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.