First frost, and a could-do list for November

Including garden notes, and my book recommendations for early winter evenings.

It was the morning of the first frost. The winterised sugar coating was absconding with first light, but, having risen early to feed the chickens warm mash in their run near the kitchen door, I tiptoed to the east of the house where the garden lies, and watched it linger on the north facing border. Mossy grass crumpled under my feet, as I noted a fur of frost on the lambs ear plants, and icy caps on plateaus of sedum flowers. It had laid low the nasturtium seedlings that volunteered where the plants had climbed with sweet peas up a twiggy wigwam in summer: I'd missed my chance to pot up a few to try to overwinter, a day too late. Blackbird chips recoiled sharp as flint, and House Sparrow calls started up in the hedge, chattering with a sociable sound a degree warmer. Robin’s ‘tic-tic!’ came with diamond clarity, before his song rans out of him in a flow of sparkling lilts.

My name is Sophie and I have an admission... I rather like November.

Sandwiched between the glorious fire-bright days of early autumn with their pumpkin picking and harvest excitements, and the busy wonder of festive December, and being rather inclement weather wise, November has a reputation for being, well... dull.

Once the bonfires of Guy Fawkes Night on November the 5th have reduced to cinders, this month has none of the glamour of the earlier autumn months.

This year, in our corner of the country at least, the vigorous autumn storms of October were replaced by a monotonous weather report: grey cloud 11-15c, on repeat. An ‘anti-cyclonic gloom’ that has resulted on two or three weeks of low light levels and suppressed colours.

But there is so much more to November than a grey sky, and waiting for December.

I understand how some might despise winter; hate the dark and the cold and the discomfort – I feel the same about January (all those ‘New Year’ pressures, the lack of light, the damp cold that the body seems to never quite be fully rid of even in front a roaring fire…) when I find myself desperately seeking out nuggets and glimmers of hope and joy with deliberate intent; building them into my day as essentials with as much vital importance as my meals and choice of clothing.

But November, when winter is first forming, is a different beast entirely.

Already, we are being bombarded from all angles with christmas-this and christmas-that. ‘how to start your christmas now!’, and ‘you must do these things now for the perfect christmas’ articles appear along side an equal number of ‘don’t stress about christmas’, and ‘how to avoid christmas comercialism’ or ‘10 tips for simplifying christmas’ articles, with every scroll of social media.

I don’t feel at all ready to begin thinking about my mid-winter festivity plans. I am still enjoying those days around Samhain/All Hallows, when the past and our passed loved ones seem closer, almost touchable, for a few weeks. This weekend’s full supermoon feels like a mid-month marker; a bookend to Halloween’s new moon. Time to turn to look ahead now, but with one last glance over my shoulder.

But not christmas...not yet – there is far too much of November to embrace before that!

A could-do list for November

Gardeners gold: leaf mould

On a mild damp Saturday morning, there’s nothing like a spot of brisk exercise, before retreating indoors to fug up the kitchen windows with roast dinner smells and cooking steam.

Normally, you’d read me advising to leave the leaves; they turn into compost naturally anyway, so why go to the efforts of gathering them all up off the garden to fill green waste sacks only to buy in mulch to replace them? There are some places however, where I will reach for the rake and broom. Hard surfaces, such as our brick path, and the tarmac parking area outside the garage, get covered in leaves at this time of year, quickly becoming a slick slip hazard. Rake these up, but don’t bin them! A compost bin filled with leaves (or even some black bin-liners filled and stashed behind the shed for a year) will rot down into glorious compost over the next year.

Sweetie shop bulb sales

I am trying hard to resist buying more bulbs. It’s not working.

If you haven’t yet brought spring flowering bulbs for the garden, or like me, have already stashed a load in pots and borders but feel like another little dopamine hit, garden centres and online retailers are now offering discounts and sales to clear the last of their stock before the end of autumn. Up to 60% off or similar is not uncommon, so shop around, grab some bargains, and plant some pockets of promise to get you through winter.

Divide and conquer

Whilst we are in the garden, and the frosts and winter waterlogging is holding off for now, it’s the perfect time to procure ourselves some free plants! Many herbaceous perennials can be carefully dug up now (whilst you can still see some leaf to identify them and know where they are!) and divided into smaller clumps to be replanted in the borders, thus multiplying you favourite flowers for free. Alternatively, check the sales areas of garden centres for dicent size potted perrenials, as these can be treated in much the same way; cutting them into multiple sections, each with a crown/growing tip, and a decent amount of root, before planting – a bit like getting 3 for the price of 1!

I have been thinning our self-seeded biennials in my garden border – forget-me-nots in particular, which have sprung up in dense masses that threatened to swamp some neighbouring plants, so I have lifted some, used them in pots planted over bulbs, and spreading them to other barer areas of the garden too.

