From early morning forward this was a winter-balmy day of high temperature that soared to 5C, light wind and sun and cloud. Mostly sun. Enough to ensure that Jackie and Jillie asked repeatedly to have the patio door slid open so they could slip out for brief encounters with the sun, posing on the deck as sun worshippers. When they were in the house, Jackie trotted over to the glassed front door to watch squirrels eating peanuts. Whiling away the time until we would all embark on an afternoon drift through the winter forest.

How things change.  The ravine and its forest which we almost could once consider our very own private urban wilderness area for the number of people we could see on any given day throughout our three decades of trekking across its many and varied trails, is becoming a community playground. The number and variety of people we have been encountering throughout the ravine trails of late has marked quite a difference form what we have been accustomed to.

Perhaps numbers relate to the time of year, closing in on spring as winter begins to shut down, even if it continues to struggle to hold the fort so to speak, when people are assailed with thoughts of 'enough winter! come on spring!'. In plain language that anyone can understand, we're in the initial throes of spring fever. Not just we, but our companion pets.

Circumstances have a tendency sometimes to converge, and we're seeing that now in winter-weary people, signs of emerging spring, and a weather-moderate week-end. To us, the forest is irresistible at any time, beckoning us to its trails. But with the combination of late winter when the forest floor remains thickly slathered in accumulated snow, the temperature mild enough that even the wind cannot make it seem cold, the opportunity to get out and enjoy it all calls to everyone.

Of course that's an oversimplification. Clearly not 'everyone' is interested in immersing themselves in the loveliest of winter landscapes when conditions to do so are perfect. But enough to make an impression. On us, at any rate. We saw two young women hauling an improvised sleigh-cradle along the upper trails today with a months' old baby bundled inside. It's just what we used to do ourselves over twenty years ago when our granddaughter was an infant.

There were young families with very young children posting themselves on some of the interior hills, hurtling themselves downhill in brightly-coloured plastic toboggans and sleds, hurrying back up again to repeat the thrill, children dressed in bright, warm and colourful clothing, screaming with delight at the fun they were being exposed to. And we saw older people out with their companion dogs walking the trails and obviously enjoying themselves.

The sun was in and out all day, brightening the atmosphere with a new emphasis on light and warmth as the spring equinox begins its approach. Its position in the sky is much higher, and it casts much longer shadows now than it does during the early winter months. With all the commotion, the excited movement and sound everywhere, it was a fair guess that any coyotes thinking of presenting themselves would think otherwise, today.

No matter, Jackie and Jillie remained fully leashed. They still had plenty of opportunities to befriend other dogs, and before our circuit was completed this afternoon we even came across old friends whom we haven't seen in months. Walking their extremely small beagle, Iggy. Jackie and  Jillie were happy to greet old friends. Their memory is faultless in recalling who among our friends has a tendency to carry small treats to dole out generously, and they weren't disappointed.

Then, when we began to approach the final leg of our traipse through the woods, emerging close to the last bridge that takes us over the forest creek and toward the last long hill we haul ourselves up to street level we stopped briefly. From there, we could see in the distance, a good-sized group of adults and children on a long, inclined portion of one of the hills that comprise the ravined forest, having a whale of a time sledding downhill, and slogging uphill to do it all again.

It's been our experience over the  years of  hiking through the ravine trails that Saturday is generally very quiet; few people and their dogs seem to venture out into nature on Saturdays. And that is quite understandable; the first 'free' day after the work week is taken up with a great many catch-up homebody things, chief among them shopping.

People are mad for shopping. Not only the necessities to restock the refrigerator with perishable food, but just to satisfy the acquisitive urge to mosey about shopping malls, slipping into one store after another, or to check out sales advertisements; shopping is an attractant to most people, as though it's driven into our modern-day DNA that we must shop to acquire desirable things. It's why we have so many 'desirable' items in our possession.

Keeping up with what's popular and the latest fads, including updating wardrobes represents a large part of our shopping experience. All of which fades somewhat with age and maturity, but not completely. As for those no longer in the workforce when one might assume since opportunity is there to do whatever is desired, shopping would take place at times convenient when the stores are not thronged with working people appears to be simplistic an idea. Simply because of habit.

In any event, we've long become accustomed to seeing no one else out on the trails of a Saturday. It's different on Sunday, then people do tend to come out in droves. 'Droves' being simply relative. But there's notably something in the air of late; we can see it in Jackie and Jillie, and feel it ourselves; the longer daylight hours are now noticeable, some of the warblers are beginning to return from their winter migration, and the inevitability of spring's arrival is impinging on people's consciousness.

