I found myself recently recalling the winter days when I took such pleasure with shovel-and-snow. For the past several years I've left it all to Irving, nursing a wrenched shoulder, arm, chest wall, from an unfortunate fall in the ravine. Time, the saying goes, heals all wounds, referring mostly to psychological trauma, but it also does so with physical hurt if left long enough for the body to repair itself. I decided, when I took Jackie and Jillie out after their breakfast, to shovel the walkways in the backyard and it felt really good. 

When Irving left shortly after breakfast to drive over to a nearby pharmacy to pick up our renewed prescriptions, I decided to slip out of the house in his absence. We'd earlier received an email from the snow removal company that clears out our driveway, so I knew they'd be by some time in the afternoon. I went out primarily to shovel the porch, and the walkways from driveway to backyard and driveway to front walk.

I just didn't feel like leaving things as they were. It felt so bracing to be out there. There was about 5-6 cm down, and the shovel moved so effortlessly, I decided I'd shovel out the driveway. That's just what I did, hoping to be able to finish before Irving returned. I left the bottom quadrant of the driveway at the street junction unshovelled, but the bulk of the driveway was done to my satisfaction, so back into the house I went, and was re-united with two concerned little pups.

An hour or so later, much after Irving had returned to admonish me about shovelling, the big snow tractor was in the driveway, clearing away snow at the bottom of the driveway. And when, soon afterward, we ventured out with Jackie and Jillie for our usual ravine hike, I assessed that the hand shovelling I had done was superior to the work done by that huge  tractor whose lugs bit deeply into the snow, the impressions of which remained evident on the snow it left behind on the driveway.

I felt pretty good about doing that shovelling. Considering I'm a week away from my 85th birthday. Mind, I don't like it when Irving is out shovelling, it really upsets me. I feel pretty strong and limber, have good energy for the most part, aside from the inevitable twitch and tear now and again. I attribute some of that to the simple, brief daily exercises I've done most of my life. I do them now in our bathroom, and it's become a signal for Jackie and Jillie that when I'm finished, we're about to go out for our daily tramp through the woods. They respond by leaping joyously about after one another.

On with their new snug winter jackets and harnesses and boots. Newfallen snow and freezing temperatures play havoc with little dogs' feet. Aside from which the municipality has begun using salt on the roads to melt the build-up of ice. When dogs' paws pick up the salt then walk on snow and ice the resulting cold-effect can be pretty painful and can even cause bleeding cracks on their pads. Inevitably during the winter months we'll occasionally see bleeding marks on some of the trails in the ravine from dogs' paws. Boots save that from happening.

The forest landscape under a pewter sky matching the wide white of the forest floor with the stark darkness of tree trunks rising naked upward looks like a monochromatic black-and-white painting. Both conifers and hardwood silhouetted against the bright white of the snow, the forest interior its usual dusky ambiance made more opaque by the heavy overcast and the random light bursts of snow.

 Footing in ascents and descents of the hills couldn't be better. The snow now deep enough and adhering nicely to the ice layers below. There was no back-sliding or slipping, the snow allowing our boots and cleats fine gripping for stability and balance. Jackie and Jillie have no such problems, they skip lightly through the snow, boot-protected, while its depths leave clusters of snow on the upper portions of their legs.

Ours was the almost sole presence this afternoon on this winter wonderland.The countdown for Christmas is nigh, people excited and involved in last-minute gift shopping. Irving encountered an inordinate number of vehicles on the road when he'd gone out earlier in the day. A month of frantic preparations coming to a head for many people planning on visiting others, despite cautionary messages from health and government-level authorities during this Omicron-spread wave of the coronavirus.

 Irving was up first. I cocked an eye at my bedside clock-radio and turned back over: 7:30 a.m. He just went on, preparing to dress. We had discussed it last night, the day before as well and decided it made sense. We're back to where we were last winter, getting up earlier than we want to, so we can slip out of the house and get our shopping for groceries done before breakfast, just around when the stores open for business.

To avoid the usual crush of shoppers. Bypassing the opportunity for Omicron to victimize us. Last winter most of the supermarkets had announced special morning hours for seniors, from 8:00 to 9:00 a.m. Giving us oldies a break. No such announcements have yet been made; this was before the advent of vaccines, when suddenly the globe was assailed by a hugely infectious virus that little was known about.

Science still doesn't know much about the SARS-CoV-2 virus that causes COVID-19, but the public does have some defences now that weren't available in the first shocking months of its spread, causing havoc, serious illnesses in many and deaths, mostly in elderly populations. We enjoyed a much-needed break during the intervening summer months. We almost felt as though we had returned to life as we know it; all the while the reality of a still-lethal virus hovering in the background.

