Today was the weather antithesis of yesterday. We involuntarily exchanged sunshine for overwhelmingly dark, angry skies. The fencing crew failed to return today, and perhaps just as well, since they'd have had to cope with rain. We're pleased with how the fence appears, although it's completely up just on two sides, the third yet to be done. There are wheelbarrows and other equipment left in the yard, and thick mounds of sticky clay. So our new routine with the puppies, taking them out the side door to the side garden continues. They're getting the hang of it, and so are we.

Actually,there was some morning sun; a brief period that was cheerfully bright until the cloud cover moved in. The house became dark, really dark. And it always feels cool without the sun, brightening and warming the house through our tall windows. But viewed from another perspective, it's also cozy.

Rain held off and in the very early afternoon we decided to head out to the ravine. Take our chances, as it were. Of course everyone geared with rainjackets. With the clouds came blustery, heavily gusting winds. As soon as we entered the forest it became immediately apparent that the wind was making quick work of foliage undecided whether to fall. With each tremendous gust at random intervals, a flood of leaves came tumbling and whirling down to the forest floor.

One of those episodes occurred while Jillie was some distance in front of us, distracted with something. We watched as a tremendous gust barrelled through the deciduous trees causing a huge flush of leaves to tumble like a violent waterfall, settling toward the very area where Jillie was standing and completely engulfing her. She took action immediately, racing back to us, and as she did the wind picked up that section of fallen leaves and lifted them en masse back toward the forest interior.

It did rain lightly while we were out. Nothing concerning. A strange atmosphere though; the combination of the early afternoon, the howling wind and light rain. And an odd feeling being in that landscape of quickly disappearing overall colour. Oncoming rain and continued steady wind blasts will make fairly quick work of what remains on the deciduous trees. Not that the conifers aren't losing loads of dead needles as well, along with cones. It's just that time of year.

It does seem to us that the colour this year is more emphatic, more spectacular than we recall from other years. Possibly, we think that way every year. The striking atmosphere, the ambient colour, the brightness of the reds, golds, surrounding us gave an air of unreality to everything, as though we were walking through a dream. 

When we returned I decided to remain outdoors. The hostas are fast yellowing and drying; their arcing foliage and sweeping presence completely marred. I wanted to cut everything back. Including the lily fronds and some of the hydrangeas. Good thing I've already done the rock garden at the far side of the house and most of the backyard; it's such a mess now I could never get at everything.

The rain began while I was out at the front garden, sweeping up the walkways and filling compost bags. Irving came out to urge me to come in, but I felt so invigorated I wanted to stay out and continue, and so I did. Eventually I felt I had enough. There was still dinner to prepare, after all. And even after cutting back as much as I managed to, it's just starting to make a dent in the fall garden clean-up; there's so much to do yet.

In the house, I decided to bake a cornbread. This time with lots of grated sharp cheddar cheese and chives. To pair with the vegetable soup I put on for dinner. And then I relaxed. Irving was busy re-wiring one of our table lamps. He has a habit when he finds himself short of something, to 'borrow' it from another source; a riff on robbing Peter to pay Paul. Eventually Peter comes calling, insisting he be restored...

Bright and sunny today, so the fencing crew was back at work. We're getting used to taking the puppies out to the side garden and they're all right with it, though it's still unfamiliar enough that we have to coax them to follow us to the side door of the house when they're expectantly standing at the sliding doors leading to the deck and backyard as usual.  We'll be glad, however, when all the inconveniences are over. Meanwhile, these young men work at lightning-speed, and the fence is just about complete.

We get a break and so do they from the back-and-forth when they leave around noon for a few hours' break and their lunch. It was around then that Irving decided he would go out for a while himself, to drop by the bank and run a few errands he'd been pushing off for a few days. Trouble was, when he was about to leave the house he realized he couldn't. There was one truck parked in the driveway, blocking one lane, and where the clear lane was, another truck was parked on the road halfway across the front of the driveway.

