On Novembers

The thinnest yellow light of November is more warming and exhilarating than any wine they tell of. Henry David Thoreau

November is the most disagreeable month in the whole year. Louisa May Alcott

Which one, dear reader, are you?

Once upon a time, I was team Louisa. I was a November nay sayer. Now, I live in Nova Scotia, where October is a particularly showy month. The leaves are orange and red then move to bronze and a Golden Yellow. Fruit and Veg of a similar hue are celebrated - pumpkins, apples. Thanksgiving kicks off the high season of autumn (early October here in Canada, and not the four alarm major holiday it is in the U.S.), and wraps up with Hallowe’en.

By late October, much of the leaves are down by then - often helped by a late October storm. They swirl on the ground, skittering across the roads as trick or treaters go by and then, after the jack o’lanterns go out, we are left with that peculiar liminal space that is November.

I used to hate November. The days are short and oppressively dark, and most of the leaves are gone. There is occasionally sleet. Freezing rain. It’s that cold damp that goes right into your bones. What is there to like about that?

One year, I decided I would try and appreciate November. And the trick of that, I learned, is to really look at it.

Frost kissing a fallen horse chestnut frond

For example, in November, when you look up at a full moon, you can see the silhouette of the branches, and they are beautiful. There is colour—the deep bronze and gold of the leaves that are still hanging on, often on the birch trees. That gold strikes an amazing contrast to those moody blue and grey November skies. There are rosehips, and the fuzzy tips of tall grasses I can’t name but are pretty just the same.

Christmas still dominates the December celebratory season, but generally there is, until after Remembrance Day, a sense of holding before the lights go up, the parades begin and the frivolity starts. November can be like the calm breath before the festive free for all that is December.

I learned that comparing November to October or December is like comparing an apple to a can of tuna. Both are food and will satiate you in their own way, but each is it’s own thing. Comparison, that now well known phrase goes, is the thief of joy. So I have come to appreciate November on it’s own terms, and have found the beauty in it.

So now, I’m team Henry. I love November. I make soup. I write. I light candles. I also make sure I get outside as much as I can, and look around, and remind myself how beautiful it is in it’s own very November way.

My next challenge is learning how to appreciate March. That one, I’m afraid, is still a work in progress…