A short post this week, because if we take even a ten minute break from snow shovelling, it’s like we never even tried. Who was it complaining about no snow? Hmm…
“I remember this stuff – it’s snow, isn’t it?!”
Before the heavy snow arrived Tuesday overnight and all day Wednesday, we had enjoyed a couple of lighter snowfalls. Scout and I went out to play in the woods, happy to be there in less muddy and more wintry conditions.
Happy place
Mrs. PC has been getting over a cold (she’s much better now) and was happy to have the children out from under her feet for a while. Reminded me of when I was younger, and we were sent out to play. I think the instructions were along the lines of “Look after each other, be back before dark, and don’t get arrested!” Instructions from my mother, not Mrs. PC, although my woolly hat, her scratchy voice, and Scout’s eagerness to get out the door muffled clear directions… Anyway, off we went, looking for trouble.
Looking for trouble
We scrambled up a few snowy slopes, mostly because Scout wanted to visit the troll house, throw a few snowballs, and see if they were hibernating. Trouble is her middle name. I think she also wanted to see if I’d slip over climbing the inclines to the troll house. Trouble, I tell you. When we get home, I’m telling mum…
Stayed on my feet. Mostly.
We didn’t wake the trolls and I didn’t fall over – it was a controlled slide, Scout. We argued over what constitutes a fall, and we argued over if trolls really hibernate. On the second point, my clinching argument was asking Scout if she’d ever seen one in winter? Ha! Case closed.
The troll house – shh, they’re sleeping…
No trolls spotted, no bad falls, playing outside without supervision or needing the long arm of the law – not too bad. If we include this past weekend along with the many previous decades of playtime, speaking for all four brothers, and also for Scout, I think it’s so far so good on the not getting arrested front. That’s possibly, like a Tory setting targets you can’t miss (but still screwing everything up), a low bar? Scout made me say that. I’m telling mum.
Scrambled up, didn’t fall down
Right, on that “what story this week?” note, let’s leave it here, get back outside, and see if we can locate the shovels to restart digging operations!
I thought we’d finished, but the universe said no…
Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!
…and a novel idea, inspired by one of the greats. Be warned, I’m an all over the place PlaidCamper at the start of this new year – little of what follows makes any sense. Cabin fever?
Earlier this week a sprinkling of overnight snow and a bright blue sky morning created the glass tree:
The glass tree, in the next door garden
Given the absence of significant snow for most of December, we were happy to see the shiny and shimmering tree! It didn’t last, but what a sight to lift the spirits. Now, as I write this, it appears we might be at the start of some proper snowfall for the next day or two.
From the office, looking out over our street – snow (and a happy snowman)
Maybe, just maybe, we’ll be heading out on xc skis next week, or even sooner? I can picture it, two confident characters gliding across pristine snowfields and under glass trees, the very essence of beautiful wintry elegance. Like, like, oh, I don’t know, two romantic yet annoyingly likeable figures in a great Russian novel?
Wintry dusting
Where did that come from?! Due to the lack of snow (have I been mentioning that?) we’ve spent more time than usual indoors. Industrious and happy to be in the kitchen, I’ve kept up with baking and eating mince pies. I have to say, they are generally easy enough to make, but my second batch was woeful. Woeful I tell you sir! I’m so terribly, terribly sorry. If I keep baking so badly, whatever will become of us?! Oh, and we have been watching the BBC adaptation (first broadcast 2016) of War and Peace.
I’ve never read the novel, and have to say, knowing nothing of the story before watching, the drama was a blast. The major real events aside, I had no idea what was going to happen, and enjoyed guessing – quite wrongly most times – what might unfold. There were quite a few coincidences and contrivances as the plot barreled along, and these were sometimes hard to accept. To get to better grips with this, I’m going to have a go at reading the novel, and also see if the characters are a bit less broad and maybe more nuanced compared to the adaptation we saw.
Here’s a character!
