I grew up with an awareness that may have been unusual in a small child. Seared into my subconscious, everpresent in my thoughts now are the ghastly events and details of the Holocaust. It was an ongoing atrocity in my childhood, my ears picking up whispered conversations between my parents, my parents and their friends. As an aware child I read books about Jewish tribulations. Antisemitism is a word I wasn't aware of, but the very act itself was familiar to me. I dimly recall asking my father why I was called a Christ-killer and a dirty Jew. As I grew older, I ravenously read accounts of the Holocaust.

 

Fifty years ago when our children were young, just reaching their teen years, we happened to be in one of those indoor malls popular during that era, built underground as a kind of basement adjunct-enterprise to downtown buildings. There were wide-open spaces brilliantly lit, with no natural light, but which drew people in Ottawa's summer heat and brutal winters to shop at boutique-like specialty shops. While there, a young girl approached me and asked in heavily-accented English where she could buy yoghurt.

 

A brief conversation ensued, and she revealed that she was 17 years old, back-packing through Canada, a German citizen who had struck out on her own. During the years of Fascist Germany, the Fuhrer true to a socialist ideal, instilled healthy lifestyles in the population, which included encouraging young people to travel -- while his machinery butchered the untermensch. I must have asked where she was staying and her response stunned me. She was sleeping rough in an old abandoned building on a small island in the Ottawa River. We knew the site, had been there, and I was shocked. I said to her that was dangerous, to expose herself like that. She laughed and said she had a knife to protect herself.

 

We drove her back to the island where she retrieved her backpack and took her home with us. She showered, went out to the garden to dry her long blonde hair. I don't recall our children having any interest in her. She slept that night and for another few nights on a sofa in our basement recreation room that I'd covered with bedding. She shared our meals. And she said she was ready to move on. We gave her $20 which she didn't want to take, and drove her to a busy intersection where she intended to hitchhike a drive to Montreal. We wished her well, and to be safe.

 

A month or so later the telephone rang and at the other end a cheerful voice said when my husband answered: "Here is Iris!". She told him where she was, identifying the street on her return to Ottawa and Irving picked her up, brought her back for another few days' stay. And then she left again with another $20, to continue her journeys. A year later a surprise arrived in the mail, a postcard covered with a message from Iris who had returned to her home country.  

My bedside reading material now is an account of an American couple from Philadelphia who decided in the late 1930s to try to negotiate America's complex and restrictive immigration system with its strict quotas, particularly for Jews, and particularly for Jews desperately attempting to escape Germany and Austria. It's likely that the narrative in the book prompted me to dredge up that old memory of the young girl exploring Canada.

And while I was writing this, I recalled another incident, about 30 years ago when we had gone canoe-camping with our younger son, a biologist, to a nature preserve in Quebec; we had taken a day-trip from our camp and began climbing a modest enough mountain, but Irving and I were too bushed to climb to the summit and our son forged on as we waited half-way up the mountain. While we waited, a pair of climbers passed us, stopping to chat briefly; a young couple from Germany.

On another occasion years later, when we spent a week canoe-camping as we did the Bowron Lakes circuit in British Columbia with our son, halfway through the circuit we had difficulty finding a camping spot that hadn't already been taken by others. Finally, exhausted and late afternoon, we could stop paddling; we found a camping area that hadn't already been claimed. Soon after we put up our tent another canoe came by; the two sitting in the canoe looked as tired as we had been and called up to us if we would mind sharing the spot with them. We welcomed them in, offered them a cup of hot tea. They were a young couple from Austria, tourists. And they mentioned how alarmed they felt when they saw German tourists among the many people also engaged in the Bowron Lakes route. That really struck us.

In the here-and-now, another beautiful day, lots of sun, and the high winds of the last few days subdued. We went out this afternoon for our ravine hike through the same icy trails we had encountered yesterday and for which my moderately-spiked cleats strapped over my boots had proved inadequate. Today I took the precaution of pulling on serious crampons and they made all the difference, enabling me to proceed uphill and down with confidence. Sensibly, Irving had worn his heavier cleats both days.

