The perennialy longed-for but still unexpected fall gift from nature has arrived. And it's taken us by surprise, even though we've been accustomed to their occurrences most falls, when the ambient temperature is reduced from frigid to balmy and the winds seem more like breezes than imperious aggression. We've gone from afternoon highs of 6C, and night-time lows of 0C, to this afternoon's high of 18C. Where two days ago we bundled up against the cold, heading out for our daily ravine jaunts, today a light cotton jacket sufficed.

 

We basked in the warmth and light of a benevolent sun casting its blessings down upon us -- light, white wisps of cloud swirling through the wide blue sky. My frenetic activity yesterday afternoon trying to wrap up the gardens for their winter sleep and not coming close yet to finishing the job sees a reprieve. If this weather means to linger for a week, even more, I should have ample time to get the job done.

 

I used a wheelbarrow myself yesterday when trundling the garden soil from the huge garden pots at the front garden over to the back garden for disposal. The emptied pots will be assembled and covered with a protective tarp overwinter. Accumulated snow will build up around and over them. I've still tons of perrennials to cut back. Now, I'll have the time to do all of it, graciously offered by this mediating weather event.

 

But it was the industrial-size/weight wheelbarrows of the fencing crew that left us with huge sticky clods of clay all over the walkways. Thanks to the weather, Irving saw an opportunity this morning to get out with a hoe, a long-handled scrub-brush, the garden hose and pails of soapy water to scrape it all off, then wash it down, returning an ugly mess back to its 'clean' condition where neither we nor the puppies will track the muck into the house any longer.

 

We went off to the ravine with Jackie and Jillie after we both completed our household work for the day. I've planned for a lentil-vegetable soup and sesame-seed/cheese croissants with smoked salmon for dinner. Both to be prepared on our return from the forest. It's the kind of soup I use an immersion blender with to render it into a smooth slurry. And the croissants to go into the oven just a short while before dinnertime.

 

Colours in the ravine are fast being drained, the foliage on the forest floor transitioning to that dark, bleak grey, the leaves crisping as they dehydrate and become this year's compost over generations of fall foliage enriching the soil of the forest. What had fallen and had been bright gold, red and orange, is now becoming a uniform dark grey. Novembr is like that; dark and grey, and it's on the way.

In the meantime, however, we're into Indian Summer, and very much appreciated. Anyone we encountered in the ravine today had big smiles on their faces. The atmosphere was so balmy, the wind so gentle, no one could sustain a bad mood. 

 

When we returned home and did a walkthrough of the garden, we marbelled at the fresh flowering presence of dahlias and begonias. I had meant to leave them rather than compost them until the very last minute. Which would be when the cold and penetrating frost had finally established in the ground. The flowers look so fresh and beautifully colourful it would represent a botanicl crime to shorten their lifespan, so I won't, just yet.

 

In the garden of this household, clearing away and cleaning up before November arrives with its initial winter-permanent ground frost is not a casual affair. In a sense there may be a casual air about it, since the process began, as it always does, months ago. Cutting back here and there spent perennials with the certainty that it helps, even a little bit by bit, to prepare the garden for winter.

 

It's a long process, one that must seem tedious to most people, but I don't particularly find it onerous or  unpleasant. Strangely enough, the garden that we enjoy so much during the blooming season holds no grudge against me for maintaining that schedule. There is irony there in that I take a certain pleasure in the orderly preparations toward putting the garden to sleep for the winter months.

 

It means plucking out all the annuals, cutting back the perennials, judiciously trimming the rose canes, snipping shrubs and lopping dead branches off trees. It's time-consuming and laborious and often awkward trimming the hostas and the hydrangeas. We've so many hostas, in the garden beds and borders in the backyard, the rock garden, the shade garden and the garden at the front of the house. Some of them were already victims of light frost, others still looked fairly fresh, but they all were snipped.

 

Not quite all, as efficiently as I tried to be there are still some hostas awaiting their turn. This day's work in the garden comprises one of the last of the Big Push in preparation for winter. I emptied some of the garden pots of their annuals, but not all; I left those whose floral offerings remained fresh and perky. The most difficult part of emptying pots is unearthing the canna lilies and dracaena plants that become rootbound. The pots themselves have to be emptied of their garden soil, the soil wheelbarrowed to the backyard where it can be deposited in the border alongside the back fence. 

 

This weekend has turned out to be sunny and mild temperatured, albeit windy. So those plants that still thrive can continue to do so until the weather reverts once again to cold, wet and windy.

