November. Gray skies, dropping temperatures, bare trees, winter winds, snow, and ice ahead.  The worst part is the loss of daylight.  After the shift from daylight savings, which always happens around November 1^st, the days become noticeably and progressively shorter.  I can sense the approach of dusk as early as 3:30 in the afternoon.

Resignation.  Knowing that the warmth and light and world of green leaves and growing plants are gone until next May.  That is five long months or if you like statistics, 42% of the years, a long time.

Associations. I had a vague idea that there was a “day of the dead” associated with early November.  When I investigated, it was even worse than I imagined. There were three days known as Allhallowtide spanning from October 31^st through November 2^nd set aside to remember the dead. 

It starts with a vigil on All Hallow’s Eve (Halloween) now celebrated with skulls and skeletons, progresses through All Saints Day, a day to honor the murdered martyrs, and concludes with All Souls Day, a day dedicated to commemorating the faithful dead, a time to visit and tend the gravestones of departed family members.

Some scholars link these observances to the Celtic festival of Samhain which marked the end of harvest and the beginning of the dark season of the year, considered a dangerous and liminal time when the boundary between this world and the otherworld thinned and spirits, many of them evil, roamed the earth.

Given all of these factors, the onset of November once again weighed on my soul and evoked an upwelling of melancholy, quite unusual for me as I am typically seen by my friends as Mr. Cheerful-Positive-Optimist.

Walking despondently down a leaf-covered road, wallowing in gloom, I was startled to spot a dab of blueish color in the ditch amidst the dying weeds.  Leaning in for a closer look I discovered a stem of bedraggled Smooth Blue Asters still in bloom, slender lilac petals arrayed like blue beams around a golden sun center, the flowers dappled with drops of morning dew, a surprising sign of life on a gray November morning.

Pausing, I wondered if there was more to November than I thought.  Maybe, my perspectives were in error.  Maybe there were more signs of life out there, different signs requiring different ways of seeing. The only way to answer my question, I decided, was to conduct a nature sit spot early the next morning.

Approach

Up before sunrise.  A few sips of hot tea in the kitchen. Walking across the yard I heard faint seet-seet-seet sounds, the flock calls of white-throated sparrows, joining together to begin their day of foraging and feeding.  Up in a tree a tentative tik-tik-tik, the flock call of the pair of cardinals that lived in my yard communicating and connecting to begin their day.  Already signs of life in the dim predawn light.

Stepping through the gap in the stone wall onto the path into the woods I spotted movement near my feet.  A rabbit, decked out in soft, thick, brown, winter-ready fur nibbled on stalks of still green grass.  A rabbit?  That is a symbol linked to Easter, a symbol of fertility and new life. 

Walking down the wide mowed path toward the old beaver pond I stepped upon a multicolored carpet of fallen leaves wet with morning dew.  There was no rustle and crunch from these wet leaves, just the steady, soft, padding sound of me feet.

Further down the path beneath a white pine tree, a blanket of fallen rusty-brown pine needles coated the ground.

Pine needles and tree leaves fallen to the earth to break down, to create another layer of compost, to enrich the earth, each creating a slightly different soil, a unique soil that would create the ideal habitat for specific plants.  This was an active life-giving process that would be helped by the rain and snow and cold of winter.

Sounds Around

I arrived at the edge of the abandoned beaver pond where now just a small stream coursed silently through mixed meadow and swamp.  I set up my camp chair, pulled out my notebook, and offered my full presence and attention for the first 10-minute interval of my planned hour-long session.

I checked the conditions, 44 degrees, wind 2 mph from the southeast.  In front of me in the predawn light I saw tan and brown grasses and reeds interlaced with a few last strands of green grass.  Beyond the old pond edge stood gray, bare, leafless, skeletal, trunks, limbs, and tree branches, a true Novemberish scene.

My plan was to tune into the nature sounds but all I could hear was the rush and roar of traffic from a state highway a mile away.  People hurriedly drove their cars, vans, and trucks to work and school. The rising and falling din of traffic was unsettling. even annoying

I felt my nervous system spike, my muscles brace, and a wave of frustration rising.  This was not what I expected during a nature sit spot.

I had to manage this.  It was time for some cognitive reframing.  I came looking for signs of life. Well, the traffic noise could also be seen as sounds of life, the sounds of people beginning their day, meeting their obligations, fulfilling their responsibilities, initiating adventures. I decided to honor and celebrate these sounds of human life on a chilly November morning.

