Saturday, November 04, 2017

slow Saturday

I'd recently come across this Emily Dickinson quote -- "November always seemed to me the Norway of the year." There is a bit of a back story to it, but no matter. Enough that she'd never been to Norway, but apparently harbored images that coincided well with this month, or at least as it presented itself to her in New England. (Dickinson stayed pretty close to her Amherst home all her life, leaving New England only once -- on a trip to Washington DC and Philadelphia.)

For me (as possibly for Dickinson), November does appear shady and dark (though my one trip to Norway was in June, so Norway does not spring to mind). Days that end too soon and start too late. This is curious, as January surely has as little light (in fact, overall less light), but in my mind, January is cold and bright and November is wet and dark.

Today, the month lives up to its image. Were I feeling fully recovered from The Bug, I'd suggest a forest walk, though you have to love gunfire to hike woodsy trails in Wisconsin in November, so perhaps I'd stay with the parks in the area where at least wearing blaze orange is unnecessary.

The air is wet and (at least at the farmette) woodsy. But I do nothing with it. After breakfast...

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...I move slowly. Sort of at the speed of the cheepers.

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To the grocery store and home again, where I cook a pot of soup for dinner. If I had to give my own characterization to this month, I'd say November is the soup month of the year. A thick soup with dark things swimming in it. One that's good for The Bug you're likely to catch right about now, even as the stores fill with cranberries and pecans and you're reminded that you really should be putting in your bid for a perfect turkey.

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Soup. Tell me who doesn't love soup in November! Followed by a piece of chocolate. Dark, brooding. Maybe with toffee and salt bits in it. And if you are a Scotsperson -- a sip of the smokiest, peatiest of peaty Scotches.