 

We took Jackie and Jillie out for their ravine walk earlier than usual today. And because today was so lovely, and there are still some colourful deciduous crowns whose foliage hasn't completely deserted their lofty perches, the landscape is still a picture of vibrant beauty here and there, the forest floor matching the colour above, like a mirror image seen in the placid water of a lake within a forest setting.

From time to time in our hour-and-a-half toddle through the forest trails, we came across passles of people representing extended family member groups. Such groups tend to favour the high, flat areas, trails meander through, rarely descending the ravine to the more energy-demanding hills and valleys. So there were busy areas and quiet areas; the sight of a fall forest irresistible to many people.

 

We returned home early enough, at 1:30 p.m. for me to anticipate enough time set aside to get as much work done as my energy level could sustain. And that turned out to be 2-1/2 hours. How many giant, heavily-packed compost bags did I fill? Five full and the sixth could take another half-bag-full of vegetation waste, but I ran out of energy. Jackie and Jillie were curiously sniffing about, attention fixed now and again on rare passersby and it was time to retreat.

The garden beds and borders have taken on a woeful look of regret, their glory days over. They look quite forlorn. It will be interesting to see what will have survived the heavy trampling in the border garden at the very back of the house with the installation of the new fence. Lilies, peonies, hostas, irises all flattened and crushed though they had all been cut back and trimmed prior to the arrival of the fencing crew. Spring will tell its own story of loss or survival.

 

We'll adjust, we always manage to given enough time, but it is getting really cold. We feel that way when the temperature is 6C with a howling wind, and I cast my mind forward several months when we'll be coping with -20C, icy wind and gathering snow. So much colder than it is now, and we'll weather the winter as we always do. We'll welcome the first lazy, drifting random flakes of snow like old friends, and by the time March rolls around, feel anxiety over the length of time it's taking for the accumulated snowpack to melt.

 

Last night it seemed more than appropriate to have one of those winter comfort meals. I had prepared meatballs out of lean ground beef, grated a large garlic clove and half an onion into the beef, sprinkled salt and pepper, added an egg and breadcrumbs then refrigerated the balls for a few hours. The last step was to chop another clove of garlic and onion to saute in olive oil, adding sliced mushrooms, mixed herbs then make a 'gravy' with flour, hot water and a bouillon cube. Into it went the meatballs to simmer, to be served over kasha with asparagus spears served in a separate bowl. It was welcome and warming, just right for a cold evening.

 

As cold as yesterday was, today has turned out colder and the wind has been howling through the atmosphere, raking down more leaves than ever from the trees. Fortunately, we left the wind to its own devices for the most part when we left the street and entered the ravine. The forest canopy now partially denuded still does a creditable job of shielding the trails from the worst excesses of roiling wind.

All around us as we trooped through the trails leaves came tumbling through the air, like dense flocks of birds. There are times, looking above us, that the impression momentarily arrives that they are, in fact birds, silhouetted against the sky. Even a sky as dark as today's was, occupied with dark streaked clouds, themselves moving at a pace the wind has designed for them.

 

 

As happened yesterday, few people in the community seem to want to voluntarily venture outdoors to encounter the cold and the blustering wind, so we had the trails to ourselves for the most part. Thick layers of fallen foliage underfoot are damp from yesterday evening's rain, and cushion our boots. It isn't so much the wet leaves that tend to be slippery but roots of trees covered by wet leaves, sending one sliding forward from time to time.

 

We haven't seen or heard geese flying southward in their fall migration at all this week; possibly most have left already on their journey to winter in more clement areas of the continent, awaiting winter onset. For that matter, on days like these there isn't that much bird activity at all, other than the occasional nuthatch or chickadees, birds of the boreal forest who remain where they are.

 

On our return home, though I had wanted to remain outdoors to continue working in the garden, tidying it up for winter sleep, Irving convinced me to wait for tomorrow and the weekend when the weather is set to take a milder temperature turn, where we might even see the sun. Frankly it makes more sense to me to do that kind of work in adverse weather. When the sun is out and the temperature rises you don't quite feel like yanking out annuals with some life left in them. And then, before you know it frost sets into the ground and the job becomes more complicated.

 

I should finish it all by the end of the month, at least. Which means that perennials will all have been cut back to await re-awakening in spring. The tiny shrubrose in the front garden is such an incredible cold-weather trooper, continuing to put out buds and to flower, that I'll hesitate to cut it back until I really have to. But the hydrangeas can all be cut back and the  hostas. It'll be tough to remove the fully mature dracaenas and canna lilies from the garden pots; their root system so well developed that the soil becomes a hard ball of interwoven roots. That certainly has to be done before the soil freezes.

