Although we signed a contract for fence replacement in the backyard in sprint, it's just as well it has taken this long for the work to commence. This way there was no interruption in spring-to summer gardening. I have visions that in pursuit of the work to be done, the fence builders will face many challenges evolving around enough room to work when an old established garden has to be disturbed for its old and wobbly fence to be replaced.

 

Tomorrow, we've been informed, much of the replacement fencing material will be delivered, awaiting installation. After Thanksgiving Monday, the fencing crew is slated to arrive to begin their work. We imagine it will take several days at the very least, before the work is completed. We're having it done in concert with one of our neighbours who made the original suggestion to us, since the fence between us has been succumbing to tired old age.

 

Not exactly looking forward to this disruption in routine. Jackie and Jillie won't like it one bit, though they'll adjust to the presence of strangers for the week they'll be around. It will be awkward going out with them, they'll be distracted and hostile at first, so it might be a problem convincing them that they can go right ahead and do their business as usual, irrespective of the presence of 'strange people'.

Irving has been doing the necessary electrical work preparation to install the two glass lanterns that were displaced as a result of his having brought a Tiffany-style lamp home with us from our trip. Now that he installed the stained glass lamp, he's had to figure out some complicating issues with the installations of the others, but he's now confident he can proceed further and get the job done.

 

I baked butter tarts this morning, after giving Irving the choice of blueberry tarts, cream-cheese-blueberry tarts, or butter tarts. The latter are his favourites; the other alternative will do for some other time. He also suggested since this has turned out to be a really raw fall day, that he'd welcome a potato pudding with tonight's dinner, so potato pudding it is.

We had rain, rain, rain all last night and into the morning. We needed the rain, it's been dry the past week. It was 18C yesterday at the afternoon high, whereas today the high is 9C, big difference. All the more so that we're not seeing any sun, and light rain continued to persist through the day. But it's the high winds bellowing through the atmosphere that make it a really raw day.

 

Which called for woolly-warm sweaters for Jackie and Jillie to prepare for our jaunt through the forest this afternoon, and warm jackets to break the wind, for us. And what a difference each day makes, in the visual presentation of the forest, this month. Colour is beginning to abound, and the changes from one day to the next are amazing. 

 

We were comfortable enough despite the cold and the wind. And the rain was just light sprinkles, so none of us minded. There is just so much to take our attention now, the luscious colours suddenly appearing, the forest floor thick with colourful leaves. Wind picking up loosened-stem foliage from the forest canopy and lifting them into the air, so the leaves tumbling gracefully in arcs and spirals almost look alive.

 

Frost has had its way with some of the garden denizens; Canna lilies for one are extremely unhappy and no doubt mortally fatigued. Petunias are ragged and struggling to send out a few more blooms before expiring. The Hibiscus is slowly unfurling its last bloom for the season, and the Nicotiana have sent the message signalling imminent departure. Most of the dahlias no longer produce flower buds, but the asters grown from seed are finally, after summer has fled, putting out wan flowers.

Irving mowed the lawn today and fertilized the grass. A really mild day after all the frosted nights we've had. There was morning sun, and then clouds moved in for the rest of the day. No wind to speak of, a perfect day to cut the grass. As for putting down fertilizer, tomorrow is forecasted to be only 9C, in comparison to today's 18C, and rainy.

Our next-door neighbours, Lynne and Dan, have returned from their trip to Turkey, and they're full of praise of what they saw. The architecture was magnificent, as we knew it would be, the hotels and food were excellent, and they really enjoyed themselves. They were surprised at the number of mosques in Istanbul. Surprised too at how cosmopolitan it was and the number of Turks they came across who spoke badly of their president, the Islamist Recep Tayyip Erdogan.

There were 29 altogether in their group, two Canadians aside from Lynne and Dan, and the remainder a mix of East Indians and white South Africans, and everyone got along beautifully, they told us...and why would they not? The traffic in the ancient mega-city was the worst they've ever seen, they said. The calls to prayer exotic, the people friendly and the weather was hot. It was in the countryside, they said, where the population was more traditionally Islamic in garb and gear.

As for us, our day included as usual an afternoon haul through the forest trails in the ravine with Jackie and Jillie. Because tomorrow will be a rainy day and we may not get out with them if the rain is too intense, we decided on a longer circuit. When we had been out about a half-hour, rain began, but it was light, and soon tapered off. And then for the next hour or so rain re-visited us now and again, but always light enough that the forest canopy fairly well shielded us.

The forest floor is now sporting impressive layers of bright coloured leaves. To the extent that though we can see a fair amount of colour in the forest interior, there's far more on the floor of the forest than there is in the canopy. Intense scarlets, soft pinks and orange, bright yellows, the spectacle of fall excites the senses. Nostalgic and beautiful with a wistful touch of sadness.