Irving decided to wait until the crew got back, rather than contacting them, so he did a quick vacuuming while he waited. And I set about baking a pumpkin pie a week late, but since it's one of Irving's favourite pies,  he'll welcome it. I find it annoying that I can no longer buy small cans of pure pumpkin. Where we shop now, only E.D.Smith's large can with puree for two pies is available, so I have to freeze half the can's contents. And I cannot understand why a tin of pumpkin puree costs $5; I used to pay $.99 for a small tin. Stiff prices for just about everything now, though.

I haven't been able to get the hang of traditional paella where the rice cooks uncovered. Invariably, I find the rice needs much longer cooking time, uncovered. So I just gave up yesterday evening, and covered the rice, letting it simmer in the juices of tomato, red pepper, onion, garlic and chicken soup. I used long grain rice this time, and it came out fine. The hot smoked paprika and saffron give it all a delicious taste. 

By the time Irving finally returned from his errand-run, Jackie and Jillie informed us it was past time for a ravine hike, so off we went. The wind had picked up considerably, though by then the temperature had risen to 16C, and there was enough blue sky amidst the dark clouds to allow the sun through from time to time. The wet gloss of rain over the bright foliage we enjoyed so much yesterday gave way to golden rays of sun brightening the leaves today.

The gathering leaf mass on the forest floor had gaps here and there showing us just how sodden the floor under the leaves was, from the intensity of yesterday's rain. But the trails were not slippery or muddy, thanks to the depth of the fallen foliage, making for good, firm footing on the ascents and descents.

It hardly matters in fact, what the weather is like when we're out for those prolonged saunters through the forest. They're invigorating and pleasurable, with the added bonus at this time of year, of filling our eyes with the glorious sight of stained glass windows suddenly appearing in the ravine. In our hour-and-a-half roaming about the trails, we saw only a handful of other hikers, all people we know with their dogs, for whom a trek through the ravine it never quite sufficiently satisfying without a stop now and again to discuss world affairs and local business with whomever they happen to come across.

 

Just as well yesterday was such a beautiful day. Relatively mild and sunny with a light, steady wind. We have no idea how many people come and go with the fencing crew. They're working both in our backyard and our neighbour's, replacing our fences. Theirs is a much larger property than ours; at least the backyard is much larger. Irving thinks there are different crews coming in throughout the day, spelling each other off, or going off to other sites. He should know, he often talks to them, when he's outside.

 

 

They work hard and efficiently, they really know their trade. They're all young and friendly. Yesterday they worked later than the day before, getting in all the posts. The cement will need a few days to cure, so we didn't expect to see them again today. And as it turned out even if it weren't for that wait, they wouldn't have been able to work today. Before going up to bed last night light rain began. When we awoke this morning, the rain was epic.

 

And it continued all day with light rain interspersed with sudden cloudbursts. We can no longer take Jackie and Jillie out to the backyard to relieve themselves. There's thick clay muck everywhere. Worse, in the rain, sticky and slippery. So we take them out the side door to the side garden and they're compatible with that, it's not that unusual. 

 

For dinner last night we had wraps for a change. I made them differently for each of us. Irving's had sauteed paper-thin-sliced beef in his, mine had sauteed zucchini, and both were stuffed with chopped green onion, bell pepper, tomato, tomato paste, sweet basil, provolone cheese and mozzarella. Steamed broccoli on the side, and raspberries for dessert. Next time I'll revert to filling them with black beans and vegetables and cheese, but these were good, too.

 

In mid-afternoon we noted a lull in the rain, and took that opportunity to get out with the puppies. Rainjackets all around, it was raining lightly when we left the house. When we got to the ravine it was evident that the ferocity and persistence of the rain had brought down quite a lot of foliage. In some areas there seemed more leaves on the ground than in the forest canopy.

 

The forest creek was in an absolute rage of full movement, and thick with dark brown particulate matter; clay deposits scraped from the floor of the creek. Colourful leaves on the ground caught our eyes with some distinguishing themselves especially, with the luminous effect of the rain washing over them. Hues of brilliant golds and reds in particular.

 

We were appreciative of the fact that despite the weather's unforgiving rain, that brief respite gave us the opportunity to get out for a shortened circuit, but one whose landscape was beyond mere imagination in thinking of the drama staged on our behalf through the influence of rain on a forest reaching its peak autumn colour; absolutely eye-dazzling.

