November is a challenging month. For starters, its name means “nine” which comes from the Latin “novem”. But calendars change, and November, number eleven in the current arrangement, has become an anachronism. September, October and December share a similar fate, while the other months can gloat about being named for gods, goddesses and emperors.

Only hard core lovers of big, roasted birds name November as their favorite month. Thanksgiving is a genuine American holiday, but it is loaded with pitfalls. How can an extended family sit around a dinner table and meet the needs of its clan’s vegetarians, gluten frees, libertarians, dieters, Democrats, Republicans, teetotalers, evangelicals, football fanatics and vegans? The carving knife must be kept in the hands of a mature adult at all times. Nowadays, mature adults are at a premium.

For those of us up here on the tundra, hope dies in November. The  trees have shed their last leaves, the fog hovers around our knees at dawn and dusk, and the sun’s appearance is a rare event.

Our beautiful Lake Michigan presents an additional threat…..it wants to kill us. November is the month with the deadliest storms on the Great Lakes, and Lake Michigan and Huron (which are scientifically one lake) hold the record for most shipwrecks. The gales of November are legendary.

The storms may rage and the temperatures plunge, but here is a way to combat the November doldrums: celebrate National Split Pea Soup Week, the second week in November. A steaming bowl of pea soup loaded with carrots, celery and bay leaves is sure to provide delicious fortification for the days ahead.

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Sometimes it is necessary to take a stand. Last week was one of those times.

My husband and I were getting ready to visit our family in California for four days when we discovered that Frontier Airlines now charges for all carry on bags. The airline’s explanation for this new fee is “you get to choose the extra services you want.” Our view of the change is that we get to pay $100 to take a few clothes, clean underwear and two toothbrushes round trip. We were outraged.

We are both minimalists. One small carry on bag each has seen us through Japan, Central America, Alaska and Europe. A new plan of action was clearly needed.

The goddess of travel smiled down on me. I found a new, commodious eighty dollar handbag at Goodwill for $3.99. Two days later, St. Vincent’s provided a mint condition Samsonite briefcase for $1.99. Both items fit the 18 x 14 x 8 inch airline size limit for a “personal item”.

Choosing  clothes, toiletries and books that would fit in our personal items did require thought and planning. In addition, we had to find space for a small pumpkin. We have spent many previous Halloweens out west and know that finding a pumpkin in a desert state isn’t guaranteed. Neither one of us wanted to be jack-o-lantern less on Halloween.

My husband’s bag got yanked off the belt at the airport for a security check. The TSA man fished through my guy’s meager belongings, held the pumpkin aloft and wryly said, “you’re my first pumpkin of the day.”

When we arrived at the Frontier gate, nobody was smiling. About one hundred angry customers were in a long line waiting to jam their carry on bags and personal items into the wooden sizers. A flight attendant kept announcing in a prison warden’s voice that if your bag didn’t fit, you would not be allowed on the plane. Her information did not match the info on Frontier’s computer site which said that each bag that flunked its test would cost $50.

Our personal items fit: we had measured them three times before we left home. But in case Frontier used their own rulers, I was prepared. I would have simply given them my bag. After all, San Diego has plenty of thrift stores, and I could have replaced my bag and its contents for under twenty-five dollars.

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We share our home with two black cats who frequently cross our paths. I have no qualms about walking under ladders or staying on the thirteenth floor of a hotel. Nor do I dread Friday the Thirteenth; a Friday of any date is my favorite day of the week.

I am a believer in reason, logic and the scientific method. Superstition is scary stuff. Down through the ages it has been used to spawn death, cruelty and injustice. Witches were burned at the stake, people with deformities were made outcasts and entire groups of people shunned.

Animals fared no better. Bats and snakes were killed as evil while other creatures were sacrificed to various gods.

Amazingly, superstition still thrives in the 21st century. In our modern times, it frequently comes disguised as tradition and involves invocations to luck. I consider myself rational, but will happily tug on a wishbone hoping for the longer piece. Finding a four leaf clover or a lucky penny brings a small surge of joy as well as seeing the first star of night. I will grab for a wishing seed or empty my coin purse to throw coins in a fountain.

