Hiya, neighbor.

November weather arrived last weekend with a torrent of rain. On my Sunday morning walk, I found previously vibrant trees stripped bare, their trunks surrounded by carpets of still-bright (if sodden) leaves. Most of the trees, even here in the urban heat island of Camberville, finally gave up the ghost thanks to the storm. We’re in proper New England stick season.

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Well, mostly. A few trees are still leafy. The oaks, of course, always hold on until the very last minute, and in years with mild winters you’ll sometimes find a few stubborn brown leaves hanging on until early spring. This year, with the really gorgeous display, I’m particularly happy with the longevity. And I saw a red maple in complete resplendent glory earlier in the week – not just some leaves; the whole crown remained fiery crimson. Microclimates are an amazing thing in a city.

Brown study

Brown study is one of those Victorian phrases used to describe the contemplative funk of a brooding character you might find in a Doyle or Alcott story. It’s a shame, really, since it so beautifully describes November, when everything in the world seems to have just drained of color and turned some shade of gray-brown.

You get the rich shades of the oaks and the pale ghosty color of goldenrods gone to seed, the silvery brown of slender birch trees and the deep sable of wet maple branches. The leaves that were still so bright on Sunday have dried into a thousand shades of dun.

Leave the leaves

You’ve probably seen the signs and campaigns exhorting you to “Leave the leaves.” Insects, including pollinators, often overwinter under the leaf litter, as well as “many bird, mammal, reptile and invertebrate” species, according to the National Wildlife Federation. We’re not likely to get salamanders in the city (though Mount Auburn has some!) but we need pollinators if we want tomatoes in our gardens.

Additionally, the process of gathering, bagging and transporting leaves consumes a lot of petrochemicals. And takes them out of the local ecosystem.

Instead, be lazy and leave the leaves. If you’ve got a lawn, use a mulching mower and then leave the leaves. If you have a leaf-laden sidewalk in front of your yard, however, take a rake or broom to it, as wet leaves are slippery and can turn into a slick slurry underfoot. Also, you don’t want those leaves getting washed away into our waterways, as they can cause cyanobacteria blooms.

Along those lines: If you’ve got a sewer grate near your house, and the time and energy, go ahead and clear it of leaves. The basement you save from flooding could be your own.

Seed season

Noah Kahan may call it stick season, but I think of November as seed season. With all the leaves down, you can easily see the long black, curly pods of the black locust tree, the feathery fluffs of joe pye weed, the shockingly red fruit of the winterberries and even the tiny crabapples still clinging to the small decorative trees along the sidewalks. They’re everywhere!

Every year I plant some morning glories in the crack at the bottom of a signal box near(ish) my house. They’re aggressive spreaders, but there’s no exposed soil around for 50 yards, so I feel okay adding a lovely pop of color amid a sun-blighted landscape of concrete and asphalt.

That said, gardening on the streets of Camberville is a full-contact sport, and I’ve never had the vines last very long. Usually the wind or the college students rip them down by the end of the summer; this year, the fates were with me and I got to see what happens when morning glories go to seed.

The little brown pods have an elegant shape like a paper lantern, and when you crush them between your fingers they collapse into four little husks and a few small black seeds. I managed to collect about two tablespoons of seeds, though I have no idea if they’ll breed true.

Nature this weekend: Fall in the Fens

On Sunday, you can take a  guided nature walk through the Fens with the lovely folks from Mass Audubon. 

Be smart, be safe, be curious, be kind.