November in my Soul

Unlike Ishmael in Herman Melville's Moby Dick, I don't get a hankering to go to sea when the drizzly weather of November sets in. For one thing, November in southeast Louisiana (and other southern places I have lived) can often be very pleasant, sunny, clear, and cool at the beginning of the month and nippy and perhaps a bit frosty at the end. Also, I am a November baby; November is my state of being, a bit melancholic to begin with,  and so the shorter days and longer nights leading up to Winter Solstice seem right homey.

Here in our little patch of southeast Louisiana, we've had some cool weather dipping into the Fahrenheit 30s but no freeze yet, and so the fall tomatoes we planted with little hope this year continue to bloom and have set tiny fruit, the banana trees still bear their small green fruit, and the basil and red salvia are still attracting honeybees and bumblebees. On cool evenings, I will find several bumblebees clinging to basil flowers, soporous with cold. They will be gone in the warmth of next day's sun.

This morning Tom the federal worker,  who gets out of bed at an unholy early hour, fired up the new woodstove we had installed in the fireplace that is now in our study. The fireplace didn't move, but our study did. The previous owners used the room with the fireplace as a bedroom, and so did we for two years. This made sense, as the room led directly to what is commonly called the "master" bath. We have never understood, however, the modern convention of making the bedroom so comfy that one would want to spend waking hours holed up in it, so two weeks ago we had a woodstove installed in the fireplace and one week ago we moved our study into the room with the fireplace and our bedroom into what was once my study. Now we can work at our desks in this comfy room with radiant heat. And with a bit of cozy seating, we can enjoy a fire while reading a book or visiting with the young'uns who plan to wander in at various times during the holidays.

The bees have to wait for their radiant heat, but we can create our own.

This morning's fire--the day will heat up enough to let this fire die down, though.

November in southeast Louisiana is still gardening weather. Summer's zinnias have browned up and gone to the compost, but their seedlings are flowering. Flower spikes on the basil tower four or eight inches above their still leafy stems as seeds begin to dry and scatter. The tithonia, towering above the cedar post on which we've placed a flat pan for bird seed, is brown and withered, but a few flowers and green leaves remain. Underneath it have sprouted many tiny tithonia plants, its hopeful children which will likely not survive a freeze unless I cover them. The fall and winter plants are doing well in our big garden: a half row of mixed greens are already making fine salads; the green onion leaves are bright and stiff with oniony goodness; turnips roots are growing; mustard greens have already been mustered (sorry!) into delicious stir fries. We hope to have radishes soon.

Last weekend we dug 86 pounds of sweet potatoes from the big garden. Moving all that furniture did a number on Tom the federal worker's back, so I did most of the digging. But Tom couldn't resist turning over some of that dirt with a garden fork, then scrabbling through the upturned soil for the red and pink gold underneath. We had our first baked sweet potatoes not long after; I like to add butter and a sprinkle of cinnamon and sugar on mine. Soon I will be making sweet potato pie, and Tom the federal worker will make sweet potato biscuits and his wonderful red lentil soup with baked pieces of sweet potato added.

86 pounds of sweet potatoes

November in southeast Louisiana--with its occasional cool and clear days, occasional wet and gray days and fall garden bounty--does not inspire me to wander. The hot, dry days of August and September do that....creating a melancholic depression no frosty fall or somber winter day can match. If I ever get the hell out of the South again, it will be during one of those summer months, when November seems far away and my soul dry and shriveled like the meat in an overlooked pecan shell.

Sweet Potato Pie

2 cups cooked and mashed sweet potatoes

2 eggs

1 cup sugar

1 tablespoon butter, melted

1 tablespoon flour

2 teaspoons cinnamon

3/4 teaspoon nutmeg (oh, what the heck, I usually add 1 teaspoon)

1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 teaspoon vanilla

1 can evaporated milk

Mix these ingredients and pour into an unbaked pie shell. (I always make my own). Bake at 425^o for 20 minutes. Reduce heat to 350^o and bake for 30 minutes or until done. (Insert a toothpick to check.)

Here is another variation of sweet potato pie that my family likes, as well.

Another Slightly Different Version of Sweet Potato Pie

2 cups sweet potatoes, cooked and mashed

1/2 teaspoon vanilla (I usually add 1 teaspoon)

1/2 cup cream (Mama uses evaporated milk, as I do)

1/2 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons butter, melted

2/3 cup sugar

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon (again, I tend to be a little generous here)

2-3 eggs

Mix all together, beating well. Pour into unbaked pie shell. Cook at 350^o about 35 minutes or until done. (Mashed sweet potatoes can be frozen for future use. Cook and mash and place in freezer bags, enough in each for one pie.)

There are fancier sweet potato pie recipes, but I have found that my family prefers these simple recipes. I have smashed peppermint candy and sprinkled that on top before baking, and that's good, too.