Irritation subsiding, I was then able to tune into the nature sounds around me.  The birds were also busily beginning their day.  I heard the husky zhree-zhree-zhree call of a tufted titmouse and the namesake chik-a dee-dee-dee of a chickadee.  From the trees behind me blue jays cried jay, jay, jay back and forth.  Crows in the distance called caw, caw, caw; goldfinches sang their sweet ti-di-di-di flight songs. 

A red-bellied woodpecker called a clear piercing quirr, quirr. From a bush right behind me I heard the soft jimp-jimp-jimp of a song sparrow, the call so close that it made me feel like I had a friend and that I was accepted into the wild.

Overall, it was fine morning chorus of winter resident birds, birds that were adapted to live and prosper in the coming season of dark and cold.

Seeing

Slowly, steadily the light of the coming day increased.  Across the stream and meadow, the leafless tree silhouettes came into clear view, black willow, pin oak, maple, and ash in a row.  Four versions of fractal beauty on display. Diversity, another expression of life on display in leafless November.

Sunlight illuminated a distant hilltop.  The elevations receive the light first. So many unique and different habitats inviting different forms of life.

The sun began to lift through the far trees illuminating the colors in the creek valley where I sat.  Gazing ahead at the marsh grasses, weeds, and reeds, I saw a blend of tans and browns tinted with hues of gold and amber.  Deep brown goldenrod stems held umbrels, sprays, and spikes of dried beige flowers. Right next to me I saw stiff folded blossoms of Queen Anne’s Lace looking like tiny upright jewel cases.

Usually, I don’t think of tans and browns as beautiful colors but at this moment in this light on this early November morning I felt surrounded by beauty.  And if beauty is life, then kudos to November for arranging this bouquet.

The Fluffs

The first beams of sunlight touched my cheek.  Ah, warmth and light!  Sitting still in the 44-degree air, I had become chilled.  I was not acclimated to the cold yet. It felt wonderful as the sun-warmth spread down my face to my neck and shoulder. 

Relaxing in the sun-warmth, I began to study the nearby plants.  The beige fluff atop the golden rods held myriad seeds, ready to fly and propagate, and available as food for birds, the goldfinches, and sparrows.  Nearby thistles, normally seen as a nasty weed, were topped by thick pale white clusters of fluff, each strand attached to a seed.  To my right I spotted dry, open milkweed pods, white strands of fluff attached to light brown seeds ready for flight.

All three of these fluffs were ready for the November winds to carry them everywhere, for the winter snow to cover and provide water, to prepare the seeds to sprout next spring.  For the fluff plants, November was a prime and active time in their life cycle.

Return

My hour sped by and soon the last ten-minute interval wound down. The faint wind had shifted to the Northwest, enough to diminish the highway sounds. In the quiet I heard the soft musical chur-wi, chur-wi chant of a bluebird.

I packed up my gear and began the walk home.  My mind was focused on returning to a warm kitchen, brewing a pot of hot coffee, and frying eggs for a hearty breakfast, but I told myself that I should use this time of walking to reflect on any changes within, any shifts in my attitude toward November.

Looking around as I walked up the long hill, I noticed thick burgundy buds on a red maple branch, little pouches full of life.  The branch was most likely from this year’s growth and was now resting before burgeoning forth next spring. 

I spotted a bird nest in a bush right beside the trail.  In the summer when the leaves were thick and green I had probably walked by this nest a dozen times but had never seen it.  In the summer it was a source of new life.  And, I thought, next spring another bird or even the same bird might build a nest in this bush or nearby.

Looking through the now bare branches of the shrubs I could see into the field beyond and noticed small trees that had grown over the past summer, pin oaks, white pines, and Norway spruce.  These were climax forest trees moving into the abandoned farm fields.  I could with November clarity, see that the forest was alive and moving.

Returning to my yard I spotted the striking bright, blue blossoms of Aconite standing in a flower bed amidst dead, dry stems of bee balm.  Aconite blooms in October and November, an opportunistic plant that has carved out its own surprisingly late time to flower.  For every time slot of the year some plant or animal finds a way to express its life.

Sitting on the porch, unlacing my shoes, I felt that my perspectives had shifted. My barriers against the eleventh month had melted away.  On this November morning, I felt surrounded by life.