There's one man whom we've known for years, resident on a street in the far-flung community and a regular hiker who is so tall his waist sits somewhere just below my shoulders. A former military man, he is as robust as  he is tall. He's in his mid-to-late 60s now and was fitted with a heart pacemaker several years back. He seems to be carrying on well enough, though we've seen him puffing climbing the ravine's hills. Age treats us to a gradual degeneration of our critical organs to various degrees.

For most people vital faculties like eyesight and hearing tend to decline when they enter their 7th decade and beyond, and for some even earlier. And there's another thing, we tend to lose height. Ironically enough at the very time our physical conformation points us toward gaining weight, our height is compromised. Since that weight has to go somewhere, we become a little squat in appearance, to put it kindly. 

In my middle-mature years I was a neat five foot in height. I was beyond surprised some years ago to be informed my height had changed. I had evidently lost about two inches in height and wasn't even aware of it. But I wasn't pleased about it, either. The human spine tends to compress with age and bones become somewhat brittle. For our friend, who is so tall, losing an inch or two would be scarcely noticeable. There's still plenty of room on his skeleton for normal body fat to settle, one might think. 

Unless the weight gain is distinctive enough to swell the area around the stomach, as happens with a great many people. I've noticed in particular that older women often have protruding stomachs. On several occasions my first thought was that these women were a little old to be pregnant. Well of course they weren't; their body conformation had changed in that way; excess weight tends to settle primarily around the middle, even though it fleshes out the entire body.

I do a brief daily exercise routine. Which includes touching toes. I've been able to continue doing that though not so long ago I was able to lay my hands flat on the floor while 'touching' my toes. Now I no longer can without straining, though I am able to continue touching my toes. The exercises once incorporated into my routine that touches on the spine are no longer comfortable enough to continue. So I've dropped them, making my previously short routine even shorter. 

There are other routines in life, however. Such as Irving out mowing the lawn today but mostly standing around talking to neighbours passing by who want to have a chat. While he was busy I was cleaning the bathrooms, then went out with Jackie and Jillie to the backyard to begin some garden cut-back, until Irving was finished and we'd take ourselves out to the ravine for our afternoon hike.

The day couldn't possibly have been more pleasant; mild and sunny. Too warm, in fact, to be disassembling the garden.   I'll have to wait for cooler days, when it becomes imperative to remove spent perennials and exhausted annuals. On the approach to the ravine, walking up the street, it seemed surprising, since we see them daily, to note how swiftly the trees are changing. Both those trees on people's lots and in the forest.

We were grateful today that our hike through the woods was a quiet affair. There are times when you appreciate a bit of solitude in the  warm, sweeping comfort of the green mass of the forest illuminated by the afternoon sun. And then, on return back home again, to poke about through the garden in happy appreciation of the defiance demonstrated by some annuals at the seasonal stresses meant to deliver the message that their days in garden bloom are numbered. Just not quite yet.

 

Most people, when they're young don't look ahead to retirement. But if they, by some quirk of thought process do, they tend to wonder what on earth would they ever do with all that free time of nothing but boredom. It's possible that some people are bored once their paid working life comes to an end, even though there are people who continue to work for as long as they can physically manage to, either by deliberate design because their life revolves around their workplace, they enjoy what they do to the exclusion of all else, or because their financial situation mandates it.

 

We've been retired for a long time, fully a quarter of our lives. And we've never been bored. There is so much to do that at times we wonder where the time has gone. There never seems to be enough of it to squeeze in all the things we plan or want to do, even mundane things that capture our attention and give us pleasure. Mundane only in the sense that they become a routine, however important they are in our lives.

 

 

Perhaps it's true that as we age time seems to telescope, closing in from all corners, leaving us gasping for more. Something as routine as doing a weekly food shopping seems to take an enormous amount of time. Mostly because of multiple stops; say first to the pharmacy, then on to the main supermarket and following that over to the specialty shop to complete the shopping. Even though all these destinations are in fairly close proximity to our home, the entire enterprise takes hours out of the day as it did today.

 

Our focus on shopping didn't deter us to notice the obvious, that increasingly fewer people are masking up. And that's people from all age demographics. In a sense it's understandable; people are learning, as social observers claim, 'to live with COVID'; it's here to stay. Which, needless to say, does not mean that intelligent caution should be set aside in the maintenance of a respectable space between yourself and others. Still, the first line of defence is masking.

 

Not so long ago, cautionary advice from infectious disease specialists urging the public to be vaccinated, to wash their hands frequently, to maintain distance and to wear masks hit the front page of any newspaper. That advice is being renewed, but now it's published in small columns below the fold, in obscure parts of the paper. People are sick and tired of the pandemic, and who can blame us?