These were minor quibbles in the grander scheme of the overall experience. It was certainly quite the production, and must have been an expensive enterprise. The grand palaces and houses, the elaborate sets and astonishing costumes were all marvellous, and the large scale battle scenes were convincing. Far better than the usual “five men running past and then around the back of the camera to the front again through the smoke” effect some lower budgeted productions suffer from. The acting was pretty good (to be fair, there was also some capital A “Acting” from one or two, but I always enjoy that in a costume drama) across the enormous cast of characters. Highly recommended if you’ve got an hour or six to spare this winter. Fabulous entertainment!
Before I finish my comments on War and Peace, I do have to mention one thing. I wasn’t going to, but honestly, it’s been haunting me. It is one of the all time great novels, PlaidCamper, and as such, full of insights into what drives humans to do the things they do – for love, honour, greed, power, revenge and so on – we’d expect you to have questions and be haunted. Well yes, all that stuff and the other things I wrote above about high production values, little expense spared, and good acting etc. But, and this might just be me, was I meant to be quite so involved with Prince Vasily’s wig? (Played by Stephen Rea – Prince Vasily, not the wig) I say wig, but was it a wig? Maybe it was his own hair? Bouffant? Coiffure? Sculpture? Creation? Hair piece? Small cat or spaniel? It was a thing of beauty, and I couldn’t stop staring at it. It captured my attention immediately and almost completely. What story? A mighty battle at Borodino, thousands of casualties and Napoleon’s army is approaching Moscow? Uh huh, sure, whatever, sounds serious, but will Prince Vasily’s wig be safe? Will it volunteer to fight the invaders? Now, bear with me, but had it volunteered, I think Vasily’s wig, acting independently of Vasily, could have ended the war. Both sets of soldiers would have been so distracted they’d have forgotten about the bloody fighting… Honestly, it’s on such small details the course of history can change. In my head, anyway.
“Is he still going on about that wig? I think I’ll stay asleep until he stops…”
I believe Stephen Rea was aware of the hair because he kept waggling and raising his eyebrows and smiling at me in a knowing way – he really shouldn’t break the fourth wall like that. Outplayed by a wig, perhaps Stephen was asking for help or trying to dislodge the competition? Mrs. PlaidCamper wasn’t getting the same wiggy vibe, and, if you watch the series, maybe you won’t either. I said to Mrs. PC it was hair loss (that bit works best if read in a heavy Russian accent) she couldn’t see what I could see…
Canada winter – is like Russian winter, no?
Goodness, that was a long aside, almost like a, like a, oh, I don’t know, an unlikely contrivance in a nineteenth century novel.
Where were we? Oh yes, gliding across the snowy plains. In truth, at least one of us will be absolute-ski exhausted after the first half hour and wondering where the nearest cafe is. Our plan is to tackle the flattest trails on the Plains of Abraham, so finding a cafe nearby won’t be too difficult. A very well earned hot chocolate, and if there’s a pastry, why not? With all this new snow, we’ll be needing extra pastries to maintain a sensible calorie balance. (My thumbs are already on – or is it off? – the (nonexistent) scale, like an unscrupulous merchant in a nineteenth century novel…) Are you tired of this yet? Tired, like you can get reading a long nine- Please, stop it PlaidCamper!
Almost done! I went out with Scout a little earlier, and she was thrilled to be able to dig, even if the snow wasn’t really deep enough:
Digging it“Oh. Nothing there. Somewhat shallow, PlaidCamper! Could you turn the camera away – I’ve dug the hole, might as well pee in it!”
Scout! We are out in society! If you behave like this, whatever will become of us? Consider our audience, madam! And what’s this about shallow? You certainly know how to wound a fellow…
I shall leave it here for this week, ego bruised, feeling fragile but not shattered, like a, like a, oh, I don’t know, a glass tree or an overwrought character in a – I’ll stop, you know how it goes…
Goodness, you’re still here and have a question? What about the novel idea, PlaidCamper – you mentioned it at the start? Oh, that. I’m no nineteenth century novelist (no, no, really, and thank you, you’re so very kind) but I was inspired by old LT to have a go at a short story of my own. It’s about a famous actor, his wig, a down on his luck baker and his incontinent pooch. The title? “Woe & Pees!” Yup – when the BBC drama department comes knocking, I’ll let you know.
Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!
“Oh come on, PlaidCamper! Wounded? Really?! Stop sulking – I forgive me! Now, have you seen the new snow? Let’s get out there!”This was the new snow yesterday – phew! Let’s get out there!
…and, fortunately, you’ve not been able to hear me complain about it! But I have been, don’t you worry!
We’d planned, overconfidently as it turned out, to be spending the past week or two on snowshoes or skis, enjoying the thrill of a Quebec winter. That hasn’t happened – yet!
Scout earlier this week, enjoying the thrills of a Quebec winter. Look at that snow!
Going for glass half full, I can be excited all over again if and when proper winter returns. I hope that is soon, because as much as I like mince pies and beer, we might be approaching the point where I can’t see my feet or be able to reach down to said skis… I’m becoming a contender for Santa employment next year if things don’t change. Ho ho ho.
More than half full!
So as 2023 meanders to a slightly grey/green and no snow end, I’ll sign off for this year by thanking you for taking the time to read and comment on this blog. It’s always a delight to know that thoughts are being shared and we’re not going slightly mad all alone as the world takes a few strange turns.
Bye bye 2023
Wishing you all the very best for 2024! Who knows, perhaps the flat earthers, election deniers, populists and other assorted liars will come to their senses in the next twelve months? You have to hope… and in the meantime, there are outdoor concerns and pursuits to follow while we still can! Let’s get out there (just have to finish this mince pie…)
Soon?
Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!
Looking in the old town, there were some bright sparks:
Sparky
I think this old fella might know a thing or two about it:
“Just you listen to me, young fella…”
The chap above seemed to have some competition from the chap below (we’ve been keeping an eye on him, looks the sort that might attempt a chimney-based home invasion, and he’d be tough to spot…)
“Come back, young fella – I can tell you where to find ho-ho-holiday spirit – I’ll drop in later!”
Yikes, I found him a little scary and way over my head. I turned to these friendly looking types, but to be honest, whilst they seemed to be in good spirits, it was all rather wheezy and too smoky to get to what they were saying:
Holy smokes…
Before the big glitter of the big town got too much for me, we retreated into the woods:
“Follow us, OPC, you’ll be fine!” They seemed friendly enough…
I have to say, for me, it was a touch more manageable. A breezy day, so the wind whistled through the treetops, and if I couldn’t make out the words, well I was happy enough with the tenor and tone:
A chilled tune…
In fact, with a whisper of light snow, and the rattle and rustling of dry leaves, I’d say there were plenty of spirits in the woods. Holiday spirits? Who knows, but it was pretty and peaceful:
Small sounds, happy spirits
To finish, we absolutely found some holiday spirit:
Full(ers) of good things
Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!
A pinch of cold and dash of colour? Sounds like a recipe for early winter…
Ingredients? Nope! Essential, though? Maybe!
It has been the coldest week of the season so far, and, for the first time, we could feel the cold pinching, almost painful, on our earlyish morning walks. After a dull and rainy (in parts) weekend, it was good to get a light dusting of snow followed by cold and bright days. Yes, frigid enough to find “proper” gloves and toque, and to dig out the thermals. Not for now, those thermals, but soon, very soon…
A light dusting – preferable to rain…
We’ve been into the old town as well as the woods, and earlier this month had fun in and around Old Quebec, showing a friend some of the sights on their first visit. They thought it was so cold, whereas we thought it was almost warm – still above freezing and sunny!
Above freezing and sunny!
To keep warm, we focused on food and drink (stores, bars, and restaurants) in between roaming some of the more photogenic streets. In the end, I think we spent more time eating and drinking than we did walking – great fun!
Chez Temporel – recommended
I’ll keep it brief as Scout is nosing me toward the door – maybe she can already smell the snow we’ve been promised this week? Or maybe she thinks I could do with an extra walk or two after all the recent eating and drinking…
Cheers! And happy thanksgiving if that’s for you this week…
Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!
