Am I a skeptic? One of those horrendous 'deniers' whom dedicated environmental alarmists scorn for their lack of intelligence in questioning the science behind Global Warming? Guess I'm one of those fence-sitters. Undeniably, something is happening with climate and there certainly appears to be global change in the atmosphere. We see it, we think, in the growing ferocity of weather events turning the world upside down--or trying to, in historical-level floods, wildfires, volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, record rainfalls and ferocious storms wracking the world we live in.

We're book collectors, and we've got a set of 19th-Century Harper's bound volumes. Riffling through them we come across one account after another of world-shaking environmental disasters all of which were held to be catastrophic in extent. Our world is a restless globe, and nature's elements are in constant flux.

It is undeniable also that the hand of humankind in its search for energy sources and exploitation of the Earth's mineral resources have littered all the continents of our world with detritus and our mismanagement of geological features that we constantly interrupt and make use of cause untold damage, from building on floodplains, to filling in wetlands, fracking below the surface of the Earth and injecting chemicals to poison aquifers, destroying forests to grow cash crops for export; any number of ill-thought-out plans that have their consequences harmful and threatening in nature.

But though the truth is out there and should be separated from the hysteria to enable scientists to get a true picture of what is happening and how our mismanagement of our only home is affecting us and what should be done to relieve the stress caused by overuse and exploitation, that's not happening. Case in point; emotionally dramatic claims that the Arctic in its warming has impacted Polar bears and they are now an endangered species, when in fact the Inuit who live in close geographic quarters with the bears attest otherwise, that they are numerous and healthy having adapted to a changing climate, while we fail to. One of the world's leading biologists studying Polar bears has had her papers concluding and validating Inuit observations has been vilified, her research ignored.

It's mid-November here in Ottawa. Winter is yet over a month away by the calendar. Yet we've been experiencing far below normal temperatures with the thermometer dropping to unusual levels for this time of year, accompanied by howling winds and snowstorms galore. The snowpack that usually accumulates over the winter months has already been given its base for oncoming winter to build upon.

Never in our 83-year memory can we recall such events at this time of year. We're living with it and it's extraordinary, it's surprising, but it's fine. The usual winter-onset road accidents are occurring as people adjust their driving habits. We're dressing for the extreme cold, snow and windy conditions and municipalities know that this is a year when their snow-clearing budget will be unusually inadequate.

The weather can be viewed as inconvenient, or one can be resigned and admit that there's little we can do about it, other than to adjust our habitual reactions that automatically inform us after a lifetime of exposure to weather, how we need to healthily face and embrace cold and snow. So that's what we're doing, earlier than is the norm, with the knowledge that this will be a long, protracted winter with colder-than-normal temperatures and a larger snowpack than is usual.

Which is what occurred last year as well, and when the snowpack and the river ice melted in the spring what resulted was flooding for the past several years, ending up with homes being ruined by floodwaters. On the other hand, built on floodplains, they were vulnerable. Last year a few tornadoes came ripping through the area, devastating several communities, demolishing homes and ruining peoples' lives. These things happen and are happening where it seems it is most unusual for them to.

Entering another in the broad existential Little Ice Ages? Possibly. Global Warming? Unlikely.

Unusually, we were too busy on Tuesday to seriously contemplate taking Jackie and Jillie out for their daily ravine ramble through the forest trails. They'd just had their hair cut and it seemed so short to us, making them appear vulnerable to the cold on a -7C afternoon with howling wind whipping the ten cm we'd received in an early-winter overnight snowfall, into every crevice and corner of the suddenly-white landscape.

We'd also gone out to do the weekly grocery shopping and that is time-consuming, after which I put on a beef-potato-carrot stew to cook and prepared an acorn squash to accompany it, then rolled out bread dough I had refrigerated for that purpose, to bake cheese croissants to go with the savoury stew. We decided we'd give a hike through the forest trails a pass for Tuesday, as a result.

