Surprisingly, this doesn't appear to have been a good year for acorns. Despite ample numbers of oak in the forest of our wooded ravine there's a paucity of acorns, and nor do we see many pine cones. But there are spruce cones aplenty, so many that they litter the forest floor in great abundance. Yesterday not far from one of the entrances to the ravine quite distant from our own, we came across a middle-aged couple each with a bag brimming with spruce cones. They were happily looking for more under the conifers; people intent on making their own Christmas decorations for the festive season to come.

It was a lovely day to be out hiking, just hovering below freezing at minus-2-C, but with the sun full out and scarce wind to ruffle the cold. Now that the foliage has left all the deciduous trees and winter will soon arrive there is a forlorn atmosphere about the forest, particularly on heavily overcast days. When the sun shines, however, it's a different story. The sun appears like an immense glittering jewel as a backstop to the otherwise-gaunt-appearing trees, dark and bare.

And because the tree branches are free of foliage the sun's rays are now free to shine fully through the forest canopy, lighting up the atmosphere, creating bright shafts of illumination falling on the floor of the forest and colouring even the now-faint-of-shade, desiccating foliage. Mind, it's an increasingly ephemeral vision, since it doesn't take long for the sun to begin setting; the difference in the light can be detected on the approach to four in the afternoon when dusk begins to descend, and it does so swiftly. Taking us by surprise, actually; we have yet to once again become accustomed to this late-fall phenomenon.

Yesterday we also met, for the first time, a galumphing big Labradoodle named Gus. You cannot see Labrador in Gus, the Poodle strain in the breed mix usually predominates. And so, Jackie and Jillie were introduced to a distant member of their family, as it were. Introductions all around, followed by casual acceptance and the scents on all accounts stored away in canine memory.

A brief romp, the giant dog overwhelming the two smaller ones, but careful as large breeds tend to be, that they don't cause any physical harm to the smaller ones resulting from size-and-weight disequilibrium.

Bob is one of those people who thinks about others, he has empathy in spades. He's thoughtful and kind, among those of our neighbours whose presence in our lives however casual in his case, we so much appreciate. He and his wife live on the street behind ours, his backyard is several over from ours. We know some of the people who live on that street and they're all very nice, but Bob is special. In his working life he was with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, since retired. It's surprising, actually, how many people in the neighbourhood were employed with some police service or the military.

The first time we saw Bob in the ravine surprised us; to our knowledge he's never in all the years we've known him, made it a destination of choice. But there he was, months ago, struggling to pull a stroller up one of the hills. The ravine and its forested environment does have flat areas, but it is also rife with hills, plenty of physical challenges to ascend and descend those hills. We were speaking with an acquaintance at the top of one of the hills when we saw him, slowly pulling himself and a child-stroller, not one of those with heavy, large wheels meant for rough landscapes.

When he finally reached the top, we were introduced to his 14-month-old granddaughter, an infant with a beaming, round face, excited at the sight of two little prancing dogs. We spoke awhile, and he informed us that they were now daily custodians of this child, their daughter brought her over early in the morning and picked her up after work. Day-care is expensive, about $50 daily, he told us.

We looked after our granddaughter for the first nine years of her life while her parents worked, and we were 60 when we started that routine. It wasn't easy, but we managed. She was eventually enrolled in a primary school a fifteen-minute walk from our house, but from age four she was picked up each morning or afternoon by a school bus and then dropped off back in front of our house, until she began full-day classes. Before that we had enrolled her in a pre-school that required us to be there on certain days to help look after the children and clean up after them.

But before she began walking we would take her on our backs in a child carrier into the ravine, from seven to eight in the morning, and then we'd have breakfast. That backpack had its purpose, and it's odd that Bob hasn't made use of one rather than relying on the stroller. He is nowhere near as robust as he once was, and we've come across him several times since that first encounter, each time struggling up or down a hill. Yesterday he observed that he had made it a practice to take the child out for a ravine stroll at four in the afternoon, but because dusk begins falling at that hour he's had to venture out earlier.

