Remembering back and forth from autumn to autumn, I watch the critical, pivotal events of November come to converge in space and time.
On November 5, 1992, the first snow covered my yard at 5:00 a.m. with heavy, fat flakes..
In 1988, the first snow arrived on November 6. One inch covered the ground as late fall pushed through. On the 6th in 1990, a violent low-pressure trough pulled away the last fragments of October. All the leaves of my magnolias fell together, lay in a pile by the back door. Then the ginkgoes came down in a few hours, ripped away in 40-mile-an-hour gusts.
The first snow and the end of my mulberry took place on November 11 in 1986. Two days later, a second hard front struck with near record cold. Killing frost took the lettuce, beets, broccoli, and all the bedding plants from the garden.
All of these and so many other early November events are markers of the past and predictors of the future. They are doors through which I pass from middle fall into late fall.
Without memory, these occurrences might be harsh, surprising and arbitrary; in recollection, they are comforting and reassuring, telling me everything is on schedule the way it should be.
This is Bill Felker with Poor Will’s Almanack. I’ll be back again next week with notes for the third week of late fall. In the meantime, watch for yourself: maybe everything really is – or could be – the way it should be.
