the first thing that came to mind when i saw this cattail fluff was carded wool, which i have no personal history with, but which ends up having a very offbeat personal connection. the word “carding”  means to comb the fibers of wool or cotton so they all align in the same direction before spinning into yarn or thread. carding comes from the latin word carduus, and, stay with me here, carduus means teasel, which is a wild thistle originally used to card or comb these fibers. the teasel is native to, among other places, southern france, where i picked one back in 2010 and took a close up picture of it against a white background, which remains one of my favorite images, and which, in many ways, was the very first seed from which still blog sprouted. the word thistle, in french, is “chardon,”  which clearly is a direct descendant of the word carduus, and that, my friends, is how the latin word for a mediterranean thistle, leads inexorably to a nature blog by a minnesota girl in the year 2014. Q.E.D.

november cattail

sucker lake regional trail, saint paul, minnesota

in august and september these wild highbush sunflowers are as abundant as june dandelions. they are so common that my eyes just wash over them, and i don’t even consider them for STILL. but suddenly on this chilly november morning, when the radio announcers had resumed using the term “wind chill,” this was one of the few stems that still had any petals remaining. in a field of brown stalks with nodding seed heads, this splash of yellow looked exotic and rare. and it was. timing is everything.

early november wild sunflower

picked from the boulevard in front of swede hollow cafe, saint paul, minnesota

the urban streets in front of my son’s school are littered with shards of broken stained glass. i hope no one sweeps it up for a while.

maple leaf

saint paul, minnesota

since starting STILL blog i have really come to love november. for itself. not wishing it were september, not yet wanting to jump to april.  with the leaves down, the woods open up and reveal long sightlines through the trunks of trees. the golds, russets, and browns are lit flatly by the gray, covered skies. november is cashmere sweaters and the white eye rings of whitetail bucks. november is paris–gray, muted, and elegant.

a wreath of early november finds

grass lake trail, saint paul, minnesota

i sometimes watch our chickens waddle through hip-high piles of fallen leaves when i’ve thrown them some kitchen scraps, and somehow, without seeming to be looking, they will suddenly stab with their beaks and snap up a morsel of orange squash, or a red apple peel, that look just about exactly like the orange maple leaves and red oak leaves surrounding them. people talk about having eagle eyes or hawk eyes, but i think they should refer to chicken eyes with equal respect. in any case, i appear to have acquired a pair of chicken eyes when it comes to spotting objects in the woods. i can’t tell you why this giant silkworm cocoon stood out from among all the other clusters of brown leaves in the woods today. i certainly wasn’t looking for it. but i sure pounced, and snapped it up.

giant silkmoth cocoon (cecropias, polyphemus, or prometheas)

grass lake trail, saint paul, minnesota