Today being Saturday it was an anomaly to see a good many people out and about on the trails. The first person we came across was in a bit of a dazzle, camera in hand, we saw him crouching on a hillside to gain a favoured perspective of the landscape. He was, he told us, beaming happily, just wandering about on the different trails, not knowing where he was in relation to streets outside the ravine, just appreciating his first-time introduction to the spectacular winter landscape.

And after that, it was a succession of others we came across, couples, family groups, singles, some with dogs, some without, but all appearing to enjoy the  fresh air, sun and sparkling-white arras of the forest floor and its sentried trees. Jackie and Jillie came across a full array of dogs, large and small, single and in small packs, ages fifteen to puppyhood. And everyone seemed blissed out.

Oh well, not quite everyone; we did pass a woman, smiling apologetically, trying to control her large muscular white fluff of a dog, who appeared intent on grabbing Jackie and tearing him limb to limb. There are times when I would like other dogs to deliver a comeuppance to our unfriendly little pair whose idea of a greeting toward other dogs is not a tail wag, but a barking frenzy -- but a nip would do, not a truly punishing physical encounter.

We met up with people we'd never seen before who wanted to stand about and chat, and others we've known for years, and then of course you do stand about and chat endlessly bringing one another up to speed on all manner of things. To state that this was a leisurely walk in appreciation of the milder temperature that is destined to remain with us all week, where today was 2C, the air whipped by a strenuous wind, but sun gleaming above, would be a vast understatement.

 

There are those days -- and it's just as well they're few and far between -- when you just don't feel like doing things. 'Things' you're accustomed to doing, take pleasure in, look forward to, plan part of your day around, but one particular day it seems you would just prefer not to. And that was yesterday. When blasting wind gusts and the high temperature for the afternoon wouldn't budge above -11C, and even the presence of the sun couldn't change your mind. Just a mite too inclement.

So, we stayed home. And we reveled in it. The wind gusted mercilessly, swaying trees, swiping what was left of the snow off branches, and the cold persisted, though the sun did too, warming the house interior through our large west-facing windows. Jackie and Jillie were restless, wanting to go out to the backyard continually, but never for very long. Too cold. The presence of the sun tricked them.

So they relaxed right alongside us. Played with one another. Asked for treats. Played with their toys. Rooted about in the laundry room where we keep containers of toques, mittens, scarves and their winter wardrobe because it also serves as a 'mud room' with direct access outside via a side door and another into the garage. And out of those containers some prizes were discovered; one of my socks for winter wear under boots, one of my husband's wool peaked caps. And before we knew it, the cap had been ravaged but the sock was rescued. Their toys aren't quite as interesting.

But today turned out an irresistible day for a ramble through the woodland trails and off we went after my husband returned from the library and I had finished my baking and cleaning routine for the day. The wind, as it happened, was even more violent than it had been the day before. The temperature had soared all the way to -6C, and with the constancy of the warming February sun, a much more agreeable atmosphere ensued.

The trails are in excellent shape, good and firm footing to be had even slogging uphill. The creek is frozen, and much of the ice is covered with snow, though in the middle you can still see that this is indeed a creek running through a forested ravine. This morning, in the backyard, my husband heard a cardinal. Last night, we went up to bed late, after midnight, and there on the porch was a tiny mouse scrabbling to find bits of leftover nuts that we set out for the squirrels.

A lovely day this has been indeed, and others in the greater community appeared to think so as well. Normally we may come across one, or several others out and about in the woods usually with a dog companion, but today there must have been at least eight people being taken out for a spin on the forest trails by their winter-enthusiastic dogs. Mostly people we've never before seen. And by extension the presence of the dogs was a new meeting experience for Jackie and Jillie, too.

I always keep my little digital camera close at hand, and for good reason. I'm a compulsive picture-taker, and so many opportunities arise to take photos, I simply cannot resist. From seeing a dog new to my acquaintance wearing a lovely winter coat that he's grown into all by himself with a little endowment from nature, to the sun burning fiercely through the winter landscape of frozen tree trunks. I snap here and there, constantly.

We'll remember, before we go upstairs to bed tonight, no matter what time it is, to lay out something for that energetic, unafraid little mouse, even if it's just oatmeal flakes. It was so incredibly cold last night, at -20C, and that minuscule creature was out there, foraging for food. And then you think of the birds, how they manage to endure such cold, but they do, fluffing their feathers around them to create warming air pockets, and then they sleep away the night hours, prepared to greet the dawn with their beautiful songs.