Wednesday, though? A different story, the furious wind gusts had subsided and the temperature 'soared' to -14 after a night-time low of -17, but in comparison to a relatively milder freezing point but with howling wind, it just seemed more tolerable. And when we asked Jackie and Jillie if they'd be interested in going out for a hike in the woods, their response was telling; at the very least reflective of their personalities.

Jillie, resting on the sofa, was noncommittal as usual, but her brother's response was a head-whipping
!yay! And so we prepared to haul ourselves out for an hour or so trekking through the snow-filled trails in the forest. On with sweaters overtopped with winter jackets and finally rubber booties for tiny feet needing protection from the combination of snow and chill. As soon as Jillie's little boot-clad feet touched the forest floor she launched herself into a mad dash down the long hill into the ravine, Jackie in hot pursuit, their orange-booted little feet pumping like mad.

Jackie's bout with illness saw an energy-depleted little dog, lethargic and disinterested in anything. Yesterday, he was rejuvenated -- at least well on the way to recovery -- as the energetic quirky little dog we know him to be. He leaped enthusiastically into the powdery-light snow and he sniffed about, racing headlong down one trial and through to another. And when he's in racing mode Jillie can barely keep up with him.

It's both amusing and entertaining beyond words to see them both in rampant pursuit of heaven-knows-what as they race frenetically up hill and down, plowing through the snowpack off-trail, ears flapping in concert with their leaping ecstasy at the wonders of the world they inhabit. 

They're siblings, our two little dogs, Jackie and Jillie. When people see them together they ask if they're twins. In a sense, perhaps they are, as the only two in the litter when they were born four years ago. And if so, they're definitely of the fraternal variety. They may appear to those who don't know them as intimately as we do as though they're identical but they aren't, not by any stretch of anyone's imagination.

We can readily tell them apart. For one thing they behave differently from one another and part of that is related to their gender, partly to the fact that dogs, like humans have their own particular personalities. Jillie is a typical female, bossy, the leader, and her brother is the follower though he thinks he's the leader.

Physical differences? Plenty. He is far longer-legged than she is, slightly taller, and lean as can be. She is more 'sturdy', as my father used to say about my physical appearance when I was a child. Their faces are different, his muzzle is longer, his nose is larger than hers. Her eyes have a different shape than his, her face is sweeter in the 'adorable' sense. Her  hair grows out faster than his tends to do. His chest is more delineated, her ears fluffier. She is stubborn and though she doesn't like being chastised, he is absolutely crushed if he is.

Yesterday they appeared to us as though they had been utterly transformed. They looked so neat and prim and quite, quite beautiful. And that's because they finally went through a grooming appointment at the spa next to the veterinarian clinic we frequent. It's called a spa, but it's anything but a luxurious, pampering salon. It is utilitarian by design, but it is staffed by the most pet-affectionate, skilled young women anyone could ever come across.

Their reputation is sterling and they earn it. So that's why there is such a high demand for their services that three months ago when we tried to schedule a regular two-month appointment for our two little devils, we couldn't be accommodated; they were booked right up solid. In fact, when we picked them up yesterday and tried to schedule them for January we were unable to. We have to wait until the end of February, the closest date they can schedule us in. Since they'll be growing their hair long again throughout the cold winter months, we don't mind so much.

So while we were there we went ahead and made a number of pre-scheduled appointments for the next year-and-a-half, to make sure they're never in the same shaggy condition that they presented this time around, when they went from an early August appointment for grooming to a mid-November one and in the time between their hair grew unkempt just at the worst possible time for little dogs who sashay about woodland trails daily, picking up burrs galore.

But they're finally done, and they look spectacularly sweet. Their hair wasn't shaved as close as it is during the summer months, but they still look svelte, their haircoat silky to the touch, slinky and shiny with tight little curls. Their bedding was washed and so were their towels and coats.