And then the mutations began here and there, mostly none of any particular note, but some emerging that the World Health Organization considered to be 'strains of concern'. Delta cut a wide swath through hospital admissions and funeral homes and we thought we were facing the worst possible scenario. Until Omicron was identified in South Africa. It took no time at all for that variant to enter Canada and begin proliferating to the point where about 80% of new cases are being identified as Omicron.

It has proven particularly adept at atmospheric infectiousness; its minuscule globular particles drifting through the atmosphere. Ventilation is now more critical than ever before. Getting in and out of enclosed spaces as quickly as feasible, avoiding them if possible, wearing masks, maintaining distancing; we're back to all of that. And for us, back to early morning shopping.

Jackie and Jillie needed no explanation. They're pretty intuitive; they knew immediately we got out of bed something was different. And it took no time at all that they realized they were being left at home alone and we were leaving. Their piteous howling and mewling followed us out the door.

And when we arrived at the supermarket, never all that crowded at the best of times and these aren't the best of times, we discovered to our mild surprise that we weren't the only ones determined to return to an old defensive posture. There were plenty of people in the store, shopping. Mostly older people. They were short cashiers; not everyone has taken to the express do-it-yourself cash-outs. It would take us forever to get all our purchases punched in.

So it was done, we returned home to a pair of joyous little pooches, gave them treats, took our showers, prepared breakfast and everyone relaxed. And then we went out to the ravine for our usual daily hike through the forest. The thermometer read -2.2C, and there was no wind to speak of, but we had missed the sun which had decided to duck back in behind a vast silvery cloud cover for the remainder of the day. Jackie and Jillie were beside themselves with happiness, glad to be out in the snow zipping along the forest trails.

We had the trails, in fact, pretty much to ourselves. And we were surprised at how cold it seemed despite the mild temperature on this first official calendar day of winter. Because it felt so damp which always translates into feeling colder. There's only a few more days to Christmas, so everyone, we assume, who celebrates the day must be frantically shopping. We've already seen advertisements for Boxing Day, before Christmas even has arrived. It's a frenzy we're glad not to be part of.

Mohindar came over yesterday afternoon for a little visit. They're planning a trip to Toronto to visit with their daughter Lovelin and son-in-law, and their three young grandchildren. They're so family focused and oriented to the exclusion of much else, it's been difficult for them, the last several years. Lovelin tells them not to bother, but they're determined to go. Imeran will go with them, he's living at home now since he's able to work remotely. Mohindar bore a gift for us from Rajinder. She's been busy in the kitchen preparing goodies to take with to Toronto, and thought we'd enjoy some of her beautiful creations.

 Monday is always busy, there's so much to do on cleaning day. When I was working full time Sunday was cleaning day, and when we were looking after our granddaughter I shunted cleaning day off to Sunday as well. Ours is a large house, lots to do in it, so I'm still doing cleaning on Sunday, mostly kitchen and bathrooms and laundering linen, but Monday's the thorough  house-cleaning day. Which means even though Irving does the vacuuming, it's late by the time I've finished washing the floors.

Today is also the second-shortest day of the year; the crown of shortest day goes to the 21st, tomorrow, also the official first day of winter. Looks like a traditional white Christmas coming up after all, with Sunday's snowfall -- and that should cheer people up a bit. I imagine it's hard to find cheer during these coronavirus pandemic days which actually have been years.

When we spoke with our Vancouver son we all agreed it would be best for him to cancel his usual winter visit with us, given the current circumstances of the Omicron variant spreading so rapidly. Both Ontario and British Columbia seem headed toward another lockdown and closed borders, and both have already advised their citizens not to make any travel plans unless absolutely unavoidable. Omicron appears more virally airborne, and the interior of a passenger jet isn't the most benign place to be stuck in for hours given its rate of infectiousness. It's been two years since we last saw him, and we miss him dreadfully. I thought he'd be here for my 85th birthday but it's not to be. Possibly things will improve by spring.

We set out this afternoon for the ravine at about quarter to four, and dusk had already settled in. On the street there was some illumination from the snow, and peoples' outside lights for their Christmas decorations were already flickering on. Once in the ravine enclosed by the forest, without the presence of snow it would have been completely dark. I've got my Nikon camera set to 'night scenes' but even so it doesn't like lack of ambient light.

