Bangs, whizzes, wild horseradish and some token gardening

‘Implacable November weather. As much mud in the streets as if the waters had but newly retired from the face of the Earth, and it would not be wonderful to meet a Megalosaurus Charles Dickens (Bleak House)

IN November, ninth month of the old Roman calendar, Nature is, for the most part, taking its rest.

‘No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,/no comfortable feel in any member—/no shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,/no fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds—november!’

The 19th-century poet Thomas Hood’s November seems worse than January, although he does not suggest, as does the late-18th-century essayist Joseph Addison, that it’s the month in which the people of England hang and drown themselves. Things are better now with modern heating systems and clothes that keep you dry and warm—and the climate is a degree or so milder than when Addison was writing. Now, the first week or two of November often escape the return of frost, although my early memories of the bangs, whizzes and soaring colours of the 5th were icy affairs.

Mushrooms continue when all else has withdrawn, provided there’s no frost—a hard frost without woodland canopies will destroy them.

There is a succession to all things and fungi are no different. It’s time for the latecomers: magnificent troops of clouded funnel, Clitocybe nebularis, fill hedgerow and woodland. These substantial mushrooms provide false promise of a pleasant breakfast and I often receive pictures of them for identification.

There’s a related November mushroom destined for the table: the wood blewit, Lepista nuda, striking with its intense lilac colours. In late autumn, its cousin, the violet-stemmed field blewit, L. saeva, makes its rings in grassland.

Early November provides the last chance to dig up wild horseradish before the leaves vanish completely and it’s a good time to uproot dandelion roots for the surprisingly undisappointing dandelion coffee. November is the only time when I prune my fig tree. It produces about two dozen figs every year. Large and succulent, sweet and sticky when perfectly ripe, they are an order of magnitude better than any bought in the shops. Unfortunately, the tree does suffer a little from coral spot fungus, Nectria cinnabarina, and needs to be cut right back on infected branches. That’s the gardening done for the year. JW