Almost warmMore essentials?!“C’mon PC, follow me – you need a walk!”
Scout is an adventurous dog. She’s first out the door, first to pee in the driveway, first to pee in the woods (I’ll let you decide who’s second – in the woods, not the driveway…) and really, not too much fazes her. Sensibly enough, she’s irritated by flat earthers, election deniers, liars, folks of that ilk. Don’t get her started on Brexit, Braverman, Boris and all that nonsense – life’s too short, though not as short as Sunak’s time left in No. 10, teehee…
So, she’s adventurous enough. Got snow? Yes please! Mud? Why, let her at it. Sandy beaches? Let’s run and run! More snow? Yippee! Water? Screech of brakes sound. Er, no. Nope. Absolutely not.
Not even a shallow puddle? Let’s find the long way round. Incoming tides? Forget about it. Backyard sprinkler? Nooooo. All that time on the island, loving the beaches but never the water.
Opened up
Our local woods have a few damp places, and in some spots along the trail there are ankle to knee deep puddles after prolonged rain, but we (mostly Scout) always find the detours. Now the woods have opened up after most of the leafy undergrowth has died back, we’re discovering different trails, perfect for Scout to get into expert snow tracker mode.
“Yup, these are definitely tracks!”
Her new favourite story – thanks, Bob – is The Wendigo by Algernon Blackwood. She likes an old fashioned tale of terror, where things are so indescribably horrific the author/narrator almost cannot describe them. Now that’s scary. Almost as disturbing as me liking the name Algernon.
Hiding place
The Wendigo takes place more than a century ago, in the north woods in late fall as the first snow is coming. A hunting party falls prey to something. There are strange tracks, unpleasant odours, and frightening sounds. People disappear. What’s out there? Is it the Wendigo? Highly recommended, a hugely enjoyable read, but not one to think about too much in the late fall at dusk in the woods.
But Scout will think about this tale, wagging her tail, just as the sun starts to set and just as we’re as far from home as we like to get. She’ll start at the sound of a squirrel – or was it?! – scrabbling in the undergrowth. If she wore them, she’d have wet her pants when a grouse or similar did it’s exploding out of the shrubs thing, startling me (just a little, don’t believe her…)
Full stop
So when she stopped dead in her tracks and stared intently ahead, into the woods with the trail going up a steep incline and out of sight, was I bothered? In Wendigo country? As darkness falls? No, no, not this close to home. Right?
We stood still, and the woods stood still with us. The squirrel was long gone, and there wasn’t even a breath of wind to rustle the last of the leaves. All was quiet. No, wait, what was that thumping sound, faint but quite insistent? Wendigo footsteps on a steady and stealthy approach?
Incline
Nope, just my heart, finding a more normal beat after the double whammy of the steep slope and that damned grouse thing…
We got going again, deciding not to tell any more woods based ghostly tales until we got home. Ignoring the chill and totally not faking how brave we were, on we went, up over the rise and then picking our way down the slope, taking care not to slip on the combination of partially frozen leaves and icy snow. Scout did stop to point out the stone house where the troll lives, but they weren’t home and we weren’t hanging around.
The troll house
Then we came to the worst part, so horrific it’s almost indescribable – Scout doesn’t want me to go there, but I will. This new terror? An even bigger squirrel? Two grouse? Grouses? Grice?! (A terrifying new plural?) No, bad as the grouses can be, this was much, much worse. It was a raging torrent! Treacherous looking icy banks and deathly cold black water gushing downstream.
“Yeah, not too sure we can cross this – it’s pretty fierce!”
Did Scout want to cross it? Nope. We debated retracing our steps, but knowing the horrors we’d already almost encountered, how could we go back? The troll might be home. The squirrel might be hungry. I can’t (and possibly shouldn’t) even write about the grouses. Instead, Scout scouted up and down stream, looking for a place to cross, knowing she’d have to face her worse fears and dip a toe in the water.
