But the little kid in me likes the frosted side.

The slogan from this more than 20 year old commercial for Kellog's mini wheats has stuck with me. It gets pulled out sometimes when it snows. Not during your mid winter snowfall, there is nothing special about that, but rather the first snow of the season, or that unexpected last spring snow that sometimes falls after everything has already melted, and I've put my boots away.

Yesterday it rained for a good part of the day. In the afternoon we went for a coffee with a friend, and I noticed that even though it was above freezing, the cold really bit. Sure enough on the way back home the rain was mixed with some wet snow. We went back in the house, and didn't pay attention to the outside anymore, it was getting dark anyways.

At about 8 pm, the photographer happened be going down the stairs and looked out the window over the front door. "You should have a look outside" he calls to me. Sure enough, fluffy flakes were coming down, and staying on the ground. There wasn't much wind, and when I stepped outside I immediately noticed the peculiar acoustic conditions that snow always produces. It's oddly still, as if nature asks you to listen for a moment.

Call the photographer into action. The long exposure means that you cannot see the snowflakes, but you can see that the snow has produced a fine outline on the bare trees. My spirea has not dropped all it's leaves yet, and some maples are still stubbornly holding their leaves. Two weeks ago the city came and installed the "arm" on the fire hydrant (so it can be found when buried in the snowbank) and I thought: "already"?

If it does not melt today (and that seems unlikely) it will mean that tricker-treaters will be more visible tonight.

I know that come the middle of February I will be sick to the teeth of this stuff. It happens every year. This pretty dusting will be replaced by ugly brown dirt in the snowbanks, and ice patches that are incompatible with not so sure-footed me. By March I will get spring fever, pre-maturely and unpractical. But today I can appreciate the beauty.

So now I am having a bit of a flannel morning. Tea and toast with jam in my jammies while looking out the window. Large flocks of geese are flying overhead massing for the trek south. Someone once told me that they will not cross the rivers until they freeze, but in any case they will leave soon.

All this white stuff is reminding me that  we need to buy a new Christmas tree. Our old one went curbside after nine years of duty, the last two years I had to truss it together with brown 4/22 wire, as the branches were drooping due to cracked supports. No doubt by tomorrow every retail store will me in full Christmas mode.


It's just that time of year.

Yin and Yang

Every once in a while the ordinary becomes extraordinary, seemingly without anything to precipitate it. And that's how it was last Sunday. A very ordinary day with some chores and errands was half way done. Summer clothing and shoes was put away, and winter items put in their place. A nice bright sun was shining, chasing away the overcast feeling of the day before, and a very strong wind was literally blowing the leaves out of the trees.

We decided to run some errands and at the same time grab a "treat" coffee (ie: Starbucks). Usually this can be done very close to home, but for some reason the photographer decided to take the back roads west, and drive to the Kanata Centrum instead.

On Eagelson Road we crossed the Jock river, and all of a sudden he hit the brakes,  decided to turn back, and stop on the southern bank of the river. There is a small gravel patch to park, but it is not even an official boat launch or anything like that, and I had never seen it before.

Down on the edge of the water the most amazing view greets us. The Jock river, rippled up by the strong wind, and a dark slate blue as only autumn light can make it is offset by the most beautiful golden yellow and fading green colours. Sunk in the landscape in the distance is a farm, which in this splendor takes on the very image of wholesome agriculture. Over all this there is this gorgeous blue sky.

We follow a muddy path to see where it goes, and come to a flooded patch.The water is swirling over the road in multiple directions, as if it cannot quite figure out which way to go. The wind is strong enough to push me back a step on a few occasions.

Pretty shots taken, we get back in the car. "Wow that was something" is the general sentiment expressed. We continue to weave our way left - right - left - right to Kanata. We come to an intersection under construction, and a new road has been connected. We decide to take to road and see where it goes. In the process we attempt to locate a specific wooded country road, and discover that it has been mostly clear cut this summer and a subdivision has sprung op. Bummer! The road no longer connects where we expect to and we eventually end up on Old Carp road.

Here we get surprise number two of the day. The light, and the tall mature trees, all uniformly in orange leaf, give the impression of being in some kind of cathedral like passage. The scene is the complete opposite of the earlier open fields on the water. Here you have an enclosed and almost ethereal feeling of a woodland in which a sprite or fairy could peek from behind a tree at any moment.

Many three point turns and a bunch of shots later, we leave the area behind with "what would it be like to live on this road" sentiments floating through our head. In the end the coffee ended up forgotten, because the pleasure of a treat coffee had been completely eclipsed by the find of two such opposite things, both representing the extraordinary in the ordinary. All of this within the technical limits of the city of Ottawa, and both places we had been to before on many occasions.  On Sunday they were somehow very different.