 

Now that the fence in our backyard is finally being replaced after the original began falling apart, we're facing a dilemma with the puppies. They can no longer be allowed into the backyard. It's become a morass of clay from the depth at which the fence installers had to dig down to securely establish the posts before setting up the fence. And it's really hard work for them. They had to do it by sheer brute labour, not enough room to work behind trees and shrubs for an auger to be used.

 

Fencing is laid out horizontally in the middle of the backyard. There are obstacles everywhere, from people busily moving about our tiny backyard, to tools of all kind. So if Jackie and Jillie have to relieve themselves we take them out the side door to the side garden or out to the front of the house, and that confuses them. They're not accustomed to using the garden area in the front or the lawn as a waste receptacle.

 

When we got up this morning, there were so many people in the backyard we knew their presence would add another dimension of frantic confusion, so we decided to alter our schedule somewhat. Breakfast could wait. We went out directly to the ravine with the puppies. Just as well it was a perfectly lovely morning. The air was calm, clear and cool. The sun making quick work of warming the atmosphere.

 

 

It's the epitome of relaxing to be out there in the forest. We hear crickets and overhead, crows coasting and cawing, a sound we both love. And the aroma of the warming earth, the fall smells of crisp-drying   foliage lying in heaps underfoot. Even the moderately strenuous work of climbing uphill ti ascend the hilly geology of the ravine, sometimes a challenge, seemed effortless.

 

Now and again we met up with one or another of our many hiking friends, and invariably someone will want to stand around for prolonged periods, talking. On one occasion there was a gathering of four groups, and the dogs, long familiar with each other, enjoyed the opportunity to contest one another for little bouts of happy interactions. 

 

We spent so much time in the woods this morning, by the time we returned home, showered, set the table, prepared breakfast, it was almost noon. Which made for good hearty appetites for Jackie and Jillie. Even the audible and visual presence of unfamiliar people working in the backyard fails now to send them into a frenzy of prolonged barking. An initial short, sharp barking acknowledging the presence of strangers, and then they're becalmed.

 

In the afternoon  I went back out to the garden at the front of the house, to begin some of the time-consuming and necessary cut-backs in preparation for putting the garden to sleep for winter. Earlier in the day the municipal gathering-up of garden waste took away five full and heavy bags of garden compost from our driveway from last week's preliminary clean-up process.

Outside for an hour-and-a-half, I managed to fill up another two of those giant bags, with cuttings of hostas, hydrangeas, pulling up frosted annuals, rose canes and other garden waste. I hauled one of the bags to the backyard to leave it in one of the garden sheds but it was like a forbidding obstacle course, and I left the second one in the garage.

Irving has always been the doctor in this household. When the children were young and something went amiss, it was always he who took charge of the patching up and nursing duties. And he still does.  If I hurt myself he insists on looking after bandaging whatever it is. And so it was with my knee. I slapped an ordinary baid-aid on to stop the bleeding, and he replaced it with one so broad and wide it almost covered my kneecap. then replaced it again  the following day with another, only this time put padding under it, because I said I was going to go ahead and wash the floors regardless. And when I used a thick, fat elastic to secure a household sponge to my knee so it would be completely cushioned, I had no problem washing the floors.

Last night we enjoyed a turkey-breast dinner. Simple enough, just roasted with onions, potatoes and yam, served with asparagus and freshly-prepared cranberry sauce. There was a time when you had to buy a whole turkey. Now half-turkey breast is available to be prepared at any time. When we spoke with our younger son in Vancouver last night he said he had enjoyed a turkey dinner at a friend's house. He had himself baked a pumpkin pie and taken it over to his friend's house for dessert.

We were expecting the fence-installation crew to arrive to begin installing our new fence today. And we knew that although we intended to do the weekly food shopping as usual, we'd have a problem leaving Jackie and Jillie alone at home. Strange young men bustling about the backyard and our neighbours' would be guaranteed to send them into a frenzy of barking. thoughts of them being confused and upset, convinced Irving the solution lay in only one of us entering the store. So we took them with us. It meant that Irving had to sit in the car with them while I did the shopping, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

They surprised us, though. After the initial round of panicked barking first thing in the morning, they just watched curiously as the men yanked out the old fence and marked out the new one. Hard work, but at least it was perfect weather; not too cold, and sunny. When the fence was completely removed, we had views of the yards on either side and behind us. Strangely enough, I would have thought that fence removed, the visual perception would have been more spacious. Instead, our tiny backyard looked even smaller, almost cramped for space, the visual demarcation of the fence absent.