The little girl, he said, is just now beginning to experiment with her first steps. We introduced our granddaughter to walking on the ravine paths pretty early. But for years during the winter we'd haul her on a sled, the easiest way to get along on the trails with a very young child. She's now 21, in her third year of university.

When we exited the ravine and were on the street walking down to our house, we heard the unmistakable call of geese heading south. It was overcast, a low ceiling of grey, the sky marbled with shades-of-grey clouds, and under them was the typical formation of geese, leaving us for the winter.

Yesterday during our first ten minutes on the woodland trails we normally circuit daily with our two little dogs, we briefly came across a Golden Retriever whose behaviour clearly shouted out 'confused' and 'lost'. The dog sped by us in an obvious panic of not knowing where its human was; at some time in their hike through the woods they became separated. There was no opportunity to stop this very upset dog, he just whizzed by us, not once but on several occasions as we made our way along the trails.

A young women whom we'd never before seen in the woods but appearing quite comfortable making her way along the trails stopped to speak of her impression of a dog she'd encountered but no one with it, and the dog unwilling to linger, driven to keep looking. My husband remarked to her that he thought he had heard someone in the distance calling....

A day earlier we'd finally come across a  casual  acquaintance we've known for years with his large, friendly dog. The dog, as usual on sighting us made swiftly toward us to be stroked. Charlie is a very emotionally needy dog, wanting always to be noticed and to be petted. She pays no attention whatever to our two much smaller dogs' noisy antics. But a week ago she was nowhere to be seen, unresponsive when our friend whistled for her, and by then, he informed us, she had been gone for at least 20 minutes.

Charlie in a winter photo

Characteristically, she forges ahead and he brings up the rear, and most often she isn't in sight. Besides which, our friend tends to stop for lengthy periods of time when he comes abreast people he knows and as someone addicted to hearing himself speak on any subject whatever, goes on forever and tends to 'forget' about Charlie's whereabouts. Four hours, she was missing that day, he told us. He hadn't wanted to leave the forest without her, so remained there, hoping she would return. He had no idea that hours earlier a telephone message had been left at his home that someone had discovered her in their backyard. Those good souls took Charlie into their house and allowed her to entertain them  until our friend finally showed up for her.

Since we no longer saw the Golden that we presumed was lost as we continued along our usual circuit, we made the assumption that it had been finally re-united with its walker. We've come across such situations all too often, but for the most part things work out in the end.

They like and enjoy their creature comforts. And, as residents of the home we share, they are entitled to enjoy those creature comforts. They are our valued and loved companions, as much 'at home' in this place we share as we are. And while we're familiar with one another's likes and dislikes, we're still in some ways mysteries to one another.

Our two puppies -- we consider them such, though they're now over three years of age -- are decidedly dedicated to their own comfort. And far be it from us to deny them any of those comforts. Even though we might not agree with them. We can understand why it is that they are so consumed with the sun. They know the time of day the sun enters the sliding glass doors off the patio so they can position themselves comfortably in their bed in full sunlight, taking advantage of those days when we too wholly appreciate the sun on wintry days shining through the windows and effectively warming the interior of the house.

They ask to be allowed to go out only on such occasions; when the atmosphere is crisp and cold and the sun floats in a clear, blue sky. Then they agree they're temporarily 'outside dogs'. But they're attracted as much to the branches of the weeping Mulberry tree sitting alongside the deck as they are to the presence of the sun. The sun is what brings them out, and once out they head straight for the Mulberry. In the summer months when the canopy over the deck is curtained this delightful opportunity to gnaw on the Mulberry branches isn't available. Now, it is. In the summer aside from our daily hikes in the forest they're content to remain indoors.

And why they are consumed with passion over chewing up sticks found in the forest on the trails, and the easy availability of spruce needles to chew on is beyond our ken. Of course they forage for the same irresistible treats in the backyard, as well. We've tried for years to wean them away from their fascination with anything lying on the ground. To no avail. And now we're alert to the presence of rotting wild apples on the forest floor covered with mould that once sent Jackie into hospital care when his nervous system was affected by ingesting the mould, and he had to have his stomach pumped clean of the apples he'd eaten, so we're forever alert to their habit of quickly pouncing on things like this that they know they're forbidden.