And then, just as I wasn’t ready, she stepped back then leapt forward to clear the raging torrent in one mighty bound! I was so happy she made it across, and even happier that the short leash she was on wasn’t any shorter as I narrowly avoided falling in. Now that would have been horrific – I can’t even begin to imagine the grousing had that happened. Disaster averted, I took a short step (Scout here – he meant to write “giant leap”) and followed Scout over.
Yes, quite the leap…
Somehow we made it home. Somehow, I managed to open a beer and drink it. Somehow, I’ve managed to recount this tale of terror. And somehow you’re still here reading…
Somehow managed to open and drink this one (a very good stout!)
So there you have it, a tale that isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s one that (no doubt about it or you can call me Algernon) will be whispered and retold around many a winter campfire in years to come.
To be fair, the scariest stuff here this week is in the first paragraph. We do love scary woodsy tales but that isn’t how we find our local forest – not even the streams faze us, do they Scout?!
“Algernon? Did you hear that?!”
Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!
After all the excitement prompted by the first (heavyish for the time of year) snowfall last week, we managed to calm ourselves and continue to enjoy the woods even after the snow disappeared pretty quickly. The granite greys and golden browns haven’t been as dull as that might sound, and there were still patches of snow to provide contrast.
Light chill
In fact, our woodsy wanderings took place on almost warm days – warm as in a few degrees above freezing and under mostly blue skies. There’s a real delight in seeing the shape of trees that have lost their leafy cover. The woods are more open, the views are a little longer, and we can see the very healthy looking grey and black squirrels being busy in their autumn work. They dash and scamper, with an occasional pause to confirm we’re no threat, and then on they go. To say scamper makes it sound like they’re being frivolous, but that’s not really fair or true. Goodness, don’t they work hard?!
Snow?
The tree bones in the woods near our house are much more slender than the mighty western cedars and hemlocks we were used to back on the island. I’ve enjoyed that difference, and the crunch of leaves, as well as the less damp and somewhat drier mustiness of an eastern fall.
Snow!
As I write this a few fat flakes are starting to fall, and they’ll likely continue to do so with increasing frequency as real winter approaches.
Golden brown – and chilled, squirrels and all…
What’s left of the last of the leaves will be buried under deep snow, and any crunching will be of an icy nature. What a wonderful fall it has been, and what a wonderful winter we’re looking forward to! Our woodsy wanderings will continue, slower paced by being on snowshoes or in winter boots through deeper snow. Maybe we’ll speed things up from time to time on xc skis – if we have enough muscle memory to remain balanced enough to get away with it. A winter on skis? It’s been a while…
Woodsy, positively spruce-y
Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!
A bit earlier than we expected, and it didn’t stick around too long, but it was a welcome first sight of what we hope will be an enjoyable outdoorsy winter. (Ask us about that again in late March…)
A light dusting!
Scout was absolutely thrilled to see the snow and couldn’t get out of the house fast enough. Fortunately, our door and front gate is each wide enough to accommodate one excited canine and one excited human at the same time. C’mon, Scout, it’s not a race…
“It was, and you lost!”
The total amount didn’t top out much over a handful of centimetres, but it was enough to kick and slide around in, and it remained cold enough to still look pretty the following day, quite dazzling under bright blue skies.
It’s melting… (photo: Mrs. PC)
Mrs. PC managed to calm Scout (and me) down, explaining that there’ll be plenty more snow the next few months and wondering if we might be a little less excitable, ‘cos it’s a long winter? I can’t speak for Scout being less excitable about snow, but I’ll try. Although, whisper it, it was Mrs. PC looking up local xc ski trails and searching out the snowshoes in the basement. Cool!
Cool
Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!
Very coolA few days earlier……and a few days later!
That’s not a word, but it is an attempt to convey how much we’ve been enjoying the season. Being up with or even ahead of the latest thing is so very much us, haha. Identifying fall is beautiful? Couldn’t be more on trend… Moron, you say? No, but I’ve been called worse, by worse…
Trail starts here
Where was I? Clearly, you’re not going to get high quality season-centric (huh?) writing here (see “fall-tastic” above) but we really have enjoyed our eastern woodland leafy fall into autumn.
