November in the Raggedy Garden

        Some times November is still pretty green.  Sometimes not! This year , it has still been nice, so far. This is the scene we see at the end of the road that goes to our wood lot. A beautiful old farm hunkered down at the bottom of Kidder Mountain. Yup, New Ipswich is rural. The Raggedy Garden has been put to bed from several heavy frosts. Frost is beautiful. A frosty Raggedy Garden is beautiful. Before the sun comes up, all white and clean,, every last left over leaf, every blade of grass, the swing, the fence, the leafless pear tree, all are coated with crystals. When the sun comes climbing up over the hill, over the tops of the pine trees, every thing turns to diamonds, then as the air warms, they glimmer with prisms and then turn back to their sere, brown selves. So, there is magic in the garden, after all. I know it in the spring, when it suddenly begins coming to life, I know it in the summer, all richly colored and frilly, I know it in the fall, ablaze in glory and frost, and I will know it in the winter, when its covered in ice and snow.

         We did have our first dusting of snow. It didn't amount to much, nor last very long. I love snow shadows. They are so blue, and exagerated. Foot prints look bigger, and old rusty buckets take on a shabby chic of their own.
         The nights come so early, now, and the warmth of the day disappears with the sun. The wood box needs filling every day. The kitchen range hums along, radiating warmth, fragrance and cheery crackling as it eats up copious amounts of birch, ash, oak and maple. At night, when the lights are out, it gives off the softest glow, that comes from within, and keeps the kitchen cozy. Its big black surface has a hundred uses. Keeping food and coffee hot, making the tea kettle whistle, cooking meals, drying mittens and gloves. Its great for huddling around, too, when you come in from the cold. It worries not about power, or electric bills, or oil tanks. It is my friend of November days!

       The November sunset hangs fierce and intense in the western sky. It gradually fades to grey, then inky black. November nights are black velvet nights, star filled nights, meteor shower nights. November has the trappers moon. Trappers, like hunters, get their own moon. How lucky is that? No month has a mothers moon, or even a thanksgiving moon, do they? I don't mind, though. I know trappers and hunters need a moon, a frozen marsh, strong legs and a brave heart. I am partial to November nights.
      Thanksgiving Day is coming soon. Thanksgiving at the Raggedy Garden is loud and boisterous, with lots of children, lots of food, lots to be thankful for. I am thankful for Thanksgiving, for all its legends and stories, for all the Thanksgivings that I remember, for all the Thanksgivings yet to come.
       I don't know if you've ever read Robert Ruarks "The Old Man And The Boy",  but according to the old man, " he would pick November as the best month, because it wasn't too hot and it wasn't too cold, and you could do practically anything in it better than any other time of the year, except maybe get sunburned, or fall in love. Although he added that "there ain't nothing wrong with falling in love in November if the moon is right."  Then he asked the boy if he could see what he was driving at, and the boy answered, "yesssir" because he didn't want him to start explaining it all over again. So we'll leave it at that. I do beleive the moon is right...