The plush covering of snow still fairly fresh in appearance and the trodden trails all made for a very comfortable trek through the forest. With their tiny boots on their little feet Jackie and Jillie feel no discomfort from the cold and the snow has no opportunity to build up into irritating and sometimes painful ice balls between their pads. Our footing was excellent. There are still areas of ice that must be avoided, but otherwise it's a world of difference with the snow clinging to the ice that had coated the forest last week.

Many others had an urge similar to ours, to get out into the forest for a late-day swing through the trails, and we came across a number of people we've got to know over the years. Everyone pleased that the trails have once again become negotiable and with the general relaxed atmosphere to be found there.

Once we had finished our circuit, as darkness descended, we made our way out of the ravine, climbed to street level and ambled down t he street toward our house. On the way stopping briefly before some of our neighbours' homes, brightly and colourfully lit for the Christmas-New York combination of festive holiday seasons. To those who decorate their homes it is an attestation of their faith. For those like ourselves who have no reason to, the spillover of the season's glitter, glow and good fellowship is an admired tradition. One that both touches and pleases us.

Our faith in the traditions of winter has been restored. Lamentations on high over unwinter-like conditions reached the ears of Mother Nature and she relented. Ravine trekkers were full of gratitude, and had ample yarns to recount of their hair-raising adventures determined not to miss their daily hikes through the ravined forest. Today was the day finally that no one who wanted to miss exercising their privilege of sharing the forest trails met up and relived accounts of tumbling, sliding, slipping, falling.

No one appears to have suffered any damage. They're all seasoned hikers and knew what they were up against when they set off. Tree huggers all. Wherever a modicum of stability could be had, descending those slippery slopes they were fully taken advantage of. It takes a leap of faith to unwind one's arms in deep hugs around trees lining the trails when straight ahead is nothing but ice just waiting to meet one's rump.

There's such a feeling of forlorn misery for those addicted to the forest when all that is available for an afternoon intention to relax while loping along a forest trail is to either deliberately risk breaking a leg or an arm or denting a skull by persisting in a forest heavily glazed with ice, or the even-under-such-conditions infinitely lesser choice of walking along suburban streets and byways.

Instead of coming away from the experience of street walking with a mind cleared of the daily mind-smog of concerns and bad news interrupting the solitude of a pandemic day, ill humour sets in because the sight of streets empty of people but full of driveways and vehicles has induced a headache of visual rejection. Moving limbs fail to make contact with nature's surface, and it just is not the same walking on roads and sidewalks; asphalt may be practical for the purposes to which it lends itself but it is no substitute for the massage that booted feet gain through contact with Earth's surface.

There is a feeling of tired limbs after walking on the street, not the liberated, loose and relaxed sensation one comes away with following the experience of a woodland tramp. One feels cheated of the leisure pleasure, the beauty that nature's landscape presents, the natural elements that stir a distnt primal memory we may be unaware of, but subconsciously respond to.

We were uncertain when we approached the ravine entrance, whether the snow that fell all day yesterday would adequately adhere to the hard frozen surface underfoot. But for the most part, it did. And those who had ventured forth before us had done an excellent job of tamping down the new snow, breaking trail, creating a well trodden surface. Ice did protrude here and there, and there was ample evidence that those before us had slipped now and again. But we were able to spot those areas of mischief and to avoid them.

Snow covered all surfaces, fresh and white and blindingly bright. It had turned out a bright sunny day, a wide blue sky above and the wind was well behaved, an altogether perfect winter day. Officially, of course, winter arrives on the 21st, Tuesday. The reminder is the short duration of daylight as we approach the shortest day of the year.

Now and again we heard distant voices rising in excited exclamations, a sure giveaway that somewhere in the ravine there were children playing in the new snow. Schools are out for the Christmas-New Year's holidays. Closed earlier this year in deference to the new COVID variant that is sweeping relentlessly through populations worldwide. Its inexorable infectiousness is alarming and already Omicron's presence has been discovered in both elementary and high school populations.

So children were sensibly taking themselves to the out-of-doors with their sleds and zipping down the hillsides of the newly-snowed ravine. What should be an exciting time of year for school-age children has been depressed by the necessary caution revolving around a virus that has spread havoc globally. The best of all possible places for children to be; isolated yet still recreationally challenged at the presence of nature's seasonal gift.

 

The weather has turned again, and it's colder, although still windy. The wind less harsh than it has been; it's lost some of its beastly appetite. Now that the snow is gone entirely from the backyard you'd think we'd be safe heading out to the ravine, but it just isn't so. There will be plenty of snow left under the forest canopy and since it's both heavily overcast and much colder all that ice stretching from one side of the forest interior to the other will still be there.

