Mid NOTE #5 Pre-wintering
Following an intense period of work deadlines, new home making, and social scening, it suddenly became apparent that I had actually spent weeks largely indoors. Some seasonal naturing was required.
Mid note: Middle notes, also known as heart notes, emerge after the top notes of a scented blend fade. Full-bodied and slow to evaporate, they are the lingering soul of a perfume. That which will be remembered.
Hailing from a multi-cultural background but without much access to one of those cultures – my Indian side – a kind of unrequited love exists between me and the knowledge I should have acquired. Today, this manifested through the seasons, as an early morning walk to reset after what has been a particularly busy work and social scene, led me to delve deeper into how we perceive the seasons.
This, it turns out, is not just equatable to the times in which we live, but geographic location and, in some cases, belief systems. Here, in the mid-latitudes of the Northern Hemisphere, somewhere between the equator and the North Pole, we experience four seasons: spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Each of these seasons is dictated not, as you may imagine, by the earth’s proximity to the sun at any given time, but how our slightly titled, elliptical earth spins on its axis (an imaginary line running from pole to pole) in relation to the sun. Counterintuitively, when the North Pole tilts towards the sun, it is summer in the northern hemisphere. When it’s the South Pole’s turn, it’s winter, and in between each of these phenomenons, it is spring or autumn.
Down near the equator, despite receiving the most continuous sunlight year-round, there is little seasonal variation as defined by the sun. Instead, precipitation, or lack thereof is the game-changing factor, leading to rainy and dry seasons. Up by the poles, as the earth travels around the sun, there is not much direct sunlight for either location, which is why they are so cold. Two seasons are the order of the day, of the night as the case may be. At the peak of summer the sun doesn’t set, in winter it doesn’t rise.
All this and more is going around my head (a permanent orbit of information that also seems to spin on its own axis) as I stroll onto Wanstead Flats this morning, happy to wear the sun on my face and, as close as we are to the city, be immersed in nature. One of those blue sky days that creates the perfect backdrop for the just-turning, russet leaves of beech and oak, I feel immediately lifted and glad that I carved out some time to go naturing.
All this and more is going around my head (a permanent orbit of information that also seems to spin on its own axis) as I stroll onto Wanstead Flats this morning, happy to wear the sun on my face and, as close as we are to the city, be immersed in nature. One of those blue sky days that creates the perfect backdrop for the just-turning, russet leaves of beech and oak, I feel immediately lifted and glad that I carved out some time to go naturing. This is especially true after some adrenal disruption and a sleepless night caused by a cortisol injection in my shoulder the night before. I really needed a reset.
I’ve written about Wanstead Flats countless times before but there’s always something new to say. Mid November is when it often feels most ‘seasonal’ as typical fall colours beset some species of tree creating a painterly melange of green, yellow, and orange in both the receding landscape and the overhead canopies. My boots tread over grass littered with the kaleidoscopic falls of such turnings, mingling with easy-to-overlook, mouse-coloured mushrooms. My senses are further arrested by the rustling of the leaves in the breeze. Is the beech a higher pitch than the red or sessile oak that are also making music in these parts, I wonder?
There are still ample emerald green leaves on the trees to provide ideal camouflage for squawking parakeets, or cover for the little owl I’m always secretly hoping to see. At the same time, some specimens are stripped back enough to be flaunting their best trunk leans, branch poses, or grooved or lichened bark. I love how the wind, sun, and rain have played some part in these configurations.
There are still ample emerald green leaves on the trees to provide ideal camouflage for squawking parakeets, or cover for the little owl I’m always secretly hoping to see. At the same time, some specimens are stripped back enough to be flaunting their best trunk leans, branch poses, or grooved or lichened bark. I love how the wind, sun, and rain have played some part in these configurations.
Are we having a late autumn? It’s hard to tell when you haven’t actually been outside for a while. Where does one autumn day begin and another mark the changes? Autumn traversing into winter would probably one apt description, which leads me to consider the concept of hibernation, from the Latin hibernatus alluding to the action of passing the winter. I woke up feeling markedly different emotionally to the state of being I appear to have been in for the past six weeks or so and wonder if I too am traversing into another season. Preparing to bunker down for the winter, if that could indeed be a thing – a preternatural desire to slow down shares a twin flame with the festive party season.
Astronomical autumn (based on the position of the sun in relation to the Earth, as described above) ends at the Winter Solstice (around 21 December), while meteorological autumn segues into winter on 1 December. We are only a few weeks away from the latter, which feels like a curious end to a season that today, in my eyes, looks like it has only just begun. Autumn from the Latin autumnus, a word that runs synonymous with fall from the Old English faellen, meaning to drop from a height, fail, decay, or die. Both these terms are commonly used today to describe this most transformative season but there was historically another one in the mix: harvest. From the Old English haerfest meaning the season of gathering crops, this generally covered the time from August to November. Somehow, in modern times, harvest has slipped well into late summer, and summer into autumn.
I wonder about an inter-seasonal lexicon and find one in my Indian ancestry where, influenced by the Hindu religion, there are actually six seasons: vasant ritu (spring), grishma ritu (summer), varsha ritu (monsoon), sharad ritu (autumn), hemant ritu (pre-winter), and shishir ritu (winter). I feel an affinity with the season of hemant ritu and its pre-wintering manifestation. Perhaps I am trying to keep the cold at bay.
I wonder about an inter-seasonal lexicon and find one in my Indian ancestry where, influenced by the Hindu religion, there are actually six seasons: vasant ritu (spring), grishma ritu (summer), varsha ritu (monsoon), sharad ritu (autumn), hemant ritu (pre-winter), and shishir ritu (winter). I feel an affinity with the season of hemant ritu and its pre-wintering manifestation. Perhaps I am trying to keep the cold at bay.
It is not particularly icy today. The frost is as yet preceded by tiny diamond dewdrops although these look set on lingering through the day without much counter warmth to evaporate them. I crouch down and observe the mounds that they nestle in, lush green grass and the rosette leaves of next spring’s perennials tufting through wet mud. The flints on the bicycle wheel-tracked path also gleam in the sunlight, pond-like puddles reflecting the azure sky and candy clouds. Autumn and pre-winter all rolled into one.
I return to my little house on the corner feeling peaceful and grounded. Emotions regulated by the undulations of the seasons, a dance that holds me close rather than sweeping me away. I trust nature and this is the right season for now.
Welcome to a new series of Mid NOTES a place to share nature-inspired happenings from my botanical world, including articles and books I’m writing or editing, my home garden and school garden, upcoming artworks and exhibitions, and things to look forward to over the coming season. Connect with me on Instagram @sonyapatelellis or email hello@abotanicalworld.com. For books, prints or a full author bio visit www.abotanicalworld.com.