawling on my backside on the trail. But though he had alerted me, it was my husband who was the recipient of the treatment this time and down he went. It's always the Mastiff, its companion tends to skirt as much as possible hitting anyone. They're gentle dogs but unaware of their strength, which is considerable.

My husband had the impression that when the Mastiff saw him sprawled down on his seat it seemed puzzled, simply not making the connection. Thankfully, no harm done. Eventually the dogs' human companion hoves into view, but never makes any effort to control them, trusting that people and their dogs will look after themselves, we suppose. In essence, an irresponsible pet owner; good thing those dogs are not inclined to be otherwise-troublesome, though they do frighten people not familiar with them.

The hospital employs vigorous young men to organize their overcrowded parking lot and act as valets. When you enter, you stop the car, lean over to take a ticket, wait for the gate to lift, then drive through aisle after aisle in the parking lot in a vain effort to find a parking spot. They're all occupied. There are cars in front of you, cars behind you, all searching for that elusive spot. On occasion someone leaves and then the vehicle most fortunate to be closest to the emptying spot takes it. A victory!

You're approached by one of the helpful young men who either tells you where you can look elsewhere in the lot or drive nearby to an overflow lot and hope to have better luck there. Or he can take your keys as you give him verbal permission to park -- which is to say, double-park, in the lanes not a parking spot but directly behind parked cars, alongside the myriad of others -- and you're free to enter the hospital for your appointment. On your return you show any of the busy young men in the lot the slip you've been given so they can retrieve your vehicle for you, or show you where it has ended up. They're very genial, very helpful.

We had some luck. We'd driven down a few of the aisles and quickly ascertained with the coming and going and mounting numbers of vehicles being placed alongside parked cars that the system was seriously overloaded yesterday morning, when lo and behold, there was a van backing up, and out and since we were most directly adjacent it awaiting just such an opportunity, took it.

Earlier, before we left the house, Jackie and Jillie in their mysterious way knew something was afoot and we'd be leaving them alone in the house, after their breakfast. Ours would await our return. It hardly matters whether we're away ten minutes or ten hours, their heartbreak at abandonment is the same. And on our return a passionately emotional greeting awaits us. I had an appointment at the Eye Clinic to see the ophthalmologist who had last operated on my left eye. It was just common cataract surgery for an aging population and it's handled in our universal health-care system like a well-geared industry.

When we returned home, not all that much time having elapsed between our leaving and our return, we had breakfast, sharing our breakfast with our heart-mended companions. And then we left for the ravine. It was cold still, -6C, with wind, alternating between sun and overcast with a few snow sprinkles added for good measure.

Hiking through the ravine is a sure-fire method of restoring one's emotional equilibrium. You set aside the disturbing things you've seen, experienced and felt move you, to focus on the landscape surrounding you. The snow, newly enhanced with large, fat new flakes, the unevenness of the trail requiring a modicum of attention, the antics of your two little dogs as they proceed before you and the background overall of the winter forest.

Wending our way through the forest trails we come across an unending series of variant points of interest, each highlighting in their own way something different than the others before them. We're familiar with them all, after the time that has passed when we made our first pioneering pass through the forest trails, marvelling at the experience. And although we're familiar with them, there's most often something different distinguishing each of these disparate sites from day to day so that we never stop marvelling at seasonal nature's presentations.

Each of the clinics at the hospital teems with people requiring special attention for their medical conditions; chronic or newly diagnosed and transitory. The hospital corridors are full of doctors, nurses, technicians, going back and forth in their timeless work to help the health-afflicted, and that's reassuring. It's the sight of the infirm, the feeble, the hesitant elderly, the puzzled younger contingent, the frail-vulnerable in wheelchairs and those whose osteoporosis curvature signals the Old Crone syndrome that confronts one's consciousness into a mild state of awareness and depression. You are there, not necessarily where you'd prefer to be, but because your own health mandates it.

Out in the forest with Jackie and Jillie we are provided with relief from the spectacle we left behind us. We may comment on our impressions and our resulting emotions, but briefly, turning our attention instead -- and restoratively -- to the landscape surrounding us, comforting us.