In more obvious locations in the papers are reports of schoolchildren arriving in droves at area hospitals too swamped with cases to even admit them. Hospital emergency rooms are closing down, unable to handle the bloated workload. And those who track the prevalence and ongoing surges of new COVID mutations circulating in the public sphere and their infectiousness are quietly advising the public to exercise more caution.

On the more light-hearted and equally important version of our days when we set aside such conerns there is the companionship of our two little dogs. Where omnivorous Jillie refused her breakfast this morning, and even her chopped-up hard-boiled egg. Under the weather, as it were; more unusual for her than it is for Jackie. But as we entered the ravine for our afternoon forest dawdle-about, there she was prancing about with Jackie, agitating for cookie treats.

 

 

Our two sons celebrate their birthdays this month. Both now in their 60s; their sister in between. We wonder, as people always do where the time has gone. All those years, all those thoughts and memories, the vast multitude of scenes fixed hard in the deep recesses of memory that surface now and again. And dreams where the children are young and then in a swift sequence, inexplicably mature.

But we live in the present, finding our comfortable niche where we can, adjusting our perspectives. Modern life does not resemble the trajectory of lives centuries ago when people rarely left their home villages, and generations of families lived together. Now, there are 'visits' with and from loved ones in lock step with the world having become a smaller place with the advent of easy travel and communications. All other interventions aside, it's called 'getting on with life'.

Cleaning day today. Nothing like routines to fix the mind on the present. From the day we married over 67 years ago, we more or less 'divided' housekeeping chores. Until shortly afterward we became homeowners, in our first modest little bungalow, and chores re-arranged themselves into the neat categories reserved for men and for women. And then, soon enough, only one of us was in the paid workforce, the other remained at home to raise three children.

Not quite accurate; both raised three children. When it came to our children each of us was fully capable of doing what the other did, and when time and opportunity permitted everything was a family affair. Now, there are four disparate households; ours the original, and three offshoot households.

As soon as the last floor has been washed in this house following the dusting, mopping and vacuuming, routine takes us with our puppies out for a long hike through forest trails. That part of our day is soul-soothing, relaxing, mind- and body-refreshing. There's an element of entertainment, of restfulness in the very physical action of making our way over the  soft surface of the forest floor, and wandering the trails, observing the changes in the tree canopy as we pass.

There was frost last night, and there will be again tonight. After which the temperature will begin to moderate temporarily and we should be enjoying temperatures in the low- to high-double digits. And with sun, which has returned to brighten our days. Last night's frost did not destroy anything, although the truth is, many of our annuals look bedraggled and bare of flowering colour, a long, unavoidable process as summer dragged on and fall took its place.

We lost nothing yesterday, the flowers that were in bloom before the frost are still blooming today. Some of them spectacularly; those plants that are relatively tolerant to cold weather. There's a reason that we have always favoured begonias in our garden planters and that reason smiles at us now in bright insouciant colours that continue to grow and glow.

 

Henceforth for the foreseeable future until spring's arrival, soups will once again become a constant offering in this household. Yesterday was a suitable candidate, given the cold blustery weather with the sun withholding its presence save for occasional glimpses. So, on our return from our afternoon hike through the forest trails I chopped up vegetables for a hot and comforting October harvest soup. All the ingredients readily at hand and anxious to make a contribution; garlic cloves, onion, celery, bell pepper, tomatoes, new potato and herbs; savoury and satisfying.

 

Last evening it occurred to Irving that we haven't had breakfast waffles in quite a while. We've been focusing mostly on French toast or pancakes for Sunday morning breakfast. So this morning, out came the old waffle maker and we indulged in a bit of puttering about to produce the waffles. Jackie and Jillie were in complete agreement, they made a satisfactory alternative to the usual, and we'll have to remember to make them more often this coming winter for relaxed Sunday breakfasts.

 

After breakfast, Irving took himself down to his workshop taking along an old stained glass lamp he had bought while we were away in New Hampshire. It's a fixture we had seen during our June trip in a group antique shop and was still there, at a very reasonable price, so home it came with us. There were a few minor cracks and Irving busied himself awhile fixing them as only a stained glass artist can. And then he brought it upstairs to install it in the family room. He took down a clear-glass lantern-type fixture and now the dilemma is, where to hang it?

 

When I'd finished my own household tasks in cleaning up kitchen and bathrooms, washing linens, we went off to the ravine with Jackie and Jillie. A crisply cold day, but bright and sunny, lacking yesterday's wind. The forest still looks bright green, with the occasional smash of colour here and there, though a surprising amount of foliage has come down. Belying the prevailing green, however, there's a wintry atmosphere prevailing; not just the temperature, but the appearance of the forest meeting the eye.

