It’s deep into November. The sky’s default is grey and leaden. The rain has been fairly constant, falling on already saturated ground. The result has been country-wide flooding. Our local rivers, the Avon and the Leam, have spread impressively, alarmingly, over their banks. I went out to the allotments this past weekend to dig up some parsnips and fennel and collect sage and thyme for our Thanksgiving dinner. The rutted road’s puddles were mini-lakes, our grass so sodden that it squelched as I walked. The parsnips came out of the earth encased in a thick layer of soupy clay. So everything is wet, very wet, but not submerged, like on some other plots. Something to be thankful for.
I have no lovely photos to share of our turkey feast, though we did our best to celebrate with friends Jonathan (who read a poem for the occasion) and Phil, using vegetables from our allotment: potatoes, parsnips, fennel, swiss chard, garlic, and herbs (though the pumpkin was so bland and watery that it was left, unwanted, in the pantry – the pie was made with canned). We are thankful for what we were able to grow this season, and thankful, too, that we don’t have to rely exclusively on it! Most of all we’re thankful to have each other, our families, and our friends – both near and far.