What a mood enhancer! We’re pretty chipper anyway most of the time, (don’t judge a book by it’s cover; it’s a smiling – on the inside – visage I present to the world) but being out in the woods the past few weeks has further boosted our generally sunny outlook. Each recent morning we’ll approach the local trail and murmur “that’s beautiful”, then a few yards on and a few turns into the trail, say again “that’s beautiful” and on and on we go.
On and on, into the woods!
The crisp air, the bright blue sky, the green through yellow through orange and into red leafy splendour, plus Scout’s bouncing gait, the wet-dry smell of leaf decay, and the satisfying crunch and scrunch underfoot? We add it up and our answer is “that’s beautiful!”
“Bouncing? Me? I’m far too dignified for that. But if you wanted to say beautiful…”
Yup, here we are this week struggling to find words and phrases to describe our autumnal adventures. Fall-tastic? Fallsome praise? Autumnulent? Why I autumn do better… Hmm. Should I stop, leaf it for now?
Just leaf it
If you’re looking to read about fall – about any season – with thoughts on the joy found in the natural world, then head over to Walt at Rivertop Rambles. He posted this week, and, like always, it’s a great read. I’m not blowing smoke from a leafy bonfire up his a- … read him, and you’ll see.
Joy
Anyway, it’s far too nice outside to be in here writing. I can see the trees from my office window, glowing in sunny autumnal glory, and let me tell you, it’s beautiful!
Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a great weekend!
“His vocabulary really is limited, isn’t it? I mean, bouncing?! What’s wrong with regal, majestic, purposeful…”
…and thank goodness, particularly after the recent mini heatwave! So, how have we spent these cooler days? (Be warned: bouncing around like a box kicked rugby ball, this post will chop and change more times than a fly half trying to fool the opposition, showing no coherence, like a game spoiled by a fussy rugby referee with a whistle breaking up the flow of a game, or, or, like a…) Yeah, if you don’t like rugby, maybe stop reading?
Let’s try the non-rugby stuff. Falling temperatures and falling leaves helped make the week a pleasant one. Scout has been very happy to get back to the woods, and we’ve enjoyed the almost bug free wandering through the trees. Yesterday morning was cool, close to the point of chilly, but it isn’t light jacket or rugby jersey weather quite yet.
Fog?! Cooling…
Gentle breezes prompted some light leaf fall, and the photo below is colourful evidence autumn is more or less upon us.
Red
Red leaves seems a reasonable reminder to look out for red ales (it does? On what planet, OPC?), and hats off to Brasseur de Montréal for their splendid red. Autumn in a glass with the cardboard and toffee caramel flavours I like in a red. It tasted far better than I’ve described it…
Red
We spent a couple of mornings mooching about the Old Town, enjoying the slightly slower fall pace compared to the more full on summer visitor business. Shall we stop for a coffee and pastry? Oh, ok!
Mooching timeCoffee time? Oh, ok!
Almost forgot – rugby stuff! The rugby World Cup is in full swing, but at seven weeks long, I’ll pay more attention after some of the opening phases are finished. My hopes are very high indeed for Ireland, unrealistically high for England, somewhat high for France, but let’s be real – most likely New Zealand or South Africa will win the whole thing.
I recently read a great piece about remarkable rugby grounds in attractive locations, and for me, this place was the winner: (we’ve agreed with friends to watch a game there sometime and go for a pint or two of Guinness after!)
Donegal Town Rugby Club’s pitch, the Holmes, next to Donegal Bay in the Republic of Ireland. Photograph: Connor Doherty/Harper Collins
Must leave it here as there’s a rumour our backyard lawn (that’s too grand – let’s say patch of grass) is being laid today, needing my expertise (huh?) and fast developing skill with a garden hose. Nope, I’ve no idea where or why Scout is hiding…
Might need some grass here?
Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!
Backyard and him with the hose? You haven’t seen me…Followed by a Guinness? Oh, ok… (Photograph: Connor Doherty/Harper Collins)
OldPlaidCamper 