Robert Sapolsky’s brilliant talk about aggression and social change

 If you haven’t heard this, listen. 

If you have, listen again.

Either way, share widely. 

GO HERE

November Hill farm journal, 241

 I’m not able to download photos at the moment but checking in to say that we’ve had snow, sleet mixed with ice, and many cold nights in this new year. I’m officially ready for spring!

The herd are handling things with grace, as are the dogs and cats. I’m not sure the honeybee colonies will make it through this but they surprise me every year, so we’ll see. 

Life is busy here on November Hill. I’m seeing a lot of clients, doing a lot of EMDR with them, starting a year-long writing course with Craft School, doing three different trainings for my re-licensure in July, and have one course on the schedule for my advanced native plant studies certificate. 

I’ve been doing work getting our mountain property into a carbon offset program, more work getting it into a wildlife habitat conservation program, and wishing there were a similar plan for small farms like this one. 

I am hugely blessed with amazing family, including siblings, nephew, husband, children, and grandchildren. I am so grateful for the time I spend with all of them. Ditto with good friends. My aim for this year is to do more things in person, invite more people over, bake all the birthday cakes myself this year, and get truly serious about vegetables in the potager. 

It sounds like this is the year of Doing Everything, but really I think it’s the year of doing good work and having community. Relaxing and playing and resisting. 

Also reading good books, and speaking of that, I’m 3/4 through Virginia Evans’  The Correspondent, and it is so so good. I rejoined the library and am checking books out and putting books on hold and waiting my turn for books, and this has been a joy and a pleasure, and a reminder of what was a huge part of my life since I was 4 years old. After I learned to read the school library and the public library became my favorite places. And I’m reclaiming that now. 

Last time my grandchildren were here they came in and said they wanted to read Mr. Putter and Tabby books on the bed! I can’t think of a better thing to do, and we did it. 

A small but good thing: I’m almost done with a little embroidery/felt project that I have been working on for months. A little at a time. I’m doing tai chi. I’m still painting the bedroom wall, last section of the last wall. The trim and ceiling is next. It’s taking a long time - that’s okay. I’m happy to be hip deep in projects right now. 

For anyone reading, what are you doing this year? How are you holding up? Comments are welcome, lists, fragments, any format. And whether you comment or not, happy 2026. 

Happy Solstice, Christmas, and Between-Time from November Hill

 

We’re warm, dry, and although there is much in the world to worry about, work on, and stand up for, life is pretty good in my space on the farm. Good wishes to all. 

November Hill farm journal, 240

 

We’re fully into autumn now. The possumhaw berries hang in bunches awaiting the birds, the fig tree’s leaves are mostly gone, but there are still deep purple figs, skin leathery but protecting the fruity inside, and we’re all enjoying the gorgeous weather we’ve had. Not too warm, not too cold. 

The oakleaf hydrangea is stunning in its color this week. These leaves have fallen now but I enjoyed them for the past month as they changed to this perfect autumn red. 

It’s hard to believe we’re days from Thanksgiving, then on to the solstice and Christmas and the end of this year. 

I’m painting the bedroom walls, one wall at a time, one coat at a time. Alternating this task with clearing the bedroom closet, one section at a time. Doing the same with writing. With many things. Allowing the process of moving through a thing one step at a time to remind me every day that that’s how we get through things: tasks, oppression, authoritarianism, hard things. 

The way to do anything is one step at a time. 

November Hill farm journal, 239

 Well, autumn is here, though it feels like the color is a bit late to come. Though I have to remind myself that the reason November Hill is named that is because November is when things get spectacular here, so I’m a little ahead of myself wishing for color!

Here’s where we are:

Up at the mountain house, however, things are much more fall-like:

Thanks to my dear husband for this aerial image of our beloved mountain spot. 

This month we have had the house power-washed, windows cleaned inside and out, gutters cleaned, front porch and deck cleaned, and the same at the barn. It was a long day keeping cats and dogs out of the way and safe, but it’s beautiful and now I can move on with my other projects. 

I’m halfway through painting our bedroom walls. We’ve planted a new native bed with coneflower, Joe Pye, marsh rattlesnake master, put in a new buttonbush, and yesterday planted three yaupon hollies in a few empty spots outside the front fence, adding to our native hedgerow. 

A hackberry has volunteered itself where the old monster buddleia was, perfect place for it, and a willow oak has quickly escaped my notice to grow to 4 feet in the bluebird bed, which happens to be a pretty perfect place for it, so I’m happy to have some volunteers coming in. 

All the animals are good, the fish are good, though my aquarium snail passed away and it was sad. He (not sure but it felt like he was a he!) was very active and seemed healthy up until the last couple of days of his life with us. He was buried and at some point I’ll get another snail to help with algae maintenance. 

I’m doing my favorite writing workshop in 6-week bursts this month, in November, and again in January. I’m thrilled to have three new flash pieces in hand now and still working on more. Am thinking a lot about novels and screenplays in progress too. 

Life is busy these days and there is so much to do: responding to and resisting the atrocities being carried out around our country, noticing and soaking in the daily joys on the farm and up at the mountain house, spending time with family, including the four-legged and finned and winged ones. 

May we all join together in resisting, relishing, and recuperating as we move through these precious days. I believe there is hope. I believe we can, as Maggie Smith says in her amazing poem, make this place beautiful.