Perhaps because the world outside of Ballard seemed so brutal in early November, life in Ballard seemed particularly sweet.

Just as there are days when ugliness cloaks every encounter like a low-lying fog, there are other days when a single leaf on the ground appears radiant.

The weather and its effects have been almost apocalyptic, especially when electrical transformers blowing out over Magnolia completely lit the sky bright green. (Which was after the live power lines blocked Metro’s 17 bus, but before lightning and thunder shook every structure in Ballard).

The rain seemed thrown at windows from buckets, and even the smallest leaf stung when the wind smacked it across the cheek. There was hail, white caps and roofers working on the house next door who stopped for nothing.

So when there was a break in the wind and bad news, the Japanese maple that held onto its flaming orange leaves appeared to be brighter than the sun.

The clouds parted momentarily to reveal a preview of this year’s model of the snow-covered Olympic Mountain Range, and each weekend errand seemed precious because the world on the other side of the Ballard Bridge had not ended in a green flash after all.

The clerk at the post office and I carefully examined all of this year’s holiday stamps, with a side discussion on the mail-in ballot election.

In the bank, all of my favorite tellers were working on Saturday, with smiles that bespoke weekend rather than the weekday.

Paseo’s, in all its pink glory, was open despite another front of rain and wind. Three line cooks and the counter person, who always wears a dress shirt and black tie, exuded warmth and the smell of caramelized onions.

On Sunday, it didn’t rain on the Farmers Market, so the homeward trek was made heavier by Delicata squash, two kinds of apples, Whidbey Island cinnamon ice cream and topped by a plastic bag filled with air and almost weightless watercress.

The watercress bag put me in mind of buying goldfish and carrying them home gently while the poor fish circle in the clear plastic dome.

At home, there were apples to slice and dust with cinnamon, leaves to rake between downpours.

Then a mysterious phone call: “It’s the Great Pumpkin Drop in the alley across the street from our house. Get here in five minutes.”

Even as residents of Sunset Hill discussed being “Neighborhood of the Week” in the Real Estate section of “The Seattle Times,” a man was dropping spent jack-o’-lanterns from the roof peak of his house while bystanders cheered.

An alley near Sunset Hill Park was quickly resurfaced in orange pumpkin carcasses. As people drummed on buckets a man wearing a hat and necklace of pumpkin stems walked his plank to drop pumpkins down three stories. His wife and another neighbor circulated with pumpkin cookies and a pumpkin cake iced with maple frosting.

A friend told us, “Dan didn’t always have a plank; he used to just walk out on the peak of the roof.” He added, “Last year, he wore a safety line.”

Dan Hanson wasn’t wearing a safety line this year. An older couple sat in folding chairs near the splatter line.

Fresher pumpkins smashed better than those that were already slouching into their carved faces. The alley smelled delicious before it was rapidly cleaned.

At home, the smell of apple crisp filled the kitchen, and the gutters continued to work. All good things.

I decided to walk to the Sunset Hill Green Market on 32nd Avenue Northwest to buy a loaf of Columbia City Bakery’s “Crusty White.” Julie was working. She’s the one who loaned us the market’s coffee grinder during last year’s snowstorm.

There was a man sitting on a crate playing the guitar and singing along.

For two songs, everyone shopping chose to wait while the man sang. Then he put the guitar back on the wall next to local artist Matt Bazemore’s painting of the market and went back to helping a friend lift an engine from a station wagon.

“Do you know him?” a shopper asked.

“He comes in to play sometimes,” Julie said. “That’s why the owner Chuck keeps a guitar on the wall. In case anyone wants to play it.”

Whether it was the guitar, the fresh bread, the sight of a golden poplar making slow motion waves to me with its thousands of branches or the sun breaking through the clouds, even the month of November on the back streets of Ballard seemed particularly sweet.

Peggy Sturdivant can be reached atlargeinballard@yahoo.com.