With this cold weather we're on a cold-weather-comfort-food journey. It was really, really cold last night, and then the rain came pelting down. A dark night, perfect for snuggling up before the fireplace. I decided for a cream of carrot soup for dinner to accompany a spaghetti squash and fruit salad comprised of fresh plums, pears and kiwis. Nothing complicated about the soup; into it went chopped garlic clove, onion sauteed in olive oil, then potato, celery, and of course carrots and mixed herbs, along with a chicken soup cube for its base, and finally sour cream. The squash was done simply; a garlic/pepper combination and lots of shredded cheese.

The last thing the fencing crew did was make slight alterations to the gate that Irving had made decades ago, to re-hang it onto the newly-installed fencing. They've taken away all their gear, but the morning hours were busy with a last-minute completing schedule. Irving has to now scoop clay left on some grassy areas. We had lots of rain again last night; the combination of raw unearthed clay and rain spell muck.

Several weeks back I received an email that looked authentic enough, from Bell Canada. Wanting me to update my password. Just click here, it said. Well, I didn't, ambivalent whether it really was from Bell or whether it was a scam. Last week Irving found his laptop frozen, zapped by malware. Instructions were to do nothing, certainly not to shut down the computer, but to click here and Microsoft technicians would guide him to a process whereby he could destroy the malware. He brought it to me, and I looked online on my computer and found a reference to the fraud, and how to proceed in getting around the scam, so I restored the computer and it was fine.

Yesterday, another, urgent message from 'Bell Canada', that payment for our account was frozen, refused because the account hadn't been updated with a new password as they required. I was to react immediately, or lose service completely. This time I did react. I went directly to my Bell Symp0atico account to see whether I was required to update the password. I chose to 'speak' directly to a technician, and he gathered data from me, asked a few questions to which I responded, giving him the email address of the messages I'd received. He corroborated my impression; it was a scam. It's amazing that people have nothing better to do than attempt to scam the unsuspecting. But it must work, otherwise they'd never come up with these elaborate, credibility-straining devices.

Another cold and windy day, so we dressed for it, and wandered over to the ravine, glad to see there was still colour, still leaves on the trees despite the wind and last night's rain. But a lot of trees are looking pretty naked right now. And this weather is slated to continue for the near future, before we get a sunny break and milder weather. Part of the transition, after which we'll be in serious pre-winter weather for November, the gloomiest month of the year, in our opinion.

We were comfortable enough against the weather as we strode through the forest trails, coming across no one until one little Lab mix well known to us suddenly appeared to sit patiently awaiting the dole-out of cookies. He couldn't have situated himself in a more beautiful setting, the lush accumulation of bright foliage like a soft, comfortable and luxurious rug sprawled on the forest floor.

We could feel and smell rain in the atmosphere, but were fortunate during the course of a long hike to avoid rain. Only on our return back home, and a quick round of the really sad looking garden, did the rain clouds close in and open up. The garden hostas have mostly turned bright yellow, an echo of the trees in the forest, both poplars and maples with variations between them of peach, orange and red. Right beside the hostas adjacent the walkway are giant wax begonias that unlike the smaller variety that have succumbed to the frost, are still mightily blooming.

Everything, from cheese to cereal is now being packaged in smaller quantities, even though most prices continue to escalate. And some commodities just seem to disappear, some never to return to the shelves in the supermarket. I could buy any kind of oatmeal I wanted; instant, or 1-minute, but not the rolled oats that cook in 15 minutes that I prefer. Crisco vegetable shortening, my baking mainstay for pastry crusts is no longer on the shelves; in its place, lard, which I cannot use. The brand of coconut oil that we've used for years no longer competes with the several brands remaining on the shelves. The store brand of soups that I buy for the Food Bank has dwindled, now it's Campbell's-or-forget-it.

Speaking of the Food Bank, where once there were paltry offerings by shoppers, that has all changed. Now there are bags and bags of assorted dried, canned and packaged foods left out in that large container in the store foyer that overflows with generosity. So much so that shopping carts are parked alongside the container and they're overflowing with donations. I'm spending upwards of $25 and more weekly; today four tins of soup, four of tuna, four of flaked chicken, a pack of four macaroni and cheese boxes. Increasing numbers of people are turning to food banks to supplement what they can afford for their families.

We keep telling ourselves how fortunate we are that we're able to buy whatever groceries that we need, that appeal to us, that we enjoy, that are a requirement to provide nutrition adequate to health. Jackie and Jillie were overjoyed to welcome us back home. Jackie sniffing about for cauliflower and any other fresh vegetables. It's great when they have good appetites, especially when they missed their walk yesterday given the unending rain.