It's inevitable, tied firmly to the season. Each winter day is an adventure in weather. Despite daily weather forecasts we never quite know how the coming day will shape up. Overcast or sunny? Windy or calm? Cold or extremely icy? And the snow -- there are so many different types of snow, from light and airy-fluffy, coming down in bunches of lofty flakes, or minuscule beads of pearly snow; wet snow, heavy and tending to clump, heavy to shovel and clinging to boots.

Yesterday began with light flurries turning to heavier snowfall, then clumps and finally tiny pearls of firm snow, then pinging freezing rain and finally snow so light and airy it was difficult to see but presented as a kind of ice fog when we were moving through the ravine on the forest trails. Our winter jackets always let us know what kind of frozen precipitation we're experiencing at any given time since it tends to cling to the fabric.

Heavily overcast for the entire day, with a brisk wind making the -8C high for the day seem even colder, we could feel the wind lashing the light snow against our faces. Jackie and Jillie returned home with icy clumps of snow pellets sticking to their hairy little legs. Today, the sun was wide open and robin's egg blue, the sun fiercely bright, illuminating a landscape that is steeped deep in a season's-worth of snow.

And though it is still -6C, the wind is so brisk and chill -- mean is how we describe it when it lashes against our faces and seems to penetrate the layers we wear to protect against its probing fingers -- that it seems much colder than yesterday, despite the presence of the sun. All the snow that had accumulated on the trees yesterday has been whipped down off branches, leaving them bare and dark against the snow blanketing the landscape of the forest floor.

At one time it was Jillie who was constantly on the hunt for tiny twigs appearing on the snow from the trees above, wind-dislodged from their high perches to tempt little dogs. It seems that Jackie has now adopted his sister's previous fascination with twigs, so much so that he cannot walk a few yards without pouncing on yet another appealing looking twig to scoop it up and munch it as he trots along the trail.

Both though, instantly react any time they sense, hear, smell or see another dog in their near vicinity, all the more so when that dog is approaching along the trail, coming ever nearer. Sometimes familiar with our two incessant little barkers, and paying the ruckus little mind, and occasionally happening to be a dog not yet introduced to these perpetual barking machines, puzzled and hesitatingly uncertain whether to proceed or to turn back. Most large dogs don't tend to bark at all.

It's as though there's a decorum polarization between small dogs and large. The large breeds restrained but friendly, and rarely making a sound of any kind, while the smaller breeds -- and the smaller the more prone to noise-making -- seem to fail to recognize that their unrestrained noise-
making is unmannerly and uncouth. In the end, everyone makes friends with everyone else, with rare exceptions, and the stranger tends to become a familiar.

The forest landscape is at its best, presenting the finest views of a late-winter landscape when the snow season is at its  height, a fresh snowfall has topped up the lofty snowpack and the sun radiates both light and warmth as it begins its slow move toward the spring equinox, exactly a month ahead, to the day -- March 19, 2020.

Turns out the snowstorm we were expecting kind of fizzled. It was supposed to start overnight and snow well into the morning hours, but that's not quite what happened. At early morning the snow began falling, at times in thick cluster-flakes. But it was relatively short-lived, the snowfall descending from time to time lightly before once again picking up. There was a brisk wind, the temperature hovering at -10C. By the time it stopped in mid-afternoon we had received a piddling 7 cm, not the 15 to 20 cm that was forecasted.

We had set out just after noon to see what conditions would be like in the ravine, and they were just fine. It was cold, granted, at -8C by then, and the wind was a little unpleasant at times, but the vision before us of a newly-snowed forest was delightfully intact, if not quite spectacular. We were just descending into the ravine from street level, when we heard the distinctive cry of a Pileated woodpecker.

The bird, in fact, flew  high above and crossed the main entry trail we were descending, to settle on a large old poplar close to the trail. This, I thought, was perhaps an opportunity to get a photograph of the bird, the largest of the woodpeckers that make this region their home, and as a species, quite primitive in appearance with a beak equally long as its head. I've wanted to photograph one of the birds for quite a while. Hoping to one day get close enough to manage it.

There had been one occasion when we happened to come by one of these large birds in the ravine, and because they have no natural enemies in their habitat, they're unafraid of the presence of people, and this one certainly was unconcerned about our near presence. It allowed us to approach fairly close to the tree it was thrumming on, and stuck around awhile before flying off. But this was in the days before digital cameras. Now that I always carry one with me when we set off for a hike on forest trails, we've never come close to one again.

