November 🍁

November arrives quietly, almost apologetically. The blazing spectacle of October has passed, leaving behind bare branches and, until the first frost, the last remnants of a summer garden. It’s a bridge between the vibrant colours of autumn and the quiet anticipation of winter. Even though we can experience warm days, summer has definitely moved on, blown away by the cooler northern winds.

There’s a quiet nostalgia to this month. Mornings can be misty and it seems to rain more often than usual. November has its own distinct smell of damp leaves softening on the ground, releasing that rich, woody aroma as they break down. It’s a smell that makes me breathe a little deeper and remind myself that the seasons are turning, just as they always have.

Trees shed the last of their golden or russet coloured leaves, carpeting footpaths, country lanes and gardens in thick mulchy layers. The leaves drift down, almost in slow motion, the late stragglers clinging on for as long as possible. Autumn eases itself out on a tide of senses, definitely, for me, the most noticeable being smell. Not only is this relevant when walking outside but also in the house. There’s a familiar perfume to a fire. The resinous tang of burning wood, the faint sweetness from the sap and the woody smokiness offers an invitation to settle down, relax and unwind. And then there’s the comforting sound of the fire when it pops and crackles and emits soft, contented sighs.

We can feel that it’s November. The shorter afternoons vanish abruptly into darkness and the thin light during the day is the result of the sun never climbing quite high enough in the sky. It stretches shadows right across the garden, even at midday, as if it’s running out of energy, just bright enough to mark the hours but not strong enough to offer the warmth or brilliance of those glorious summer days.

Orchards have produced their rich harvests and berries and apples have complemented meals in the forms of pies, crumbles and delicious juices. Those familiar smells of cinnamon and ginger become more prevalent. It’s the time for small rituals. Pulling out winter scarves and hats and shutting windows against the biting winds. Tastes change as we stock up cupboards and freezers for stews instead of salads and barbecues.

Nature is doing the same. We see squirrels stashing the last of their supplies in gardens and can imagine hedgehogs curling up to hibernate as the fields settle into their winter rest. Gone are the brilliant summer colours, to be replaced by muted greens, reds, golds and browns. Grey skies replace the blues of summer. The cold air nips at unprotected fingertips and those warm woolly scarves feel extra comforting. Senses are definitely heightened as autumn slowly disappears.

November opens with a bang on the fifth. Bonfire night marks the failed Gunpowder Plot of 1605 when Guy Fawkes and his conspirators planned to blow up parliament. Over the centuries the political edge has softened but the tradition remains. Families gather in parks or village fields waiting in eager anticipation for the firework displays. The skies become a stage as each dynamic explosion briefly reveals the silhouettes of trees, rooftops and hillsides.

The bonfire itself takes on a character of its own. Flames roar upwards, orange and gold, twisting and breathing like a living thing! Sparks fly off in little constellations, drifting away into the dark. Logs collapse inwards with satisfying thuds emitting waves of heat that warms your front while your back remains cold. The bonfire doesn’t only produce a distinctive scent of woodsmoke but also a primal sense that makes us instinctively lean in, hands outstretched, cheeks glowing. We share the same moment, the heat, the darkness and the excitement, a strong community feel. In its own stubborn, British way, the inclement weather adds to the charm.

On the 11th of November we have time to reflect. It is one of the most solemn, dignified and quietly powerful days of the year. Remembrance Day marks the moment the guns fell silent at the end of the First World War. Over time it has grown into a day that honours, not only those who died during the two World Wars, but all those who have served in conflicts. It’s a national act of remembrance, quiet and deeply felt. In the days leading up to the 11th we pin poppies to coats and jackets. Wreathes are laid on stone memorials in villages, towns and cities. There is something very moving about communities coming together, generation after generation, honouring those they often never knew but feel connected to.

As November quietly slips away and autumn closes its final chapter, we begin to prepare mentally, physically and emotionally for the long, cold winter days ahead. November is subtle. It doesn’t shout for attention. It gently urges us to slow our pace, wrap up a little tighter and step, with calm acceptance, into December.👠