When it was extraordinarily mild last week and on those occasions when the sun came out, it helped melt the urban snow, but the sun doesn't reach the forest floor full on and it did nothing for the ice. Because there was little else we could do to accommodate our need to get Jackie and Jillie out for their daily walk we resigned ourselves to having to walk on the street again with them.

They're unaccustomed to walking for long periods on leash. Their freedom to explore and move about at random as the mood takes them is gone. Jillie just plods straight ahead, while Jackie needs constant reminders of where he can and cannot venture. 

When we set out in early afternoon for a walk, off came the cleats from our boots and on went the puppies' boots. The thermometer told us -5C, but it was snowing and the combination is too icy for their feet to sustain long contact with. On our way up the street we saw someone getting into a vehicle parked alongside the entrance to the ravine, with a dog. He looked vaguely familiar; one of the many people in the community who deliberately drive to this venue, unlike us, approaching it directly on foot.

He grimaced when we asked about the ice. Dreadful, he said. He was relieved to be out, unscathed. It took him forever trying to negotiate the trails. The new snow didn't help, even if it was a little sticky, since it covered the ice so it wasn't possible to see where good footing might lie, and it was all he could do to remain upright. 

Off he drove, on we continued. The snow cast a white semi-opaque skein over the landscape, diminishing sightlines in the distance. With the wind at our backs the snow wasn't being shoved in our faces; once we turned direction it was a different story. Still, the wind didn't pack the force it did yesterday and the day before, when we were in the ravine, slowly making our way through, and the wind bellowed through the forest canopy, swaying tree tops, bringing down broken branches.

 

Conditions ensured we wouldn't see people out walking. It reminded me of our years of living in Atlanta when no one ever walked on the streets, irrespective of the weather or the time of year, in an infinitely more forgiving climate.Even the level of traffic, as we walked along a main street, was reduced. In no small part as a result of the new Omicron variant causing school shutdowns and people returning to working remotely.

Jackie kept trying to veer out from the sidewalk past the boulevard toward the street and I kept leading him back again. He's an excitable walker in comparison to the stolid behaviour of his sister. But she's been a little 'under the weather' these last few days, although she seems to be coming around now. We gave her a packet of material that is supposed to restore her gut bacteria sprinkled over her breakfast this morning.

Off the main street and onto side streets at least there's a bit of interesting colour now and again on the lawns and homes that residents decorate for Christmas. It's where wire-and-light deer can be seen, along with exploded plastic Santas and other fanciful decor that can be seen, none of which impresses Jackie and Jillie, but give a lift to us.

 

The presence of ferocious wind these past few days has been disconcerting. It's thumping, booming loud, hard to ignore. Actually, the entire weather picture has been entirely unusual. Without the wind today would have seemed like a balmy day with an afternoon high of 4C. Nothing resembling the norm for this time of year, here. Aggressive wind like this in stormy gusts makes dogs nervous, and Jackie and Jillie are no exceptions.

This morning, our neighbour Dan came by to tell us that a portion of the fence separating our backyards gave way to the wind. They have an in-ground swimming pool so he wanted us to be aware, for Jackie and Jillie. He and his son plan to restore the broken uprights. They don't need any help from Irving. But Irving took advantage of the fact that the snow has melted given the mild temperatures of the past week, and the present temperate 4C to finish covering all the garden pots and statuary. The months ahead with the inevitable winter storms are hard, year after year, on these cast-stone garden ornaments.

 

I was busy in the kitchen as usual, on Friday morning. In Irving's absence, I tried to open a new jar of loose yeast, but nothing would budge that lid. I had added the yeast from the nearly-empty jar currently in use but thought the bread dough I was preparing could use a little more yeast; it was just not to be. And I decided to bake cupcakes for a change; very large ones, actually, easily twice the size of ordinary cupcakes. So we end up with six rather than a dozen.

I had bought a lime a week ago for that purpose. A cup of coconut also goes into the cupcakes, along with the lime zest and the juice of the lime. Irving was back in the house in time to squeeze the lime of its juice for me with the use of a lemon-juicer. He has, understandably, a much firmer grip than me, though I can beat cake batter or knead bread dough far more energetically than he can; an object lesson in repetitive motion and acquired skills, not brute strength.

 

As the afternoon rolled around, we were fairly certain we wouldn't be going out to the ravine with Jackie and Jillie. Conditions in the forest where the trails continually climb hills and descend into valleys have turned dangerous this past week. All the snow we've accumulated has turned to ice as a result of mild days and icy night time temperatures. It's almost impossible to evade the icy trails since they're now so wide.