 I baked plain rolled sugar cookies for Irving that he prefers over all others after breakfast, then made speedy work cleaning up and we launched ourselves into a ravine hike. On a very cold and windy day. We saw some early morning sun but by the time we went off on our walk dark-streaked clouds had moved in to smother the blue. A 30% chance of rain, as well, but none fell while we were out. 

Yesterday's high wind and rain brought down copious amounts of colourful foliage, just as we expected it would. Making for greater numbers of defiolated trees in the forest canopy. Leaves that had fallen days ago and retained their bright yellows and peach shades are already turning that dark charcoal grey that poplars attain, their charm entirely gone and just grim in appearance. But those that flew off the trees yesterday are still glowing with colour.

There were very few people out for the time we were out with Jackie and Jillie this afternoon. The forest was deserted of human traffic. But suddenly out of nowhere appeared one of our puppies' friends, to station himself patiently before Irving and wait for his due, as a good boy. Which of course pleases Jackie and Jillie enormously, since what's due others is meant for them as well, just in smaller, more size-appropriate portions.

And then we came across an old friend whom we haven't seen in months. We'd seen his wife, but back in June, telling us he was recovering from another operation, this time for his back. He's decades younger than us, a natural athlete involved in sport competition and marathons. Years ago he was diagnosed with an inherited condition of water on the brain. A stunt was installed from his cranium to his stomach to drain the liquid. That was eight years ago. The  mechanism to adjust its function is failing, and he's suffering those same old symptoms of nausea and dizziness.

When we first saw him approaching we could see only two of his trio of border collies. He informed us that Carter, the largest of the three birthmates, had suddenly died yesterday. He was fine, full of energy first thing in the morning, but hours later he suddenly collapsed and died. It was neurological, a fatal episode. Something that had never happened before with the dog, something that caught up with him at age 14-1/2.

Just as we suspected, their absence from the ravine with their dogs was the result of having bought a cottage and spending the summer there. We knew they'd been looking for a cottage, and they found one that suited them on Rideau Lake, just over an hour's drive from their house. Carter, Barrie told us, had the time of his life there this summer, as did his siblings. 

When we arrived back home, there were the fencing people, back at work to complete our fence. They're such nice young men. Their professionalism is impressive. There's a bit of a sour note in the fact that we've lost about a perimeter foot all around to our backyard. For one thing the posts had to be installed where space permitted; the live cedars planted on the property line that now form a thick and tall hedge behind us, forced the fence forward. But the fence, when finished, will give us years of good service, privacy and ensure that the puppies when they're outside, are secure. No coyote could leap that 7-ft.height.

 

A gloomy day dawned this morning. Dark, the kind of moody appearance to the day that makes you want to just snuggle down deeper into the covers. Jackie and Jillie were certainly prepared to do just that. But Monday's a busy cleaning day, so up we got. Reluctantly but determinedly. 

 

Although the rain was streaming heavily down, two of the fencing workers were out with a large trailer, preparing to haul it away. Despite the cool atmosphere and the ill-tempered rain, they were filling that good-sized trailer that had stood empty over the weekend with detritus, ranging from the old disassembled fencing to huge clods of muck they had pulled up out of the backyard enabling the installation of the fence posts.

 

And that was a huge relief. Piles of mucky clay sat firmly, dense and thick, on parts of the backyard walkway, including some areas that were difficult to avoid stepping on, making a right royal mess on boots and wherever that clay separated from the boots as we went about  cleaning up the gardens on the weekend. That accomplished, the full trailer was covered with a tarp and driven away for disposal. They returned the empty trailer to sit on the road, then left for the day. Still plenty of fencing left dumped for future removal.

For the first time in a week we were able to let Jackie and Jillie out into the backyard instead of the side of the house. They took shelter under the deck, as they often do when it's raining, but they accomplished their morning evacuations. And they were hungry for breakfast. The rain seems to accentuate appetite while at the same time making us feel lazy once we've eaten; our puppies are no different.

 

The house interior was dark, but also, in my opinion, comfortably cozy. Even when we had all the lights blazing away, there was a prevailing dusky atmosphere. And in those conditions, Irving's stained glass windows really make their presence known. Just as in the forest when we're there in a light rain or after a heavy rain, colours seem intensified and glow, the windows do the same. The house interior may be dark, but the windows glow, their colours vibrant and resonating with subtlety otherwise not seen.

