November neurosis.
Because I am an outdoor girl stuck indoors!
“But there is always a November space after the leaves have fallen when she felt it was almost indecent to intrude on the woods…for their glory terrestrial had departed and their glory celestial of spirit and purity and whiteness had not yet come upon them.”
― L.M. Montgomery
Welcome to The coloured Month.
Hello lovely readers and writers.
How are you? And, before I forget completely, I was and still am overwhelmed with gratitude by your response to my last letter. Thank you all who commented, shared and left me love, I send love in return.
How was your month of November? Can you feel the days picking up speed as we dive headlong into December, with all its the terrifying wrappings and trimmings of Christmas looming? The planning of menus, the preparing of menus, the finding of the perfect tree, the gifts, the visiting and delivering of said gifts… just thinking about it is exhausting!
I saved a fortune on Black Friday though… I boycotted it completely!
And so to this months letter, I have combined my journal notes within The coloured Month section this time, simply because that is the way it turned out! If you missed my previous letters from this section you will find them here.
I hope you all have the December you dream of, November was but a distant whisper from mine!
The month of November has rained its heaviest rains in slate grey sheets across the bleakest of landscapes, shined its shiniest sun in all too brief flashes of copper and bronze. And, just as we’ve acclimatised to it’s taciturn moodiness, it turns on it’s heels and buries us in sodden earthy decay… declaring, Christmas is on its way!
I’m thinking of hibernation—I often do at this time of year; what a deliciously cosy way to spend winter! I imagine all the animals, dormice, squirrels, bats and bumble bees, all snuggled up peaceful and warm in their beds of sweet scented hay and leaves until spring. It sounds infinitely preferable to my current permanently damp, neurotic state.
At the end of October I wrote these words;
Ordinarily I dread the first rains of autumn but this year, the second of below average rainfall and overheated temperatures, the rain feels refreshing, rejuvenating even.
Now, especially today as we enter the fiftieth hour of constant rain, I take them all back!
The last thirty days have been an obstacle course of impossible highs and lows which have found me wading through unexpectedly deep rivers that have never appeared before—eight to be precise—huddled, shivering in blankets in front of stove who is admittedly playing fairly for once thanks to my live in handy man husband and his wizardry with a few fire bricks but the logs just sizzle like hot coals on ice rather than burst into flames so the house is freezing. I am watched by curious cows—I’m sure they are chuckling at my inelegance—as I squelch my way through deep, muddy water (it has swamped the top of the sheep field and now runs freely under their shelter) to check that they all haven’t got foot rot which thankfully they don’t but I still think flippers might be in their Christmas stockings…
There is nothing cosy about winter when you have animals to care for that live outside… especially when other peoples animals are watching you!
And that is a fact!
I feel almost estranged from my hill I’ve walked so few of its paths and of course the sadness of losing my own path of footsteps to seeds still sits heavily on my heart. Also by not being as present, I missed the best of autumns glorious colour too, if indeed it happened this year? Judging by the evidence on my camera, autumn thrills were as latent as the sun.
Not so the local hunt. After finding one of his young calves decapitated, apparently the work of sharp tusks, my neighbouring farmer called in every reserve and has declared flash jacket war with the ever increasing population of wild boar. So much so it is hard to set foot outside the gate without spying the telltale fluorescent red lurking somewhere—actually there seems to be a whole hunters fashion trend going on, trousers, hats, gloves and boots (probably underclothes too) every piece competing with another as the glowiest—luckily for the hunters boar have shocking eyesight! And even more luckily for the boar half of the local hunt consists of trigger happy young bucks who spend more time worrying about their attire, drenching themselves in Hugo B and tearing around the countryside in their shiny new 4x4’s—I catch the reek of their aftershave through open windows every time which means a wild boar will catch it from a kilometre away—than they do actually looking down the barrels of their guns! No kidding!
Enough said perhaps…. But, it is no surprise that I’ve heard few cracks of gunfire since they began—which pleases me immensely—right up until I remember just how terrifying these creatures are. And, despite a friends best efforts to persuade me that wild boar are not even remotely interested in a woman walking her dog with a camera—Where the devil did he get that information from—with numbers rising so alarmingly, I know I am genuinely at risk of confrontation. Again…
I stick to safer, softer places and take solace in my garden…
Which, surprisingly, isn’t out of control (by my standards) but certainly not ready for winter. I spend every dry hour possible clearing the remaining debris of goo that the left by the torrents of rain that have fallen and raking soggy leaves from the courtyard to barrow down as mulch. Against all the odds, I’m happy with the result. Plus it means I can walk past the barn and gaze starry eyed up at its sexy new, bank breakingly expensive, zinc gutter without feeling like a complete nut case!
I gather the few seeds that remain and cut the last roses, bringing them in to dry so their petals fall with those of the rose I stole a few weeks ago from the garden of a dearly missed friend. Scents mingling with memories…
My neurosis becomes worthy of complete sedation though when one of the schools I work in suffers a short but very violent epidemic of la gastro. My immediate reaction is to turn 180° and return to my cold house and wait for it to pass but since it is not only pupils that are absent but staff too I am asked to stand in on two classes. Within the first hour, horror of all horrors, two children are slumped at their desks, green faced, with buckets beside them. Now for a normal person, especially a mother of two grown children, coping with sick little ones is second nature, for me a sufferer (ridiculously I know) of Emetophobia it is nothing short of a living nightmare. I shake and tremble my way through each grueling hour that passes making it to the end of the week unscathed but barely. And, worryingly, my stock of Elderberry syrup stash diminishes by the day when the following week we have our first case of winter flu. Less scary but I still take every precaution!
A first frost brings temporary sparkle and smiles…
Smiles I wrote about one morning at the start of this week, which made so many of you smile too, were without doubt the smiles that saved me from a deep and dismally dark pit of the doldrums, especially with Christmas just around the corner!
As I come to the end of November and begin December, looking out of the window into the night, I notice it has stopped raining. At last… and thank goodness because this weekend is the only weekend between now and next year that my daughter can visit and I specifically put in an order for beautiful weather.
“I heard a bird sing in the dark of December. A magical thing. And sweet to remember. We are nearer to Spring than we were in September. I heard a bird sing in the dark of December.”
― Oliver Herford
Ever optimistic and with love
If you are enjoying Substack and wondering what to read next do take a look at these,
Vanessa
writes The Post House Chronicles, her lovely words always touched with a dash of humour are a joy!
And Alexander’s,
A Fall in Time seriesis a journal of days based on the months he spent alone in a Scottish Woodland, the link here is to the penultimate letter but I wholeheartedly recommend you nip onto his homepage and start at the beginning. His journey of discovery is not only inspiring but beautifully written. I for one will be feeling sad when it is over.
Oh dear Sweet Susie, the constant deluge of rain and storms are indeed dismal, never mind the awful hunters bombarding your hill. Wishing you a roaring fire to cozy up to with dear Rosie beside you. This past week was too much, way too much. Love and hugs!
Nature can be hard but also comforting, it depends what you expect from her. This makes nature unpredictable and a challenge for us all. Im glad you are not alone in the forest and have a great and handy partner to overcome all the problems. Nevertheless I wish you less rain and more comfort, especially during the dark days to come. May the light of X-mas enlighten you as the coming reunion with your daughter. All the best my lovely friend. Warm greetings from Dave from the Netherlands.