One of the most invariably-cheerful of the ravine hikers we've known for awhile whose companion is a beautifully proportioned-and-coated short-haired pointer told us when we came across him yesterday that we're due for at least another week of sub-zero temperatures and windy gales along with snow and then March is presumably going to calm down and relent, bidding the harshest winter elements adieu for another year. That famous old saying ... we'll believe it when we see it?

No complaints about the amount of sunshine we've been greeted with daily in between the overcast and snowstorms, though. As for the cold, well, it's winter, even if it's proving to be a harsher winter weather-wise than is considered 'normal' here. Winters always seem to drag on in this area, arriving earlier than elsewhere and departing much, much later than all reasonable expectations.

On Sunday there were ample people about despite the cold and the wind, airing their lungs, enjoying the landscape, getting some notable exercise heaving themselves up and down the hillsides and exposing their dogs to the sublime pleasures of a natural woodland setting. As a result, for the last two days Jackie and Jillie have been exposed to opportunities to play with other dogs far more frequently than usually occurs.

And in the process we've come across people we've never seen before, like the woman walking two very small, snowy-white Shih Tzu-type dogs, just as rambunctious as any large, energetic dogs, and as assertive as two little dogs can be. It was amusing to see the two -- one considerably smaller than the other -- mingling with our two black, long-legged poodles in their getting-acquainted ceremony.

At one point on Sunday we were suddenly confronted with a large dog with some lab in her, with a reddish-golden coat who erupted from the valley below the crest we were walking on, curious about all the barking coming from Jackie and Jillie and eager to play. She was soon followed by a young woman and then a young man bearing a beautiful 14-month-old little girl in a backpack, smiling happily at the commotion around her. Made me think of all the times we'd done the same with our granddaughter, and she's now 24.

People were out just having a good time. Our faces and noses were pinched with cold, the wind whipping the cold across our faces despite our hoods meant to break the wind, but everyone looked happy. Not that there's a fierce traffic of people going by on the trails; in an hour of trekking if we see three people we consider that a lot.

But when we do come across others, they usually exhibit an elevated mood. That's the thing though, about setting out for a hike through a forest; irrespective of your mood when you begin, by the time you've exhausted the trail, your feelings have reached an emotional state of placidity and satisfaction with life; cares smoothed gently over, and calm settling nicely into one's attitude. It's a respite, a balm for the soul.

We'd gone out right after breakfast on Monday because of the weather report that claimed the high for the day at -2C (though it was -14C when we came down for breakfast, then quickly warmed up; our electronic thermometers play a game of 'fooled you!' with us when the sun shines directly on them, one in the frint of the house, the other at the back, so we can never quite credit the values they give us) and with an increasingly blasting wind to make the afternoon a little comfortable. So we meant to avoid that. It certainly felt much colder when we were out there.

On the other hand, that's quite explicable. The snowpack is so high and voluminous that it radiates cold constantly into the greater atmosphere, and we catch it when we're out there. And some of the valleys seem colder than the trails at the height of the ravine where there is greater exposure to the rays of the sun shining through the forest canopy.

One thing is certain; when the melt does begin we're likely to have a frenzy of flooding everywhere and the creek will become a roaring, frothing runway of snowmelt racing its way down to the river. Fine for ducks passing through and the occasional Great Blue Heron, not so good for little dogs which, in their curiosity, could be swept down by the roiling rush. Just as glad that Jackie and Jillie have never expressed an interest in wading through the creek.

Infamously, winter has a well-earned reputation in this the northern climate that we inhabit, of resistance to pleas regarding overstaying its welcome. Oh, we welcome winter when it first arrives; it relieves us of the dismal, dark and stark landscape that late fall places us in once the colour has dissipated, the foliage disappeared from deciduous trees and the ground turned to muck from continual freeze-and-thaw cycles before the advent of frost entering the ground for the following four months.

When winter arrives the sun returns, and snowstorms decorate the area beautifully and we are enthralled and children and winter-sport enthusiasts acclaim the entry of winter dispatching the gloom of late autumn. But after while, as in all things when variety ceases and same-old increases, we wonder when the icy-cold, the blasting winds and the incessant ice-storms and snowfalls will surrender to spring.

