November reminds us, we are not as far from our ancestors, as we might think. Primal urges still course through our veins - driving us to hunt and gather; bring in the harvest; feast while we can. It's the season where the fox hunts the chicken; the owl's talons clutch the squirrel. A season where we still remember, once upon a time, we were fortunate enough to be saved from starvation by those who welcomed us; despite the later misunderstandings and betrayals.
We may think we have left those days far behind. But our stomachs and our bones still remember. "The harvest!" they call out in our dreams. Later we scarcely remember; though still the dreams in our bones, inform our days.
Where once we might have woven baskets, carefully molded clay pots - we now hunt for bargain bins in which to hoard our harvest this season. While we may make a token visit to an orchard with the children, to pick our own apples, berries or pumpkins - growing and reaping the harvest generally falls to the few now, who feed the many. The majority no longer bring in the sheaves; separate the wheat from the chaff; dig the potatoes; rake through the cranberry bog. Yet still we feel the need to harvest in our bones. We load down our grocery carts at the supermarket, gathering together our cans of pumpkin puree and jellied cranberries. Green beans; olives; bottles of sparkling cider; our stovetop stuffing; the frozen Butterball turkey - as we plan our feast to the seasons that came before.
Plans are made to gather together to give thanks for our blessings. When we come together, at the points in the celebrations where once men might have arm wrestled; shot arrows at targets or planned hunting, now there is football, and boasting of killings in the real estate market. Where once there might have been talk of quilting bees, candle and soapmaking, now there are plans made for shopping expeditions to Friday's sales. Unfortunately, there is still talk of war, hopes for peace; prayers for soldiers far away. That has not changed at all over the years.
Though we may look with sadness at the empty place settings at the holiday table, October was the month we droned dirges, while we remembered the dead. In November, having survived another season, we hum hymns of thanks that we are still living. For the feast at the table. For another season of celebrations yet to come.
Now, let the festivities begin!
For other Art Everyday Month participants, see Kat's blog.
Interesting perspective. I've noticed that the US has a lot going on at the end of the year: Halloween, Thanksgiving and then Christmas and finally New Year. We don't make nearly so much of Halloween, preferring Bonfire Night in November and have no Thanksgiving. In the Christian calendar there is Harvest Festival, usually in September, but that hasn't been secularized so doesn't figure in the lives of everyone.
But of course that doesn't make us any further from our ancestors... after all we have buildings that are 100s of years old still going strong. Those that have survived the bombings of past wars... hmm... lots to think about here Tinker... thank YOU!
Posted by: Caroline | November 25, 2006 at 09:45 AM
I like your perspective of the harvesting rituals being engraved in our bones. And yes, it's sad that the war talk has yet to subside. Wonderful piece, Terri! Hope you and yours had a wonderful Thanksgiving! xo
Posted by: Paris Parfait | November 25, 2006 at 03:06 PM
This was a poignant time...of love and longing...and expectation as we await the Christmas season. Tonight my oldest grandson, his girlfriend and his sister, came over and put up the Christmas tree for us...and it is beautiful and magical.
Thankful...I am thankful for your friendship, Terri!
Posted by: Sioux | November 25, 2006 at 07:33 PM