 

Yesterday turned out an utterly dreary, dismal, dark and damp day. We'd prefer not to have all those 'd's together. And unexpectedly, in mid-December. It was so dispiriting, it seemed to take over our entire mood for the day. We felt like moping about. All of us, including the puppies. No energy for anything, so we gave the day over to just lolling about. Reading, mostly. Never a waste of time. The pups hesitated at sticking their little snouts out the door.

 

We watched as the snowpack in the backyard and the front lawn began evaporating under the rain. Of course, unrelenting rain in winter means no ravine hike. Which made us feel as though something vital was missing from our day. Yes, it's habit, but it's also pleasurable, and restful. I decided that under the circumstances a little comfort food cheer-us-up was in order, and since it's still Hanukkah, we had potato latkes for dinner. Along with a garden salad and fresh pears for dessert.

 

Today though, today we woke to a bright bedroom, sunlight streaming through the windows. We rose a bit early to greet the day mostly because we had an early afternoon appointment for Jackie and Jillie at the groomers. And we had anticipated a turn through the ravine beforehand. Our mornings are relaxing, we take our time with breakfast. We do, but the pups gobble theirs down. They had their usual half-egg apiece after their breakfast; they always anticipate a treat.

Once we went off to the ravine we were reassured that there was ample snow remaining, despite the assault of the rain. I had put on lighter crampons over boots today, while Irving wore  his sturdier ones. And I soon realized what an error in judgement that was. While the rain of yesterday did not after all melt the snowpack, it did create a situation of almost glare-ice on the upper layer of the snow on the trails mostly where the snow had been well tamped down from  use.

Irving had much firmer traction than I did in those conditions both descending into the ravine in the first long hillside, and ascending other hills. There were times when I began slipping despite the crampons and that's when he lent me a firming arm to control my sliding. No problem for Jackie and Jillie, but there would have been if they'd been wearing their little rubber boots. The temperature at 1C was mild enough that their tiny paws wouldn't freeze.

It didn't feel very mild, however, entirely due to  strong winds. Aside from the care given to footing it was a distinct pleasure to have a bright day. It makes for elevated spirits at the very least. As soon as we returned home from our walk through the forest trails, it was time to leave again, this time for the  groomers. While the pups were in the care of the lovely young women who operate the spa next to the veterinarian clinic we frequent we went off to do the weekly shopping.

On our return to pick Jackie and Jillie up after their grooming, they're always placed together in a little room overlooking the side of the building with a floor-to-ceiling window; they must sense or smell or hear that we're approaching before we're even in sight, since we can hear them begin calling to us as we approach. And then we saw them; they had both been festooned with brightly-coloured scarves for the Christmas season around their necks. And there they were in festive gear, leaping excitedly at the window, waiting for us.

 

Nature has been closely, bemusedly, incredulously, following human affairs in disbelief that all the verities of social cohesion in support of the greater social weal have been steadily turning in on themselves, discarding reality and justice and experience and history for the vagaries of vicious mischief and the howling crowds willing and eager to surrender to the loudest voices heralding the new era of unscience and unhistory and injustice.

 

It is all so wearyingly obnoxious and utterly lunatic; stoking one's inner fires of incredulity can lead to a yearning to turn time itself inside out. Perhaps it will turn out to be one long cataclysmic paranoid hate-bacchanalia that will wear itself out and in another generation or so, sanity will return to humanity. In the interim, Nature has been so befuddled by the collapse of intelligence and common sense to the extent that she's forgotten to monitor her elements.

 

She appears not to have noticed that although it is approaching mid-December and we've had a nice beginning of a substantial snowpack, yesterday became sufficiently mild to bring us an all-day rain. Oh, all-night rain followed into the morning as well. And then the temperature dropped ever so bit-by-bit and snow came along, not quite restoring what was lost in the rain.

 

 

We're steadily approaching the shortest day of the year. On December 21 winter will officially arrive, although to be sure, it dropped by, a lot earlier and just forgot to leave. Little wonder these December days have been pulling the blinds on daylight, shuttering the sun out in favour of dense ceilings of cloud. These short-on-light days don't sit well with us. By the time we've taken our leisurely time committing to all the little and large chores inherent in operating a household, dusk arrives.