When we retrieved them yesterday the wind was wild, whipping newfallen snow about, and it was bitterly cold. In this weather -- when last night's temperature dipped to -17C, and rose to -14C by morning -- when we take them out we dress them in layers; light sweater and a warm winter coat over top. And when the temperature falls below -6C,with newfallen snow on the forest floor, they also need boots for their tiny padded feet to be protected from extreme cold, to allow them to fully enjoy their traipse through the woods.

There's a fairly light wind right now, and the clouds that darkened yesterday's sky have departed. In their place the sun is shining in a blue winter sky, illuminating even further the brilliant white cloaking the entire landscape. There were a few brief light flurries when we went out into the ravine to access the forest trails yesterday afternoon, and they weren't able to do much to lighten the twilight aspect of the forest interior. Today that'll be a different story.

When I went out around eleven last night before bedtime, snow was falling in thick clusters and already there was a substantial snowpack accumulated, with far more to come, since snow only stopped around 6:00 a.m. this morning. Often, we don't experience really low temperatures during a snowfall, but yesterday night the thermometer fell to -10C and when we awoke this morning to a blanket of snow, it had risen to only -7C, though the high for today is supposed to be -6C.

At that temperature, and with freshly-fallen snow, Jackie and Jillie need boots on their tiny feet to keep them from freezing. Early this morning while they were still asleep my husband went out to the backyard to shovel snow off the walkways so our little dogs could be free to wander about there as usual. When we did take them out they were like transformed little puppies, absolutely delighted with the snow, leaping and bounding about everywhere, with Jackie challenging me repeatedly to a run-about. And finally assenting to do his business in the backyard instead of having to be taken into the ravine where he had decided he would eliminate his waste; a very awkward situation to say the least.

Yesterday afternoon before the snow started seriously tumbling out of the sky there was a rush to conclude last-minute preparations, like covering the air conditioner and the barbecue to secure them with tarpaulins and bungee cords, hauling the last of the outdoor furniture off the deck and into the larger of our two garden sheds for winter storage. And bringing up from basement storage the large sized rubberized-bottom carpeting that we place at the back door, side door and garage door to receive the ice, snow and salty slush that we will inevitably track in with us.

And then, in the early evening, the snow began to cover the landscape. There had been nothing left from our previous, much lighter snowfall a week ago on the forest floor. The ground was frozen solid and we managed a fairly medium-length circuit with Jackie and Jillie, both still recovering from their illness. So strange that both would be assailed by a bout of ill health, though each of them had vastly different problems.

Jillie, we know, will gain a complete recovery from the burst, infected abscess, but we still don't know what had caused Jackie's extreme discomfort in his hind end leading to his really peculiar behaviour. His appetite, at the best of times picky, has been uncharacteristically robust during this period, one thing we were thankful for. But he seems more comfortable now, and is beginning to regain normalcy;  his old energy levels returning. His upcoming veterinarian appointment will likely call for tests of one kind or another.

We were able to enjoy being out in the ravine watching them sniffing and snuffling about, running ahead with their usual sense of curiosity, Jackie returning to lifting his leg rather than squatting to urinate. They're playing more energetically together than they have the last several weeks, and taking to grooming one another as well. Early this afternoon they've an appointment at the groomer's next door and associated with the veterinarian clinic we take them to. And they're badly in need of  a grooming.

Humanity has become skilled over the ages in pledging to learn from its errors, and what could be more worthy of the intention never to repeat horrendous lapses of judgement than waging horribly destructive conflicts, taking a dreadful toll in lives lost, in populations distraught and homeless, the ruination of nations, the realization that we have the intelligence to prevent such catastrophes but somehow lack the will to energize ourselves against war.

Reminders are with us constantly since wars never fade into distant memory; they are recalled and mourned and deplored, and yet nothing seems to stop the ongoing events leading to regional wars, wars reflecting territorial ambition, ideological conflicts and the bid to achieve power and influence by withholding both from neighbours, depleting resources, both in human lives destroyed and advances in civilizational future.