 

Jackie and Jillie moseyed about as they usually do, and barked up a few of their friends, as usual. We're convinced they have an ulterior motive; glad to see their friends respond from who-knows-where...they're-suddenly-there ... because of course when Irving hands out the cookies they get their own share; the more the merrier works here.

 

Unusually, we came across several groups of teens in little packs seemingly discovering the romance in the forest. One group had busied themselves gathering up long slender branches that had fallen, that they leaned tee-pee style against an old tree, encircling it, and crawling inside as though it was a barricade of some kind where they could find privacy in the forest, shouting and gleefully pranking one another.

 

Another group, older teens this time, were challenging one another to walk tightrope-style over a huge old tree trunk suspended between two high points of a crevasse. A risky business, since a slip-and-fall would see them tumbling below quite a distance. They were completely absorbed in their enterprise, silently balancing themselves, one after the other.

 

And finally, another  group of three much younger boys on bicycles wheeling their bicycles up a hill and then cycling madly downhill on an adjoining, steeply narrow trail that ends just above one of the bridge entrances. Boys will be boys and it's just as well perhaps that their mothers sometimes have no idea what they can get up to when left to their own devices.

Somewhat like little dogs who allow their sense of curiosity to get the better of them.  Rarely does Jackie 'disappear'; he prefers to stick around and keep us in close proximity. Jillie will do that when she's been chastised, but it doesn't last long before she's off again. This time when we called she failed to respond, and we had no idea where she had gone off to, imagining something dire occurring to her. When an urgent note crept into my voice, she finally responded. And that's when she was leashed to spend the remainder of our hike that way.

Last night's Friday-night dinner reverted to the traditional type of cuisine for the cold months of fall and winter. There were some changes, however. Instead of matzoh balls for the chicken soup, or more familiarly, rice, we decided on tiny thin noodles for a change.With lots of parsley from the herb garden. And because Irving favours it so much, deboned, skinned chicken thighs well herbed  and simmered in a chicken-based gravy including mushrooms and carrots, with tiny star-shaped pasta. And last, roasted cauliflower. A warming meal for a cool evening.

Evenings stopping just short of the frost mark. With all the familiar signals that frost isn't far off. Most of the garden annuals look bedraggled and can no longer produce much in the way of flowers. They're scheduled to be composted shortly. The hanging baskets are beginning to look pretty pathetic. They've been through a lot; from incessant rains flooding their roots to windy days drying them out and sun a little scarce of late.

Irving decided that he would tackle the automatic garage door openers himself. He always has the option of calling for service from another garage door specialist in the area, but it was surprising that the one he had contacted just never showed up despite an appointment. So he moved the vehicles out of the garage, hauled up a ladder, took apart the apparatus and fiddled about with a few things. And now they're both responding to the gadget that automatically lifts them. So that's that. For now.

Yesterday he changed the on/off switch on one of our bedroom lamps. In the morning, it had suddenly failed; there was a brief bright flare, and off it went. It was a two-stage switch. Irving dropped briefly by Canadian Tire to pick up a replacement, then set about fixing the lamp. Another household thing done. Would be nice if that's it for a while.

I'd meant to do a little garden work, mostly tidying up, but didn't get around to it. I prepared Jackie and Jillie for our afternoon hike, but we waited for Irving to drive the truck and car back into the garage, J&J watching me quizzically, wondering why we were left to wait in the mudroom/laundry room. and then we were off!

We haven't seen our old friend Rob in ages, but there he was, with Nova, his white German Shepherd. We'd heard that Nova had become a problem, attacking other dogs, and Rob tended to take her out in the early morning hours to avoid running into other people and dogs. We've known Nova since she was an excitable puppy and she has always been gentle with our two, and so she was today.

 It quite astonished us to note the colour changes day by day, with a greater emphasis today on an emerging overall sheen of yellow, and the occasional burst of red. We keep hearing squads of southern-migrating geese overhead, honking their goodbys to soon-to-be-frozen Canada. This weekend was 'aboriginal awareness' weekend. We came across people symbolically wearing orange tops to indicate their solidarity with Canada's indigenous population.

Today, there was a background sound of drums thrumming faintly in the distance. Irving, with keener hearing than me, could hear accompanying drone-singing. It was hard to tell where the sound was coming from; it might have been amplified, with a group performing at a far distance, the sound travelling through a portion of the forest. It was certainly different from the sounds we normally hear in the forest.

And though for the considerable length of time we were out with our puppies and the length and interconnection of trails we traipsed, we saw few other people altogether. Still, unlike yesterday when Irving was thronged with dogs determinedly heading for the Cookie Man, entirely wiping out his supply, there was a visit from a beautiful Vizsla whom we see on occasion, admiring its graceful lope and beautiful conformation.