In the middle of warm, flower-filled June I am writing about November. Looking at old posts on this blog about previous Novembers helps plunge me into the chill, and is making me surprisingly nostalgic for the food and smells and sights of early winter.
Potatoes and cauliflower
Snow and picnics on the Adirondack
Fried chicken
Cold weather food and where to find it
George W. Bush Tried for Treason (!)
I am reading real books, too: Sam Thayer's The Forager's Harvest (he also thinks boiling milkweed so many times is silly - yay), and Cormac McCarthy's The Crossing for the...fourth time? Maybe third. Not sure. Very sad parts last night - spoiler alert...he shot his wolf. Perhaps not good bedtime reading.
Back to November...
Wouldn't advise reading The Road before bed either. Happy writing.
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