Yesterday's hike through the forest with Jackie and Jillie required great care and even for us, so familiar with the terrain in all conditions, the challenge was physically arduous. So, we would have to go elsewhere with Jackie and Jillie and elsewhere is the neighbourhood streets and parks. In our neighbourhood there is no end of parks, many of them abutting on the ravine, because it is so extensive. 

 

Not the most preferential of walking routes in our opinion, but at least it's something. The wind blasted us continually, so that even the muted temperature seemed cold. Jillie was decidedly unenthusiastic about the venue she found herself in, but Jackie, curious as always, was everywhere, examining and trotting along to examine anything that looked new and different -- and everything did, to him.

 

The sky was an angry, dark, streaked charcoal grey, looking as though it was prepared at any moment to open up and deliver a snowsquall, but it just stayed moody, without any ground effect. We could certainly use some snow to liven up the drab landscape. Eventually we ended up on the street behind our own, where the cheerful sight of Christmas decorations in front of various homes lent an air of lightheartedness and expectation to the sour, dark environment.

We're on a truly odd roller-coaster of peculiar weather happenings. In one fell swoop of wind-borne change, the  temperature soared here past 10C, unbelievably balmy, making quick work of the snow that fell yesterday afternoon in a mini-blizzard that lasted several hours and brought us a plush new coverlet of fluffy snow. All that fluff has now turned to water with little ponds appearing everywhere.

We debated whether Jackie and Jillie would appreciate their boots for a hike through the ravine today, and decided they would. We had anticipated that the high temperature would turn the prevailing ice that has covered the forest floor from hard, glossy ice to a denaturized ice, soft and malleable underfoot. But just in case, because you never know, we strapped on cleats over our boots and set off.

The street leading up to the ravine entrance is now entirely free of the snow and ice that had packed it solid for the past several weeks. Hard-packed snow and ice still remain at the edges extending from the curbs outward, but the street itself is now free. The wind helpfully blew us up the street to the ravine entrance and it didn't take long to discover that ample ice remained and on the trails it was thick, extending from one side of the forest to the other.

Our descent into the ravine was tricky; like Jackie and Jillie we scouted out the most obvious places where our boots should tread, taking our time with our uncertain way down. Irving is forever offering to stabilize me, to hold my hand, my elbow, because he is more sure of his footing than I am, but I always envision myself falling and bringing him along with me. I'd rather fall on my own than be responsible for his falling.

We found the trails more relenting in the most surprising places, where they normally tend to be more difficult, and that offered us a bit of relief until we gained the upper portion of the forest trails again and could relax on more level terrain. Still icy, but more safely negotiable with the assurance our cleats give us. We thought, under the circumstances that the snow would have melted apace, but were happy to discover plenty of it remaining.

The snow that did melt found its way into the creek at the ravine bottom, and it was streaming wildly, dark and cold. Dark with the turbulence-driven sedimentary particles the force of the water was thrashing up from the bottom of the creek. Plenty of fallen twigs, broken off trees from the weight of the snow that had fallen, turned briefly to ice, then melted as the temperature rose.

We kept looking for alternate potentials to the wide swath of uneven ice that made up the trail system, and on occasion found a few that served us well. Jackie and Jillie were busy poking about here and here while carefully avoiding the wide, frozen central portion of the trails. Not much chance of coming across others out with their dogs in the ravine these days; people perhaps somewhat more sensible and certainly more acutely avoidance-prone of falls than we are.

There was one descent where purchase was so tenuous that pure insecurity had me accepting Irving's offer to guide and support me at a particularly treacherous point. A sense of accomplishment and exhilaration does flood briefly into our minds once we've completed the circuit, made note of our surrounding, changing landscape, and make our way back up the last of the hills to street level.

The thing about it is that brief daily escape into nature, irrespective of conditions relieves us of a certain amount of stress. The leisure pleasure tinged on these occasions with a sense of heightened awareness of our surroundings and the necessity to exercise caution, strips deeper, more concerning thoughts from our minds, however temporarily.

As we approached our house, there was Mohindar in his driveway garden hose in hand, washing down his car of road spray. Both he and Rajindar now have received their third vaccine doses. They each went separately to area pharmacies to have them administered. The pharmacies are taking up the slack and providing better service to residents than the provincial health services. The clinic where our family physician practices out of, has been virtually out of bounds for almost two years. Today a call from the clinic asking if we'd had our flu shots yet. They haven't administered them during COVID; our pharmacy did.