Today, just as every other anniversary of the the world madness when twice Germany sought to gain its ambition to rule the world, and the Armistice agreement was signed between Germany and the Allied powers who fought to stop fascism's depraved and monstrous plans to launch a new world order to be subservient to it alone, the world stopped to take notice that yet another anniversary was being recognized, even while conflict rages in Africa, the Middle East, and threatens Eastern Europe and people in tormented countries led by both left- and right-wing aggressors spurred by tribal, sectarian, racist and ideological hatreds launch massive protests against their exploiters.

For countries at peace internally the sincere effort to recall the sacrifices of those who left their lives behind in foreign countries while they fought to free others from the trap of human rights abuses reaching out to threaten their own nations, evokes sadness and pride at one and the same time. Sadness that the price of liberty is costly to those who serve in the military whose country sends them abroad as a duty to humanity. Pride that many answer that call with the knowledge they may not survive the effort.

There are the civilians who give their support to the sacrifices of those who serve, and the current members of the armed forces who pay their respects to their predecessors who gave the peace of their lives to the chaos of war to disrupt the deadly aspirations of warmongers. The ritual of remembrance, the organized rites of commemoration are nothing if not sombre and subdued. All of such remembrance ceremonies that I can recall have occurred on darkly overcast, windy and miserable days, as though nature has sent her own emissaries to bear witness to the folly of humankind, and today was no different.

Under freezing, threatening skies awaiting a winter snowstorm on this day there were regimental march-pasts, dignitaries and authorities in evidence at the National Cenotaph in Ottawa. There were military bands, there was the cannon, the CAF fly-past, and there was the children's choir singing traditional songs of mourning. And there was the tomb of the Unknown Soldier, the memorial wreath-laying ceremonies, and the crowds of thousands of ordinary people there to give their emotional support and thanks for the ultimate sacrifice.

We need to dispose of things we no longer use. Having a canoe was indispensable to us when we were younger. Our pre-teen and teen children would join us in our 16-ft red fibreglass canoe as we spent lazy summer afternoons paddling the lakes in Gatineau Park just north of us over the border in Quebec. We later acquired a cedar and canvas canoe, and had two at our disposal. When we lived in Atlanta for several years we bought a yellow fibreglass canoe, 14-ft. Our younger son 'inherited' it when we moved back home. But we still had both the other canoes.

And it was time to shed them. A friend suggested we advertise whatever household items we no longer needed on a free-goods site, and I thought it was a great idea. Except that when I went to the site, there was no way to log on and make use of it other than through Facebook, and I detest that social media platform and have no intention of maintaining an account with the site. That was all yesterday. And by happenstance, my husband was backing out of the driveway yesterday afternoon when a young man, his father and three young boys were walking down the street, by our house.

On impulse, my friendly husband stopped his truck and asked the father of the children whom he'd never before seen,  if he would be interested in taking possession of a canoe for his family. He was, and arrangements were made for him to drop by today. My husband had also informed the young man there was a car-top clamshell he might want, handy for transporting all manner of things atop a vehicle. We'd had it for awhile and used it before my husband bought his truck. Last year we gave away a trailer that was just taking up room in the garage, to a cottage-friend of one of our neighbours.

This morning the young couple came along, the canoe was hauled down from its spot hanging from the garage rafters and transferred to the roof of their car. They didn't have far to go to take it home; the street they live on is adjacent to our own. Out came the paddles, the lifejackets, a sturdy cartop carrier and they were all adopted. They'd brought along a bottle of  wine as appreciation in exchange for everything. They were ecstatic over their new acquisitions because they, like we were, are active outdoor people with a deep appreciation of Algonquin Park's (our once-favourite destination) many lakes

I've been focusing lately on meals that would give us comfort on these really cold, windy, squally days and have been flirting with all kinds of different soups, from vegetable-cream soups to vegetable-and-bean soups, that we've always considered to be winter-evening fare. Yesterday I remembered the beet borscht my mother used to make occasionally (recalling my distaste for it at the same time, but I'm a different me, now). We had just bought a large bag of beets, out of which I'd prepared Harvard beets as a side-dish last week, but now set about making beet soup.