It was much milder temperature-wise when we went out to the ravine for our afternoon hike. The sun rode high in the sky, warm and brilliant. We were able to leave Jillie off leash so she could meander about as she prefers to do, though she never complains when she's left on leash. There's rarely a need to leash Jackie, however. For one thing he has a tendency to remain with us, while Jillie tends to trot off like an independent little busybody. And it's she who does all the screaming, barking her little head off, and just ignoring our pleas to desist, when she hears, smells or sees other dogs approaching.

On the long weekend, families came out in droves to walk through the forest trails and enjoy the beauty of the fall atmosphere, the visual sight of gleaming, soft colour transforming the forest canopy. Unlike at other times when people unaccustomed to the woods think they'll give it a try, some with children some without, there are long faces. Not this time, all those who wandered along the trails seemed to be enjoying the landscape and the privilege of sharing a yearly spectacle that never fails to enthrall us with its ephemeral and sublime grace.

 

I thought I'd have a problem waiting for laundry day to wash the jeans I was wearing when I fell in the ravine yesterday, capping my right knee, because it had bled and soaked through the right pant leg, so I washed it by hand, and the jeans came clean. I hung them over the laundry room sink and by morning they were almost dry. After the initial few minutes of pain, my knee no longer bothered me, and by the time we finished up our hike yesterday it felt pretty normal. Irving insisted on putting a huge bandage over it. By bedtime I was feeling pretty tsekrochen, but all over my body, not my knee; likely the shock of the fall. By morning I felt good as new.

 

We decided on waffles for breakfast, so out came the waffle iron. And though it took a little longer to prepare breakfast, it was worth the wait. Jillie gobbled up everything, including her waffle-and-sausage treat but Jackie was feeling a little under the weather, and guarded his food, wanting to 'bury' it for later, but wouldn't eat. He made up for it during our afternoon hike, gulping down several cooky treats and his salad on our return home.

 

After we got home from our hike in the forest yesterday late afternoon I put on a broccoli soup for cream-of-broccoli. And with it planned to bake a corn pudding. Not a cornbread, the recipe was for a corn pudding. And it was one of the fussiest preparations I'd ever committed to. One of the two cups of corn kernels was to be slurried, the other cup of intact kernels to be sauteed briefly with the slurry in a half-cup melted butter. There was 2/3 cup of sour cream, 2 eggs in the recipe. The dry ingredients, about a half-cup each of flour and cornmeal augmented with 2 tsp. of baking powder, 1/2 tsp. of baking soda, 1 tbsp. honey and a dash of cayenne powder completed the ingredients. It baked for about a half-hour, rose nicely, was very cake-like. I'd make it differently next time; less butter, shredded sharp cheddar and leave the corn kernels as is. But it was good.

 

Irving spent part of the morning finishing up the electrical work in the glass lantern he installed in the foyer. We use it at night, rather than the chandelier, that sends out too much light; it's an alternative, more muted source of light. He had to figure out how to hang the lantern and how to do the electrical wiring. But it's done, finally. But there's another, smaller one waiting to be hung as well. Acquiring a Tiffany-style stained glass fixture displaced the larger lantern which was hung were the smaller one had been. Now it's the smaller lantern's turn to be hung ... somewhere.

And then out we went to the ravine, on another cold day of steady wind and both sun and cloud, with a 40% chance of rain. We had both rain and frost again last night. Most of the wax begonias in the garden have wilted. It won't take much more for the weeping mulberry to lose all its leaves in one fell swoop-- another few frosty nights will do it.. The ever-blooming begonias still look fresh and beautiful.