But out we went, as soon as I had finished washing the floors. No boots for Jackie and Jillie today since at 0C they're unnecessary. Even so, the cold was penetrating thanks to the damp atmosphere aided by wind. But we were all happy to be out. Jackie and Jillie so much so that they demanded cookies even before we delved into the ravine. I can relate to that; there's comfort in eating on these days of dark and cold.

On Saturday I made a vegetable soup and baked dinner rolls to accompany the soup, and it was the perfect duo for comfort. Sunday followed with a dried-pulse-barley-and-chopped-yam soup and it fit the bill perfectly as well. Banishing the blues of an all-day rain. Before we left the house for the ravine, I popped a little Cornish game hen into the oven to roast at a low temperature, planning a kugel and green beans to accompany it. Jackie and Jillie are always ready to volunteer themselves in helping us consume these meals. There are no 'leftovers' in this house.

While we were out in the forest we came across a delightful young couple who had moved to our street about a year ago. They have a young, exuberant Golden Doodle, an absolutely irrepressibly-happy dog and with them was their now-10-month-old daughter, the very picture of health and beauty in her miniature perfection.

I happened to have taken off one of my mittens to reach into a jacket pocket for tissues and quick as a flash of light, my mitten was lost in the grip of the pup's mouth. She ran hysterically, joyfully everywhere with the mitten, a live-wire of playfulness, eluding all attempts to persuade her to surrender the mitten. Her performance was a perfect theatre of youth and energy and love of life and we loved every minute of it.

 

My Friday morning baking yesterday took the form of chocolate cupcakes. I wonder how many home bakers like me are reliant on soft-wheat cake and pastry flour for the best outcome when they bake cakes? I remember when we lived abroad for a while discovering that the flour available was just not to be compared with Canadian hard wheat (all-purpose) flour for baking yeast-raised breads, and nor was soft-wheat flour even available.

 

I sifted the cake flour yesterday, but don't always bother to, and see little difference in the outcome. I used my sifter yesterday only because cocoa was included with the flour. And the resulting cupcakes were, as anticipated, lighter-than-air in texture. I'm finding it difficult of late to source giant cupcake paper forms, but even using inadequate, smaller ones -- considered 'large' -- the final baked cupcake is fine, since they're formed by the large-cup baking form I use.

 

 

Food of any kind, but of course in particular whole foods, is vital to our existence. Like any other animal, without the fuel our body needs to operate and be healthy, we would be unable to function and would in fact perish. Yet I wonder how many of us think about food hygiene and its importance in keeping us healthy? I read just recently that in the US a motion was made in Congress to stop the importation of garlic grown in China from entering the US.

 

Chinese-sourced garlic is everywhere. Because it's far less expensive than garlic grown elsewhere, so it's fair to assess that it's a 'dumped' crop. I've never bought garlic from China, it's a fungible product, and I either get garlic grown in Canada (prohibitively expensive in comparison) or imported from Spain (moderately priced) to ensure the product I'm using is beyond suspicion. China used to use human waste as fertilizer, and China has been notorious for tampering with food, so better safe... 

 

There are often health warnings associated with food that go out to the public, and I wonder often how many pay heed. At the present time there's an outbreak in North America of food poisoning from two brands of cantaloupe. This is one fruit that really needs to be carefully cleaned before cutting. In fact, good kitchen hygiene has always informed consumers that melons, particularly cantaloupe with its corrugated skin, should be carefully washed before use. I actually use a dish detergent to wash melons to ensure there are no lingering health threats.

Farm labourers in places like Mexico, Puerto Rico and elsewhere are not always provided with latrines and instructed to wash their hands before handling the produce they harvest. Germs, viruses and all manner of pathogens can be present on crops and once infected they can be contagious and dangerous. Severe salmonella poisoning in the US and Canada has led to 8 and 5 deaths respectively, with hundreds of people being infected.

 

Yesterday we decamped quite late in the afternoon for our daily circuit in the forest. So late that it was past dusk and by the time we reached the ravine, night had entered. Thanks to the generous coverage of an emerging snowpack we had no problems seeing our way through the trails. No one has yet spotted the presence of coyotes this winter, so we're more relaxed about that, though we won't allow Jackie and Jillie to stray too far from us in their eagerness to get along through the trails, when it isn't fully light out.