And, it seems, I'm not likely to. For one thing, for the most part they tend to edge themselves around the back of any tree they're on, opposite to where you happen to be standing, gawking. So the trunk of the tree protects the bird from your clear sight. This one was playing those games and I waited in vain for an opportunity to see him come around even at the distance and height he had attained. He chose instead to fly off, mocking me as he flew deeper into the forest interior, with his long shrill protracted call that is so derision-like.

The little bright orange goldfish that we were seeing daily weeks ago in the creek have gone. We haven't been able to spot them for the past week or more. Granted, the creek is frozen, at least its top layer, and they could be sheltering from the cold deeper down. We'll only know when spring arrives. It was kind of novel to see them throughout January, though.

Jackie and Jillie were wearing their winter-weight raincoats to keep them warm and dry. While we were out, there was a kind of semi-opaque haze through the forest landscape. And that was the result of the snow having turned to tiny pearls of ice, clinging as it fell, to everything, us included. Because they have acquired a habit of foraging casually for little twigs to chew on while they ramble through the woods, Jackie and Jillie tend to get their muzzles really snow-covered, which doesn't bother them at all.

The only others we saw out were an energetic and pleasant young woman accompanied by a much more energetic Rhodesian Ridgeback, who was so delighted to be out in the woods and the prospect of racing through the ravine with its fresh layer of snow, it virtually flew down the trail, leaving us all somewhat bedazzled at the spectacle of sheer exuberance on display.

As for the Pileated woodpecker, that was it. We neither caught sight of it again, nor heard its call reverberating through the woods this afternoon after our initial encounter. I'm resigned, actually, to the reality that the closest I'll get again to one of these beautiful birds is to be satisfied with viewing the pair in our family room. They're frozen in a window my husband designed and produced in stained glass many years ago.

It seems so long ago that we could casually and with a certain amount of spontaneity decide to leave everything and just decamp for a leisurely, enjoyable stroll through the woods, without having to pull together sweaters, jackets, mittens, toques and boots with crampons firmly attached before heading out of the house. But this is winter and as it dallies and tries our almost limitless patience, all those preparations are an absolute requirement.

Jackie and Jillie look really shaggy. Their haircoats have grown in with a vengeance. It's been far too long since they were groomed. And though it's fine in this weather that they wear that very personal garment of theirs over which we pull a sweater and then a winter jacket, and cannot forget their boots, it's just as well that they aren't cursed with a sense of vanity.

By the end of the month, however, that'll change. They'll be taken to the groomers and will once again look like svelte little poodles. On the downside, it will still be winter, still be cold, we'll still have snowstorms and they'll be somewhat less snug in their shorn natural haircoat. They will be visually presentable, however. At the present time their paws are overgrown with hair, and so are their faces, with their little topknots dangling over their eyes, despite our occasional snips to free their sightlines.

Another cold day today, with the afternoon high at -6C, but thank heavens, the wind has subsided from the roaring tempest it has been the last few days. So, off we set adequately geared, knowing that since today is also a holiday for those in the workforce, we would come across a few more people out enjoying the winter landscape than might otherwise be expected.

And we weren't wrong, although there weren't a great many people and their dogs, just a handful. And as it happened, no one that we know. Enough strangers out enjoying the day to ensure that Jackie and Jillie behaved as badly as they tend to do when coming across people and dogs they aren't familiar with. They're curious about people, and functionally hostile to strange dogs and there doesn't seem to be anything we can do about it.

It seems an inbred characteristic of toy poodles. Button, our miniature poodle, was nothing like that; bright, intelligent and friendly. Her companion, Riley, a toy poodle, behaved just the same way that Jackie and Jillie do. We know from our interaction with standard poodles that they tend to be quiet, not barkers like our two, and well behaved. An attribute that could never be applied to Jackie and Jillie.

Our two little sprites are just as they are and though they're beyond irritating at times in their mannerisms and breed-specific quirks they make up for it by having personalities that define them for who they are as our companions. In many ways they're predictable, and in others they continue to surprise us by their antics and mode of communication with us.

As for today's ramble through the forest trails, it was extremely pleasant. Nature went out of her way today to gift us with a clear sky and the presence of sun so bright it hurt one's eyes. The forest was fully illuminated, fingers of bright probing sunlight streaming through the trees to spill onto the forest floor, an almost ethereal vision of a landscape.

In the near distance we could hear a pileated woodpecker splintering a tree trunk somewhere in the forest. Chickadees and nuthatches have been busy lately. This morning when my husband went out early with Jackie and Jillie in the backyard, he heard returning goldfinches, though it seems awfully early for them.