I would love to live in a world free from the suffocating grip of superstitions. Would it be paradoxical to wish for a new age of reason while blowing out the candles on a birthday cake?

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If you’ve enjoyed a juicy, fall apple lately, thank a rose. Animals aren’t the only ones that have families, plants do, too. Apples, peaches, apricots, plums, cherries, strawberries and almonds are all members of Roseceae, the rose family.

The three largest flowering plant families are the sunflower family, Asteraceae, the orchid family, Orchidaceae, and the pea family, Fabaceae. These three groups make up 25 per cent of all the flowering plants on earth.

The family members within a group are sometimes surprising. For example, look at the lily family, Lilaceae. Daylilies, tulips, narcissus, hyacinths and hostas are bedfellows with my favorite vegetable, asparagus. Onions and garlic, the stinking lily, are also found in the lily clan.

Fabaceae, the pea family, is recognized by its fruit called pods. We gobble up the seeds (peas and beans) and devour all sorts of pods. The family excels in the flower department as well. One of the most spectacular plants in our meadow is false indigo or baptisia which grows into an immense “bush” with masses of purple flowers and pods.

Our cats and I are big fans of the mint family, Lamiaceae . I eat and drink it, the felines get high on it. They don’t care that mint family plants have square stems; I think that is a fascinating feature. Our cupboards are filled with other mint family plants; basil, oregano, rosemary, thyme, lemon balm and lavender.

The innocent sounding buttercup family, Ranunculaceae, has more poisonous members than most families. So don’t eat the monkshood, delphinium or larkspur.

And on the topic of poison, the nightshade family, Solanaceae, includes potatoes, tomatoes, eggplants, peppers and petunias. But it also harbors belladonna or nightshade and other deadly poisonous plants. This family is bipolar.

If you are feeling hungry, consult the 10,000 member strong grass family, Poaceae. These plants are the main food source for our planet’s 7 billion people. Take away wheat, corn, rice, oats, rye and barley and mass starvation would follow. To say that people are powered by grass is not hyperbole. Bring on the bread!

 

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Fall is being assertive. Memories of summer are rapidly fading as the maples flame and the nighttime temperatures flirt with freezing.

Our yard produced a bumper crop of asters this autumn in colors a grade school girl would love; pink, purple and magenta. The last stragglers of the monarch migration are flocking to these starry flowers and drinking like drunks. The bees are their drinking buddies.

Another straggler, a grosbeak, was in our feeders a few days ago.  He was busily chipping off the suet. I wanted to tell him to get going as his trip to Central America will be a long one.

Fall preparations are happening inside as well.  Yesterday, I threw an empty paper grocery bag on the kitchen floor. Our little brown tabby, Sasha, likes to hide in bags. But this time she worked hard to turn her bag into a snug nest. Perhaps this is an omen about the severity of the upcoming winter.

 

The mice are looking for winter homes, too.  As the temperatures drop, they’re heading inside. I spotted a wee mouse sitting on top of my beach boots in the garage. “That’s why I always shake out my boots before I put them on,”  I said to my husband.

The cats have earned their keep as mousers lately. Beatrix was seen streaking through the basement with a victim dangling from her mouth. Since we don’t live in the Netherlands, I will not feel  compelled to photograph the mouse. See the DutchNews.nl article below.

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Wanted: Dutch cats to catch mice for research

All in the name of scientific research. Photo: Lxowle via wikimedia commons

Dutch radio show Vroege Vogels (early birds) and nature monitoring website Waarneming.nl are appealing for Dutch cats and their owners to help determine the make-up of the Netherlands’ mouse population.

Cat owners are being asked to send in photographs of mice caught by their pets along with details of where the animal was caught. Mice experts will then assess the type of mouse in an effort to build up a detailed picture of the spread of different types of mice.

‘Most cat owners don’t really appreciate it if Tiger or Minoes bring in a dead mouse, but the catch can be of great value to researchers,’ a spokesman for the project told RTL news. ‘So please take a couple of pictures of the victim and send them to us.’

There are at least 11 different species of mouse in the Netherlands, RTL said.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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