Simple enough; I parboiled three medium-sized beets to be able to slip the peel off them with ease, then cooled them. Then chopped onion and garlic clove and sauteed them in olive oil, adding chopped celery. I grated the beets, a medium-size Yukon-gold potato, grated two medium carrots, plunked them into the pot, stirred in a tablespoon of tomato paste and added chicken soup stock, salt and pepper, then simmered it all for an hour knowing it didn't take all that long to cook, but I habitually simmer soup over a low heat for prolonged periods. Ladling the finished soup into bowls for dinner, the soup was topped with thick sour cream, for a warming and nutritious meal. Toasted seeded, whole-grain bread with ripe avocado mashed on top was a nice complement, and tea and grapes completed the meal.

We had taken Jackie and Jillie out earlier in the afternoon for a brief hike in the woods. Brief, because Jackie isn't quite right yet and still limps and wants to be picked up, while Jillie is still recovering from her little bit of treatment for the abscess that had infected one of her anal glands. It isn't much of a treat hiking along the trails in the forest when one little dog is continually distracted by the aftermath of a wound, and the other is coping with extreme discomfort in his hind quarters, but getting them out is also important; we just have to make it very brief and avoid physical strain for them.

The old Farmers Almanac as usual had it right on, warning of a colder-than-usual fall, early winter season muscling out even that cold late-fall, and expectations for a very cold, very snowy winter. It has arrived on cue. Surprising us, irrespective of the fact that we were forewarned. Still mystifying us at its occurrence. Who is ever prepared to welcome unrelenting cold, high winds and snow, other than children anticipating downhill sledding?

But it's here, and we've no choice but to make the best of it. The best of it is wallowing in comfort in our heated homes, drinking tea, reading books. On the other hand, the best of it also includes dressing for warmth and making the effort to wrench ourselves away from the warmth and comfort of a fireplace, a comfortable sofa and the anticipation of a warming, nutritious bowl of hot soup.

The hot soup is readily available. Yesterday, Friday, called for chicken soup and rice for dinner in this household. Along with a dinner comprised of chicken, potatoes and cauliflower. Call it a family tradition, name it a cultural culinary practice, it has its place, particularly at this time of year. It's when the oven gets a workout, roasting chicken breasts, smothered in olive oil, chopped onion, garlic, bell pepper and tomatoes.

And the chicken soup bubbles away on the stove, cooking the dark parts of the chicken; drumstick and thigh, accompanied by garlic, onion, parsnip, carrots and bayleaf. Rice, cooked separately is added at serving time, as is chopped green onion and parsley. And the house becomes fragrantly suffused with the aroma of dinner-to-come. Dessert had been baked much, much earlier in the day, a blueberry pie cooled off for the end-of-dinner treat.

This morning there were light snow flurries yet again, and tonight we're expecting a plunge to -12C overnight, so yes, it's cold and continuing cold. We knew it was windy but didn't realize quite how windy, until we ventured out into the ravine to ramble the forest trails as usual, and the wind ripped through the forest, despite that usually the interior of the forest is protected from high winds at walking level.

We were delighted to come across a young woman we've seen on previous occasions walking her two dogs. This time the dogs were absent, left at home, while she devoted her attention to one tiny puppy, an Australian Shepherd of nine weeks of age. The most adorable, intelligent little creature imaginable. Its high intelligence was immediately apparent, its curiosity about Jackie and Jillie at its tender age revealing a kind of social intelligence that would mark this little fellow apart.

Jackie and Jillie seemed at first equally interested in the vivacious, perky little fellow almost half their size and boldly introducing himself. How the puppy conveyed to them the name given to him, of an illustrious biologist/naturalist, is one of those mysterious communication capabilities that nature endows her creations with, but we learned through the usual human channels of communication that the puppy was named Darwin.