 

When we entered the ravine, Irving and I looked at one another. There was a passage cleared of foliage and pine needles in the middle of the trail. Instantly we thought back to last fall when we had come across a middle-aged woman with a rake, actually raking the leaves to either side of the trails. We thought she must be slightly mad. This time, however, I was mad. As in angry. This is a forest. Why anyone in their right mind would haul a rake to the ravine with them to rake up the fallen leaves is beyond ken.

 

Aside from the fact that only a lunatic mind would conceive of volunteering to be nature's housekeeper, the sight of the raked forest floor, after we had been enjoying the vision of an Autumn landscape ablaze with colour seemed like a cruel joke. We passed some people and remarked on how the trail now appeared and they said they had just passed a woman furiously raking the leaves. Eventually we caught up with her.

 

I was aghast at the spectacle of her busy-work re-arranging the natural landscape to suit her vision of what a forest needed; some tidying up commitment on her part, as an act of public virtue. I did not mince my words, and the decibel of my disbelief and critique was rather on the shrill side. From What do you think you're accomplishing? to Why are you doing this? to Haven't you truly anything more useful to commit yourself to? she barely got a word in edgewise. I wasn't listening, anyway. My parting advice to her was to take herself and her rake home, concentrate on her lawn, and leave the forest alone. It's a forest, after all!

 

She had managed to rake a relatively limited portion of our usual circuit, obviously intending to continue on. Presumably to have any real effect, to come out regularly, chastising Mother Nature for her poor housekeeping technique. The moment we passed her, the landscape resumed its natural visage, leaves continue to tumble, increasing the depth of the already-fallen mass beaming beautifully from the forest floor and the trail that Jackie and Jillie were scampering through.

What on Earth gets into people that they conceive of themselves as altruistic, performing good deeds that others will benefit by, when in fact they're fulfilling some kind of subterranean inner need of their own and rationality be damned? Her action was an affront to my own conception of our natural surroundings and the passage of the seasons; disruptive, meaningless and outright senseless.

With the swooping in of cold weather, it was time to change so many things, from the clothing we wear, to the covering on our beds, to the food we eat. So yesterday we had chicken soup with noodles for a change, and chicken thighs, deboned and skinned, baked with mushrooms done to a crisp. Also in the oven was a potatonik (potato pudding) and roasted cauliflower, all good hearty winter alternatives to the lighter fare we have in warmer weather.

For tonight I put on a soup featuring broccoli, and that'll be a cream of broccoli soup. I saw a recipe in the 'Living' section of the newspaper a few days back that I thought was really intriguing, and felt it would pair nicely with the soup. I hope it was worth the bother. By the time I was finished with preparing it, I had an amazing number of kitchen implements, bowls, frypan, blender, measuring cups and other cooking helpers to wash. But it looks fine, and I hope it'll taste that way. With two cups of corn kernels, cornmeal, flour, butter, eggs, sourcream, honey, and a dash of cayenne pepper, it will be different. Not cornbread, but corn pudding.

Just before I started that, I took out a package of cranberries I'd frozen, and decided to make cranberry sauce. That done, I won't have to think about it on Monday when I roast a turkey breast. And before that, I was out in the backyard cutting back vegetation, especially around the fencing, hoping to make it a little more accessible for the fencing crew coming in on Tuesday. Rose canes were cut back, and most of the hostas in the backyard, along with lily streamers and peonies. I ended up with five huge compost bags for pick-up on Wednesday morning.

And even before that, we had gone out to the ravine for our afternoon hike. A cold and windy day, but a sunny one, as well. Jackie and Jillie were geared as colourfully as the colour-transforming backdrop surrounding us, the forest canopy brilliant with green, yellow, red, pink and orange. It isn't only the deciduous trees that shed their leaves in autumn, so too do pines and there are plenty of pines in the forest. Their needles are piling high on the forest trails.

When we set out on our hike, there was a tiny woolly-bear caterpillar just pas the entrance to the ravine. The tiny creature had stalled itself in the middle of the trail and just sat there. When we returned from our hike over an hour later, it was still sitting in the same spot. Miraculous, it hadn't moved and yet hadn't been stepped on. Irving gently raised him into his hand and carried him over to the bracken on the forest floor; he had curled into a little self-protective ball, but there he would be safe from human foot traffic.