Not yet. Yes, it's March, but we're still gripped in winter; night-time lows still average -14C. And winter shows no signs of loosening that grip. When we were out in the ravine yesterday -- before we even got that far, on the road leading to the ravine entrance -- it was abundantly clear that icy surfaces were all we would encounter. When the municipality sent heavy equipment to score the inches-thick glare ice on the road it did help somewhat. But 'somewhat' is the operative here.

And in the ravine the forest trails remain well iced. Woe betide any who venture there without the assistance of cleats to maintain grip on that surface when boots touch ice and the inclination is to lose control and balance. They're well advised to remain on the upper, flat areas and confine themselves there. Falling on the accumulated snowpack isn't bad, I've done it often, but there's no guarantee where one will fall, in which direction and what will be hit; protruding stumps, hard icy surfaces, or benign, relatively soft snowpack. So ascending and descending hills in the ravine has its hazards.

But there were plenty out yesterday with their dogs and occasionally with children, on the trails. The high was -4C, with a lighter wind, though it felt damp and that adds to the feeling of cold. We did wake this morning to a light sprinkling of new snow, about 4 cm, which yesterday's humidity presaged. We came across a two-year-old toddler so bundled in snowgear he could make little headway up one of the hills, his father carrying the child's sled, and their faithful German Shepherd accompanying them alongside.

Other than that we came across a few little terriers (and a Dalmatian) with an overabundance of energy given only to puppies in their formative years, when ripping across a natural landscape in an ecstasy of freedom and love of life and the mysteries to be discovered around every corner would soften the heart of even the most sociopathic of individuals. So Jackie and Jillie had the opportunity to do a little socializing throughout our hike.

Just as we crossed the last bridge fording the creek in the ravine on our way to the long uphill clamber to street level, my husband called out to me and startled, I turned and fleetingly saw four ducks flying at low level to an open portion of the otherwise-frozen creek, to settle there. A nice conclusion to a pleasant afternoon walk in the ravine. We don't think there's too much ducks will feed on in the creek and without doubt they'll head toward the Ottawa River, still frozen, but open directly adjacent to the large water-sewage treatment and filtration operation plant that serves the area.

I've been nudging my husband for years to get himself a new computer. Jackie, when he was a few months old had taken a liking to the computer and had chewed off some of its keys. My husband was more careful after that, where he left his mini laptop and just dismissed the nuisance of the missing keys; they weren't critical. Since then the computer has groaned on for three more years, cantankerous and opinionated. It obviously felt entitled to behave badly whenever the mood seemed to strike.

More latterly frequent messages of no more space popped up. So I began deleting a whole lot of stuff that had been downloaded. My husband has never been attentive to the need to clean up files from time to time; computer-housekeeping never very high in his list of to-dos.  It was good for another six months. Then those same messages reappeared and I checked the defragmentation option along with deleting files, and neither responded, so we drew the conclusion that the clapped-out old computer was corrupted beyond any hoped-for remediation on our part.

He went shopping yesterday, after scrutinizing the chain stores' advertising for their electronic devices. He does this kind of thing anyway, every week, knowing he would eventually have to relent and spring for a replacement, but now the decision had been forced upon him. So he brought back his new mini laptop. He'd done his due diligence on online sites to determine what might best serve his purposes. And price was a decided factor; he hadn't any intention of buying something pricey. To begin with he uses his computer for listening to lectures; cultural, social, political and at night, drawing on old police drama series from Britain, Germany, Norway.

With Windows 10, Cortana made the initial set up as a ]wizard instructor' really easy through voice commands. And the rest was up to me, since I'm a little better versed in computer use than my husband, (which isn't saying much), so I set him up and tutored him in the basics of that version of Window. We use our computers frequently, he and I, he mostly for information and entertainment, me for news and blogging. We don't ever watch television though we borrow films from the public library to view once a week. We are, however, avid book readers, always have been and always will be. Neither of us can imagine a life without books. Informatively, entertainingly, spurring cerebral function, building vocabulary, becoming a more well-balanced human being...all of that and more.

Our love of reading is matched by our love of the out-of-doors, and though our age now inhibits us from the kind of strenuous physical action we once took in mountain climbing, wilderness camping, canoeing and hiking, our daily ritual is never complete without a good vigorous hike in the ravine close to where our house is located. And that's where our little dogs, Jackie and Jillie, come in, as spurs to that commitment and as treasured companions in a shared occupation of touching nature.

