November is Surprises

Shifting temperatures in November

I am sure no one has noticed that I skipped August, September, October…what happened? Well, life. But also for August and September I was in France (my second home) and though I am always paying attention to birds, to trees and flowers it felt different than being attuned to the rhythms of a place I know as deeply as I do the Hudson Valley. France was hot in August—so hot it made the news in the New York Times. But I didn’t feel that heat in my historical bones (don’t get me wrong, I was hot). So the realization is that an almanac needs me to stay put.

November I was home-home in the Hudson Valley. The month is a shoulder month, beginning in fall and ending in winter. I love when the leaves are finally all down and I can see the shape of the land, the contours of streams and hollows. We had our first below freezing day on November 10, and since then the temperatures have yo-yoed from cold to warmer through the month. There was snow in the Catskills (making hiking fun).

A walk at the end of the month out Cruger Island Road the wind beat at my back and I thought: I did not wear enough layers. After all these years, I learn again that come the end of November, I need flannel lined pants, need long-underwear. It’s cold out there and though we have yet to have snow, flakes tumble from the sky from time to time.

On that walk there were few birds, but then too some special, unexpected birds, birds that maybe were also thinking: I should have worn my flannels. Or, rather, I should have headed south, or, I wish I’d headed south sooner. Maybe they won’t leave, will make a cold living while also giving up the dangers of migration. Among these were a Kingfisher, flying in a razor-sharp line across the bay, a Hermit Thrush, startled by its own existence, and my favorite, the Rusty Blackbird. In fall is when they put on their rusty caps, looking as handsome as they can be.

November I turn to the woods to cut up downed trees, to split wood, to keep the fire going. Working with wood allows me to be in the woods, where I hear birds passing over (Evening Grosbeak!), or witness a Cooper’s Hawk waiting for its perfect target from the bird feeder. Stay warm and well fed, my friends.

The South Tivoli Bay and in the distance the Hudson River

Looking out toward Black Dome, Catskills

Cooper’s Hawk patiently awaiting a meal