At this particular latitude, November is not a month that is broadly celebrated. It’s true that we celebrate Thanksgiving during this month, but that’s a holiday that politicians put on the calendar.
The truth is that it’s not really a happy month at all.
It is a month of bleakness and grayness and stark-naked skeletons of trees.
It is a time of foreboding. Winter looms not far in the future, and there is always a a chance that it will be bad one. Last year was not. The year before was, as was the year before that.
November is unwritten. A lot can still go wrong.
Strangely, this is also the month when the deer get hormonal.
The does start to come into estrus, and the bucks subvert their thinking to their libidos.
They lustily stagger into oncoming vehicles, making nighttime travel at this time of year somewhat hazardous.
In the stark gray bleakness there is an orgy of deer.
And the deer fall.
The firearms season in this state coincides with Thanksgiving, which is just a week after the rut’s peak.
So their randiness not only makes them susceptible to being hit by cars, it also makes them vulnerable to the hunters’ guns.
Nature sets a bleak stage for these dramas of sex and bloodlust and traffic accidents.
We now begin our descent into the darkness of this hemisphere’s winter.
The waning days of autumn may give us a little burst of Indian summer, which feels positively unworldly in a forest with no leaf-covered canopy.
But those days are numbered now.
The bleakness of November soon gives way to the darkness of December and (possibly) the driving snows of January.
Darkness falls around us now.
It will not last.
But we know it will get darker before it turns light again.
I love the mountains in the late fall and winter. I love the way you can see the forms of the trees reaching for the sky, and the way the stands of evergreen contrast with the pinkish-brown color of the hills. And the way all those bare trees look like a crystal fairyland after a light snow.
I like the crispness of the air and temperatures that are actually comfortable to work in. I like the smell of burning wood and the bitter aroma of the fallen leaves. I like the long shadows that the trees cast across the landscape, the left over pumpkins in fields and gardens and the pockets of autumn asters hanging on here and there. I like the feel of the November sun on my face and the sound of the resident Canada Geese coming in to glean left over corn or to graze the newly sprouted rye and wheat. I like the contrast of colors at our birdfeeders, the bright red of cardinals, deep blue of Blue Jays, black and white of Chickadees, and bright orange-brown of Carolina Wrens, among others. I like the slow, lonely chirps of the few remaining crickets, the displays of rutting deer, the scurrying of busy squirrels and chipmunks as well as the preternatural sharpness of the moon and stars at night.
What I don’t like though is November’s grayness–most November days are grey here in the Maryland Piedmont. Its as though someone stretched a big fluffy grey smothering blanket from horizon to horizon. It slows me down, kills my initiative, makes me want to stay indoors with a hot cup of tea and a good book or perhaps woolgather as I begin to plan next year’s gardens in my mind’s eye.
This is a misquote: “No sun no leaves, no flowers no bees – November.”
Somber November. . .a suitable time to mark what we call Veterans’ Day, (first called Armistice Day, 11/11/18) and remember its meaning.
One more reason to move to Australia ….November is the start of summer.
Yes, but its a very, very hot summer isn’t it?