 

Today we left earlier than usual for our trip through the ravine. Because, even though we've had a succession of -9C days, today the temperature warmed up to 0C, and there was a forecast of the possibility of showers this afternoon. This level of cold and rain make for a very uncomfortable collaboration by nature, one we'd prefer to avoid, hence our early venture.

Even at that moderating temperature on a heavily overcast day with a light wind prevailing, it feels damp and just as cold as the lower temperatures. But because it wasn't quite as cold it meant that Jackie and Jillie had no need of their rubber boots,which gave them a little more freedom to romp about without any impediments beyond their winter coats. 

The forest does look beautiful, heavily laden with snow from our previous several days of snow. I'd not be happy about rain melting any of it. Today, we heard the presence of ravens and watched as several flew high over the forest canopy, coming to rest on the peak of several tall pines. We don't often see and hear ravens here, but occasionally they leave the boreal forests and come to visit, at this time of year.

We've known the kind of poverty that floods your consciousness every moment of the day; when you're shopping for food and the price of fresh vegetables and fruits for your growing family forces you to be really creative, like giving each person seated around the breakfast table half an orange, and carefully measuring out the oatmeal/raisin/honey/pumpkin seed mix you baked in the oven, making enough to last through the week. Like viewing it as catastrophic when the old family car needs costly work, or the vacuum cleaner has seen its last days, held together with glue and tape. And using the quarters the children were given by a grandparent to put together enough money to pay for milk, and socks. 

The news of urgent need at the Food Bank, because more people than ever are turning to them for food to feed themselves and their families has a distant, fading ring to it. We're fortunate now, in our old age that we managed to look after ourselves and our children providing them with everything needed to raise healthy, aware and intelligent adults. We've no longer any cares about the cost of anything. We are well beyond comfortable, but not complacent.

And we've made Food Bank donations for four decades. Now Food Bank clients are continuing to grow in number. And who even knew that the Human Society also operates a food bank, this one for family pets? To help people struggling with the need to ensure their dogs and cats have enough nutrition through the course of a day? We're now spending on average $30 weekly on the donations we leave for the Food Bank of non-perishable food. Several weeks ago the same products cost us $25. So how are people in poverty able to manage?

Cold, today, very cold. -10C when we came down for breakfast, until the temperature struggled up to -9C by afternoon. But by then the early morning sky of blue had changed and clouds cluttered the sky, soon overwhelming the sun. And wind rose, blowing snow off tree branches. At these temperatures we needed to put little rubber boots on our little dogs' paws to keep them from freezing. And out came their heavy winter jackets and halters.

Immediately we stepped out the door to walk over to the ravine for our daily hike through the forest trails, the cold slapped our faces. Jackie and Jillie were fine with it. They remembered the ritual of pulling on those boots one after another, me lifting their little paws and Irving stretching the boots over their paws, from winters past.

They enjoy the snow, they really love it, but then most dogs seem to. As soon as we gained the forest they ran off downhill, their ears flapping in the breeze their action provided, Jillie barking happily in case any of her friends were nearby to hear her and come running. The snow keeps getting a little deeper every day as light snow falls now and again. We're now wearing those wicked cleats that Irving bought a few months back and they work very well, an improvement over those we've had for many years.

Full exposure for a period of time to the cold means you don't think about it any longer. Instead, just look around at the landscape captivating attention, the serene beauty of it all. We encounter a few other people out and their dogs are just as besotted with the landscape as are ours, the forest floor itself has become a playground, entertaining dogs' feet as they bound about in it and leap here and there with joy. And it's snowing again; gently, light drifts of snow continuing to cover the tree canopy and the forest floor.

Yesterday's roller-coaster weather of snow, sleet, freezing rain, snow clusters and dreary rain didn't make that much of an impression on the landscape. By early evening, there was a modest covering of snow on lawns, but driveways and roads were just wet from melting snow and rain. We missed our afternoon walk through the ravine trails simply because when the temperature sits just below freezing, pelting rain can be uncomfortable. Now, if it were freezing rain it would just ping off us, the rain-rain penetrates.