Yesterday's hike took place under a full, blue sky, the sun glinting its golden rays through the forest canopy, on a -4C-degree day of wind that had picked up to the point where it felt like being lashed when it struck across our faces as we progressed across a criss-cross of forest trails, having decided we would take a longer-than-usual circuit for our winter walk, given more clement winter conditions then we've experienced of late this winter.

At one point we came across a miniature poodle, the size and colour of one we're more familiar with named Max, and this little fellow was just beside himself with exuberant joy to be out in the woods, romping off in all directions, stopping briefly for a tussle with Jackie before sprinting off again. His human told us how guilty he felt about not taking his little charge out more frequently this winter and his surprise at discovering the presence of the ravine though he'd lived in the neighbourhood for years. It was bringing a puppy into his home that alerted him to the necessity to find places where his little dog could be free to enjoy a natural surrounding.

We, on the other hand, knew 27 years ago before we moved to our current house, that the ravine existed since it can be seen in all its summer-green leafy glory from the street we live on. We found the trails in the forest after dipping into the ravine wonderfully inviting to the point where we no longer felt so compelled to get into the car to drive to other destinations we frequented, like Gatineau Park over in Quebec, in its vast and natural setting of lakes and forests where we introduced our children to hiking, canoeing, snowshoeing and skiing when they were young, forty years ago.

Area hospitals are busy enough, their emergency wards crowded with people awaiting attention in the aftermath of accidents and seasonal maladies. Winter roads in this area can be quite the challenge, and accidents do occur, predictably. The flu and other illnesses at peak season call on hospitals and their staff to do their utmost to meet the demand on their services.

And of course, there is the inevitable occurrence of pedestrian accidents, when people out walking about, particularly in the downtown core, happen to slip on the icy surfaces left after storms and more particularly this year after weather unusual in its frequency and intensity. I happened to read in local news that the municipality has rented as a pilot project mechanical contraptions meant to score through the ice on sidewalks.

Yesterday, we heard the typical racket of heavy trucks going by on the street and thought little of it. However, when we geared ourselves and Jackie and Jillie up for our daily trundle up our icy street toward the entrance to the ravine for our forest-trail hike-about, it was immediately clear what that noise was all about. Indeed, the thick icy surface of the road no longer appeared as glacially glassy as heretofore.

Whatever equipment had been placed on the plow that went repeatedly up and down the street, did score the ice, thus rendering it somewhat less treacherous than it had been. I had thought that since it was a completely sunny day and the temperature had soared to -4C (somewhat colder in the ravine) that combination might work to soften the ice surface, but of course it wouldn't and it hadn't done so.

But the scoring, though it was merely surface, did help since it threw bits of ice to the side of the score-marks and any kind of interference on the slippery-ice surface helps one's footing. And this, mind, with the use of cleats strapped securely over one's boots, giving a bit of bite and traction. In any event, as a result, our trek back and forth on the street was somewhat less fraught than it had been on previous excursions.

The sun was absolutely radiant, and now that it's higher in the sky, at mid-day and beyond it shines directly down on the forest canopy, easily penetrating ground level with the absence of foliage to shield it from doing so. Mind, as days go by without additional snow and with the temperature remaining so frigidly Arctic, the trails keep getting icier and more prone to slips. So caution is required.

Not only are the trails now more glassy, they've also been punched through so that what had formerly been a straight, narrow and flat trail, has become a minefield of sharp dips and hollows here and there where people's boots and the feet of heavy dogs managed to penetrate even the tamped-down trails during last week's rain and subsequent rising temperature in tandem.

It means we've got to be constantly aware and on the lookout for potential slips and spills, and we've had pretty good luck at it so far. No problem for Jackie and Jillie in their modest size and alacrity. The truth is, they're also cognizant of areas preferably avoided, consciously making an effort now and again to bypass too-glassy portions, choosing as we do, areas of the trail that allow improved purchase.

With the sun glaring its warmth down on the billowy snow surface built up over the winter season, shining and burnishing it to a fine spectacle of overall crusty ice, it's interesting to see how the light bounces off the snowpack, illuminating it and transforming it to a visual replica of what a glacier must look like.