GQT and a cuppa

Some days however, the damp-cold has got the better of me, and a strategic retreat has been necessary. Pottering in the kitchen, catching up with housework, or indulging in some quiet creativity, all benefits from a soundtrack. My recent listening has included a number of audio books (more on that shortly), and Radio 4’s Gardeners Question Time on BBC Sounds. Catch up on the most recent edition of the program, or delve into the archives. Perhaps listen to all the ‘November’ editions through the years; it certainly inspires me to get my wellies back on, and is the perfect companion to a cup of tea, and the good biscuits.

Store cupboard checkout

Speaking of biscuits… you’ll know, by now, that if I’m not in the garden, you’ll probably find me in the kitchen. Winter demands a different kind of cooking, and a different sort of food, to the rest of the year. Ingredients we wouldn’t consider in summer, suddenly come to the fore as star of the show. Now is a good time for a kitchen cupboard rummage, or even a full scale clear out. Check the dates of those foodstuffs, such as spices, suet, stuffing mixes, jars of preserves…. That you might crave in winter, but have pushed to the back of the cupboard and neglected all summer. If you need to replace or stock up on various items, it’s far easier to have a list and add one or two to your weekly shop now, rather than run out mid-recipe, or over-spend by buying them all at once.

The LifeThymes bookcase

As much as I enjoy lounging in the sunshine with a lighthearted summer romance, winter is my favourite time for reading. A book seems the perfect accessory to an evening curled up in front of the log burner, although I often find myself nodding into a dream-state staring at the flames, the pages open but unread. Winter is a time for cookery books, and for hardbacks, for mystery novels and memoirs. Old favourites and new discoveries alike.

+ The Christmas Chronicles – Nigel Slater

From November 1^st until New Year via kitchens and food and feasts and markets and joy. This one comes out every winter to be dipped into with a hot drink and a mince pie.

+ Hercule Poirot mysteries – Agatha Christie et.al.

I have just finished listening to an audiobook edition of The Murder on The Orient Express. As nights draw in, a murder mystery by the Queen of Crime herself (or indeed one of the newer stories featuring those beloved characters created by Agatha Christie, given new life by new authors) is the perfect brain teaser.

+ The Way of the Hermit: My 40 years in the wild – Ken Smith

Nothing will make you feel cosier and more grateful to be fire-side, than Ken Smith’s true tales of life lived in the wild. Both full of joy and desperately harrowing, it gives a whole new perspective on what is necessary to live well.

+ My next read: The Long Call – Ann Cleeves

A copy of The Long Call, by the author of the books behind the TV dramas Vera and Shetland, which I have enjoyed watching, came into my hands passed along through friends and family. My turn now to meet Detective Mathew Venn in Devon, and see if he can crack the case of the body on the beach.

A mild, dry, still day. A whole weekend free of obligations. Time for the biggest job of autumn - pruning back the large hedge that forms the external boundary of our garden. A mix of natives including hazel, hornbeam, and holly, we think it was (re)planted 10-15 years ago along a fenceline with existing trees, possibly with older/historic roots. The hedge is an intrinsic feature of our garden, not least for us, but for the wildlife too. It is important to maintain it and keep it in good heart. So, a fierce haircut to bring the height down and encourage thickening growth, plus a trim to try to create an 'A' shape which allows plenty of light to the base of the hedge, is in order. Now is the time, before frosts set in hard, but well after the bird nesting season is over, whilst the trees and shrubs shut down for winter dormancy.

We set about our task fueled by a breakfast of banana pancakes, streaky bacon, and maple syrup. I had borrowed a tall tripod-ladder from work, which made the job of reaching the hedgetop easier. First, I ran our battery hedge-trimmer along the outer side of the hedge, trimming the growth back from the access track that runs alongside, then angled the trimmer to take the top ‘corner’ back further so it didn’t overshadow the base of the hedge. Finally it was up the ladder with strong loppers, to bring down the overall height, as many of the hazels, sycamores, hornbeams, and dogwooods had sent up strong skyward stems with aspirations of trees. Large piles of brash soon formed; some, the smaller scrappy pieces will be chipped for compost, whilst thumb-girth sections will be stacked in a dry place for next year’s kindling. Larger straight stems will be snedded (side branches and twiggy growth removed with the slice of a billhook), or selected for their branching shape, and saved for use as bean poles or pea-sticks; next spring’s garden plant supports.

We are kept company by the birds. Mixed flocks of tits roving from garden to garden along the woodland edge – Long Tailed Tits that ping from branch to branch, and the dapper Marsh Tit with its ‘ahtissue’ call, scolding Great Tits, and circus-agile Blue Tits. A Robin keeps a check on our progress, dropping in each time we pause for a brew. Blackbirds and a solitary black Crow feast on the windfall apples on The Green beside the cottage (I’d like to make friends with Crow, but it flies off and ignores my offering of lunchtime sandwich crust.)

A frost and a hedge pruning weekend – by nightfall I can feel a shift; autumn has taken a step into winter.