Foggy landscape. Photo © Karethe Linaae
They say that when it rains, it pours, and that can certainly apply to Spain. After several years of intense drought, all the precipitation we should have had during the last 12 months came in a single night or just a few hours. The tragedies and destruction, especially in Valencia, are unfathomable. As I write this, rescuers are still searching for the missing, while the cleanup and rebuilding will take years. So, what can we do? Light a candle, donate blankets, brooms, first aid kits and money, and be as prepared as possible for when (as it is no longer a question of if) tragedy strikes again.
Jailed seaweed art. Photo © Karethe Linaae
Whether we like it or not, November is here, and if you, like me, come from the north, you probably grew up hating it. As a youngster in Norway in the 1970s, we thought it was the most dreadful month of the year. It was dark and gloomy and cold and wet. The days fluctuated between snow, slush, freezing rain, deadly black ice and more snow. November was the month when nothing happened that was worth living for. Halloween was not yet 'invented' (If I recall right, it only came to Norway in the 1990s). Nobody had heard of Black Fridays and Cyber Mondays, and the decorations for December’s many festivities - Advent, Santa Lucia, Jul (Xmas) and New Year - were still in boxes in the attic. November was a month we wished we could skip over. The mere mention of it made us want to go to bed on the 1st and hide under our down comforters until the 31st, sleeping through the entire thing!
Frozen leaves. Photo © Karethe Linaae
Now in the so-called autumn of my life, I see November in an entirely different light. It has been years since I looked forward to Christmas as such. Instead, I look forward to every day, especially fall days. Perhaps it comes from living in rural Andalucía where the sun rarely stops shining, but now I find myself longing for that special November mood.
Forest. Photo © Karethe Linaae
As I spend a few days in my native land, I cherish the foggy mornings, the mist-filled air, the sudden crescendo of the wind and the dancing leaves. A more subtle colour palette replaces the bright fall colours, showing barren trees against an ever-changing sky.
Sky. Photo © Karethe Linaae
I treasure the soft golden afternoon light, the threatening clouds and the surprisingly early hour of dusk. I delight in the iridescent green moss that suddenly appears among the soothing earth tones and grey hues of the latter year and the forgiving feel of walking on the leaf-covered ground, helping nature withstand another winter.
Fall ground cover. Photo © Karethe Linaae
Late fall brings a whole new understanding of the Scandinavian concept of cosiness. A warm blanket, flickering live candles, a steaming cup of hot tea, the smell of a wood-burning fire, comfort food in the oven, aged wine, woollen socks, nature walks dressed to the gills and simply being at home. That is, for those who are lucky enough to have a home, something one should never take for granted.
At home. Photo © Karethe Linaae
Global warming has changed the Novembers of my childhood, although it still offers gale-force winds, sleet and unimaginable whiteouts. These days, I value the so-called ‘bad’ weather of the season, whether I admire it from behind a windowpane or immerse myself in it. Barring recent weather tragedies, there is something cathartic about foul weather: high winds with feisty waves and seaweed slung far ashore, thunder and lightning, torrential downpours and drifting sheets of snow.
Calm before the storm. Photo © Karethe Linaae
In my latter life, I see the beauty of the fall season through different eyes and am thankful for all the November-ness that it brings. I hope this month won’t be remembered for all the suffering but as a November of solidarity, generosity and compassion.
Candle in the wind. Photo © Karethe Linaae