November Up North

As you might expect, November in the north country is . . . quiet.  The roadside park at Birch Lake is closed and the road it’s beside is blessedly empty. Which is a good thing, as there are suicidal deer everywhere, doing their best to wreck my car with me in it.

We’ve had an abundant apple crop, and a lot of it is still on the trees, or beneath them, where the deer are growing fat.  Farmers do not need bait piles.  They do, however, need extraordinary inner resources to deal with the ups and downs of weather and markets.  This year they gave away all that nonprofits could harvest. 

The first hard frosts arrived, turning the last tough weeds into Painted Ladies for a day. Thistledown is everywhere, carried on the wind and in the Cowboy’s curly fur. The stars glitter in deep, cold skies, and we saw part of the Leonid meteor shower before fleeing inside to the down comforter. The signs are clear. Go slow. Take it easy. No wake . . .

Scott Thomas (a/k/a St. Photo) issued another of his challenges: Show me what November means to you. This turns out to be my entry. There will be lots of others from much better photographers. I recommend you go over to Scott’s site and follow the links to great photos from beautiful places. I don’t see how you can go wrong.