When they were young we accustomed them to having vegetable salads, raw and cooked, hoping to give them vitamins and minerals their diet might be missing, leading them to picking up detritus. Evidently that didn't work, though they remain expectant and utterly devoted to their daily salads.

So, no, they're indoor dogs who appreciate all the comforts of a home interior. Jackie prefers to perch himself on the back of the sofa close to where my computer station is. Occasionally he'll check out my ears, licking them clean, then settle back in comfort, while Jillie luxuriates on the loveseat beside my husband, who uses a mini-laptop to search out news. They only begin to become restless when their interior clock nudges them with the realization that dinner-time is fast approaching...

Of course as someone who has spent a lot of time in the kitchen and enjoys the challenge of preparing healthy, attractive and good-tasting food I know what ghee is. I've read about it casually, and dismissed it as what it is -- clarified butter -- of no particular cooking/baking interest to me personally, though for anyone focused on East Indian cooking it would be a major ingredient their pantry (refrigerator) would never be without.

And then a week or so ago I read an article out of The Washington Post, re-printed in our local newspaper and it was beyond intriguing. For example: "Ghee has long been touted in Indian cooking and Ayurvedic medicine as healing to the digestive tract and a contributor to strong eyesight, healthy skin and stable moods. Modern studies validate that ghee provides the fat-soluble vitamins A (for eyesight and skin), D (for bones and immune health), and E (to balance hormones and repair damaged tissue), and all of these vitamins are easily absorbed when combined with the natural fat in ghee. Ghee also has butyric acid, shown to support healthy digestion."

Now that's valuable information, as is this: "Studies show that ghee does not increase cholesterol, as it is high in short- and medium-chain fatty acids, instead of the long-chain fatty acids most associated with heart disease." And the point that really went far to convince me I'd been missing out on a wonderful food ingredient in my cooking experience: "...Very little ghee is needed to achieve a rich, creamy flavour. Ghee is almost entirely free of lactose and casein, with a smoke point beyond which essential minerals and enzymes are destroyed and free radicals that can damage our bodies are released."

The writer waxed enthusiastic about how her new use of ghee for baking and cooking for her family received rave appreciation in popcorn, roasting broccoli, topping sweet potatoes, in curries and soups. She also used it in bread, pancakes, oatmeal, eggs where it's rich flavour added to the pleasure of the taste of these preparations.

I resolved on the basis of these details revelling in the qualities of clarified butter that it was time to see for myself, and next shopping expedition at the supermarket included a search for ghee. I'd known it was there on the shelves, since I had seen it before. And I couldn't wait to have the opportunity to conduct my own gustatory experiments with ghee.

First time was with a small side of wild Pacific salmon. Preparing to bake it, I used ghee over the non-skin side, and lemon-infused pepper, along with slices of fresh lemon placed over the ghee. And the end result? Hmm. Our efforts to discern an improvement over the usual butter or extra-virgin olive oil used in that preparation, faltered. Tasted just the same as it always does, good but no hint that the ghee improved the flavour.

Then I tried it on potatoes, and big deal! Yesterday I roasted a Cornish hen for dinner, and with it prepared a Butternut squash and a Raisin-egg-noodle pudding. Ghee went into roasting the squash with a bit of brown sugar, cinnamon and cloves. And ghee was used with the pudding instead of the usual olive oil. The squash failed to respond to the magic of the ghee; it tasted limp. As for the pudding, it tasted the same as usual, except that the crisp bottom had a lingering butter taste. Neh!

Disappointing, actually. I'll eventually use up the ghee but without considering it a special ingredient in cooking. Life is full of surprises and disappointments; this wasn't an Eureka! moment, unfortunately.

We've been busy, battening down the hatches, as it were on the home front in preparation for winter's arrival. And judging by the weather we've been plunged into the last week that won't be far from reality. Most of our yardwork is now completed. It takes a great deal of determination and energy, tiring work that should be done before ground frost sets in. Some people prefer doing garden clean-up in the spring, but we do it all in the fall, then relax when spring arrives, until planting time.