When we had finished the house cleaning in midafternoon, Jackie and Jillie were joyful, all the confining doors were thrown open and they could follow us out of the family room once the floors had dried in bathrooms, foyer, kitchen, laundry room, powder room, breakfast room. Time to relax, since we were shut out of a walk. They don't really mind, at that point it's their afternoon vegetable salad that seems most important to them.

 

While I changed from my 'work clothes', they ran rambunctiously around the bedroom, getting the only exercise that would engage them today. Leaping from loveseat to bed, from bed onto scatter rugs that slid halfway across the room. I don't mind them leaping on the bed, I do mind it when Jackie sometimes goes a little berserk, leaping at pillows stacked at the head of the bed, crushing them, and finally ensconcing himself comfortably deep between them. While we chuckle at the sight of his little face peeking out at us, I grumble at having to remake the bed after that all-day cleaning.

 

Could be the leaf-motif on the upper comforter used as a bedspread convinces Jackie he's in the ravine, and that a huge gust of wind spread green autumn leaves generously all over the bed enticing him to delve as deeply into it as he can manage for ultimate comfort.

 

I'm preparing one of Irving's favourite dinners; cooking a small corned beef we'll have with crisped-in-olive-oil baby potatoes and honeyed carrots. It's a meal that won't be shared with the puppies since I don't think the spices in corned beef are suitable for defenceless little dogs.

Last time I looked out the front door it was still raining, still dark and morose-looking. We don't really mind missing our otherwise-daily hike through the forest on days like this. When, rarely, no opportunity presents itself through a lull in the weather for us to go out however briefly with the puppies. On with the fireplace, we're ready to fully relax while the aroma of simmering corned beef wafts through the house.

 

 

What an exciting night we had. Last night was a sleeping challenge. Not often we find it difficult to fall asleep, or wake up suddenly and then struggle to fall back asleep, but last night was one of those. And to add to the misery of interrupted sleep, first Jillie and then an hour later Jackie, decided they must, absolutely must, answer the call of nature. Which meant, of course, trudging downstairs while shaking ourselves into a dressing gown, and thus clad, venturing outside. On a frigid night, no less. 

The day was incredibly blustery and cold, overcast and dark. So the piping hot soup I prepared full of fresh harvest vegetables was a good choice, as was the still-warm cheese-and-chives-fragrant cornbread, the corn kernels mixed into the stiff batter giving it an extra moistness and slight crunch. Irving slipped a few pieces of cornbread to the puppies, as usual. Maybe that's what got them going later during the night?

Today was to have been an all-day-sun kind of day. Still cool, with a high afternoon temperature of 13C, but the wind wasn't as temperamental as yesterday's. The backyard doesn't look very inviting. Quite frankly it's a mess. Although the fencing crew doesn't work Sunday and didn't show up Saturday leaving their equipment in the backyard for their return, the fencing that did get erected looks fine. Taller than our old fence and nice and bright. 

Irving decided to take his reciprocating saw out and take down an old Alberta spruce that wasn't getting any sun. When it was planted it had ample sun exposure, but over the years the purple smoke tree and the magnolia have grown and spread, their crowns soaking up the sun, the spruce getting none at all, so it was left with a little cap of green. It was too close to the incoming fence, so down it came.

In the afternoon we shoved off to the ravine.  Uncertain whether it would rain, though all indications seemed to be it would, we dressed appropriately. The forest canopy is fast thinning out; the deciduous part of the forest exposed to such high winds yesterday, lost a huge proportion of their fall-turned foliage, making the piles on the forest floor more colourful and denser than before.

There's days of rain again in the offing the early part of the coming week, so it and prevailing winds will make quick work of what's left on the trees. The colour will quickly fade and turn that dark, dirty grey and begin crumbling. Dark and dismal for the following weeks into late November. That's the pattern of oncoming winter. 

Because it's Sunday, and the spectacle of fall colour beginning to ebb, quite a few people were out hiking the trails with their dogs. Good thing Irving always takes ample large cookies along with him; they're called upon frequently. Although the dogs, especially the larger ones, are fully invested in playing, as though the atmosphere is conducive to cavorting about with their pals more than usual, they never mind taking a break to await a cookie or two or three.

When we returned home a quick look around the garden that I further denuded myself yesterday afternoon revealed that the little carpet roses are nowhere near finished blooming. That one little plant produces pink buds that turn into yellow or pink or ivory flowers; a more delightful little shrub couldn't be found. And the begonias don't fail to surprise us with their insistence on remaining fresh and beautiful. True floral troopers.