 

 

So it was with a bit of satisfaction that we saw a hefty layer of snow this morning, that had fallen overnight. It was a thoroughly wet, crusty kind of snow, heavy to move. And that's the goal Irving set for himself first thing before breakfast, to clear the backyard walkways of the snow; there were layers of snow and ice and that combination is not only unyielding to shovels but heavy to lift and throw. But it got done, and then it was the turn of the front walkway. 

 

And the need to rescue one of the cedar trees that, burdened with heavy, wet snow collapsed in a graceful arc right across the front stoop to the porch. The loose snow was knocked off to give it some relief, but under that snow was a thick layer of ice, and though all the other trees stood upright seeming to suffer no discomfort, this one wanted to maintain its downward loop and needed to be helped a little by one of the stout branches of the magnolia.

 

We went about our usual Monday housecleaning in the afternoon, but by two in the afternoon, it seemed to us we'd better get the puppies out for a walk in the ravine. Heavy overcast, where the sky cannot be differentiated in colour from the snow on the ground made for a dark day. In the forest, the trees were completely furred with snow, and under that snow, a layer of ice.

 

The entire prospect of the landscape looks enchanting with the first large snowfall of the season. Everything is sharply etched in white-and-black. Although the temperature remained low, just at freezing, the dampness in the atmosphere was certainly felt. About 12 cm of snow had fallen overnight, leaving roughly five inches of snow on the forest floor. It was of course, wet snow, which neither Jackie and Jillie nor we found it difficult to traverse.

 

In fact the thickness of the snow on the trail, evened the surfaces, and covered roots and rocks and made some of the short, steep parts of the trail seem less sharp, more readily passed over with less need for care, the traction was so good. While we were out, snow resumed falling, in light drifts. 

The forest creek was just about as full as we ever see it. We were  hoping we might see the pair of wild turkeys that had come to visit us yesterday afternoon, but no such thing. Not even squirrels were about. 

It works out just fine for me, planning ahead with a mind to taking advantage of pre-preparation. Kind of a riff on the popularity of commercially available pre-prepared food products that make life easier for people who don't like to cook, or are perpetually short of time. Personally, I frequently feel short of time. There often doesn't seem to be enough time in the day to accommodate everything I'd like to do.

So on Friday when I do my baking, I also make up a bread dough for use later in the week. It's handy to have on any occasion when I feel like using it, and the basic dough itself has already been prepared. If I think I'll be using it for something like pizza, I make it a plain bread dough. If I contemplate using it for something like dinner rolls or croissants to accompany a soup, then I add to it. In this instance the additions were dehydrated milk crystals, shredded old Cheddar cheese and sesame seeds.

Because that combination in particular reflects perfection in our estimation. Hot out of the even, fragrant and tempting, crisp and flaky, they make a perfect accompaniment for any kind of soup; vegetable or pulses and vegetables. Yesterday it was a garden vegetable soup, heavy on tomatoes, garlic and onions. With the addition of celery, chopped fingerling potatoes, bell pepper, and last, corn kernels. The result is an aromatic, hot and delicious soup complemented by croissants. And fresh grapes for dessert.

The morning started with an extreme weather notice. That we were in store for a big snowstorm event. And true, at 0.3C, it was snowing early in the morning. But that soon turned to freezing rain, then spit, and finally, plain old rain, despite the thermometer hovering at freezing. The weather is confusing and must seem so to the area wildlife.

While I was in the kitchen making a batch of pancakes for breakfast, Irving called me over to the front door. There, on the walkway, in front of the porch was a pair of very large wild turkeys. WHERE was my camera?!!! In my frantic rush to locate the camera and Jackie and Jillie barking with excitement, the birds left, making their way down the street which twists and turns, so they were soon no longer in sight. All they had to do was cut through someone's backyard on the left, and disappear back into the forest.

We had anticipated a good ravine walk, with new snow down on the trails, this afternoon. But the rain continued, the elusive snow holding back. So at a freezing temperature with incessant rain, the prospect of making our way through the trails for our afternoon hike lacked inspiration. Jackie and Jillie didn't mind; their focus is always on their afternoon vegetable salad, and as long as that is in place as usual, their walk can wait. They run berserk through the house in excited anticipation when they know I've begun cutting up their salad.