In the forest the trails, so short a time ago muddy as a result of the nighttime freeze, daytime thaw, are now distinctly hard, frozen solid. The fallen foliage once so bright in their yellow-orange-red kaleidoscope of brilliant colour are now turning that sad crisp grey-brown. The poplar leaves in particular turn a dark, miserable grey colour serving as warning that they'll soon be covered with a layer of white. And we won't mind.

With the foliage gone, leaving bare branches, sightlines through the forest are uninterrupted but for the green spaces where evergreens grow to relieve the dismal greys and blacks of the late fall landscape. We're not deterred from our daily rambles in the woods despite that, since there's always things to see and to marvel at; in any of nature's seasons there are remarkable little vignettes that draw our attention.

The squirrels have been busy, storing away the surfeit of pine and spruce cones that have resulted from this year's growth cycle. And Jackie and Jillie, snug in their cold-weather jackets, love to race after them. They've grown to recognize surprisingly swiftly our exclamations of "squirrel", as their vocabulary grows apace. The squirrels' antics always leave them puzzled, standing at the base of trees, wondering where the little creatures have disappeared to. The squirrels, for their part, seem to enjoy switching their tails with grand impudence at the creatures below incapable of mounting tree trunks.

We recently came across someone we'd never seen before, walking a four-week-old pitbull mix. A sweet looking little puppy, new to the world and eager to make its acquaintance. It hesitated, sitting docilely beside the woman walking with it, as our two approached in their usual storm-front manner, barking furiously. But sensing they meant no harm, the little fellow became animated in no time at all, taking to chasing Jackie and Jillie, giving them a good run, and teaching them how enthusiastically energetic and muscular little dogs destined to grow into big dogs can be.

So yesterday I completed an online form meant to inform the parks and recreation department of the municipality that there was an issue that needed to be resolved in the ravine. The large, heavy upper portion of an old poplar that had snapped during a fierce windstorm and got hung up from tumbling to the forest floor by its mast falling on supporting branches of another nearby tree, until someone obviously intending to solve the problem of a tree suspended over a portion of the forest trail by cutting a portion of it and freeing the wrong end simply made the wrong cut in an awkward situation, enabling the tree to fall, thudding into the forest floor while still being snagged at the mast end.

The form of notification isn't all that well designed, and it was fairly frustrating to complete it to the satisfaction of the programming to enable it to be sent, but finally it was done, complete with photograph (which I'd had to make 'smaller' because the original wasn't accepted, as being too 'large') as proof. Now all they have to do is contact me back so I can give them the location; as an indication of how inadequate the form was designed, there was no required field to identify where the potential hazard is located.

This isn't the first time I've alerted the municipality to a potential danger to people posed by natural surroundings when an element has gone awry; on the previous occasion it was a very large old pine that had grown too parallel to the ground over the years, no doubt because of prevailing winds, and had then partially snapped in yet another wind storm. It towered over the path as well, snagged and held up by other trees but not as firmly as this one. It took a crew a month to get around to removing it, and because of the size of the tree it was a big job.

There's yet another tree growing at a really steeply horizontal angle in the ravine, but it's off one of the tertiary trails, and sufficiently removed from the trail itself so that when it does crack and fall it won't pose a threat to anyone other than wildlife or companion dogs wandering over to its proximity and that too would be a shame if any came to harm. There's no doubt, given the parallel angle of this tree that it would have fallen long ago had it too not been held up by trees its mast has been held up by.

Many years ago when we moved to this street we live on adjacent to the Bilberry Creek Ravine forest we made the acquaintance of a man living down the street, who prided himself on being a 'friend of the forest' in an official volunteer capacity. He too hiked daily through the ravine and if he noticed anything awry it was his volunteer duty to advise the municipality. He's now in his 90s, still living in the same house, but it's been years since he surrendered his volunteerism and hasn't been in the forest for more than a decade. To our knowledge, no one has since taken his place, and for that matter it's doubtful that the volunteer program is even in operation any longer.