Having spent my twenties surrounded with Autumn being all about the latest fall nail colour and Pumpkin Spice Latte (which, incidentally, I can’t stand… have you stopped reading already?) it took me a while to put my finger on exactly what it was about the return of the chill in the air that truly had my heart.
I found it. As it turns out, it was waiting patiently for me to look up from Pinterest, take a deep breath, and notice the simple things.
Here’s a few things that bring my heart joy at this time of year, and maybe this reminder to notice/do them will do the same for you, too.
- Porridge for breakfast, every single day. There’s something so cosy about waking up, stealing a few extra minutes in bed while I convince myself that my need for the bathroom is not worth the cold I’ll encounter when I emerge from the duvet, eventually swinging my feet out of bed and into slippers – to set out five bowls and get oats bubbling on the stove. Stirring blueberries in makes them turn into hot bursts of juice, and it’s a crime to dig in without Nutella or maple syrup.
- Morning candle lit baths. This is something I consider it well worth sacrificing an hour of sleep for. Getting up when the house is dark and, most importantly, quiet, to steam up the windows with a hot tub to submerge myself in… I can honestly say it turns me into an entirely different person. A crackling record in the background seals the deal, and the children usually strip off their pyjamas to climb in after me.
- Dark evening walks. One of my favourite things about this time of year is a walk through the village, noticing the glow coming from the windows and families shuffling about inside as I walk past (sorry, but we all look, don’t we?) and the smoke billowing out of the chimney. Wellies essential, chunky scarf you can wrap at least three times around optional but advisable.
- Reading nests. I find the long, light evenings of summer far too tempting that my books tend to lie a little unloved by my bed, but the early darkness of autumn cures me of this foolishness every year. All the blankets, cushions, candles and quilts dragged onto the sofa to make a nook/nest ready for me to fall into whatever world I’ve chosen. There’s something wonderful about classics at this time of year, I have all the patience in the world for the language and slow pace.
- Board game/jigsaw puzzle dates. There’s something so romantic about going to a cafe with a board game or puzzle tucked under your coat-clad arm, picking a table by the window, ordering every carbohydrate on the menu and cosying up with your partner or a friend. Crawling out of layers of coats, jumpers and knits to weigh down the back of my chair while I play chess by a misted-up window rediscovering the lost art of conversation is one of my very favourite memories of this time of year.
- Hot water bottles, or ‘Hot Totty Bottles’ as they are in this house. I make them for each of the children while they’re getting their pyjamas on, and pop them under the covers of their bed. My parents always did it for me, and crawling into a warm be on a cold night is so sweetly memorable.
- That crunch underfoot. Whether it’s walking home from work, the school run or just pulling on chunky socks to poke out of your boots for a stroll, it’s a sound that warms my heart.
- Restock the logs. When my husband and I first lived together, we rented a picturesque 500 year old stone cottage. The floors were hardwood, the windows rattled and I’ve never felt more at home. Every October, our neighbour, a farmer, would deliver a tractor-full of freshly chopped logs. There was something so therapeutic about arranging them into a wall, and I was so proud of the masterpiece that I refused to burn a single one… we had to buy bags of them from the local timber yard so as not to ruin the decor. A decade later and I would likely be a little more practical about using them, but still, there was something so rewarding about creating that wooden jigsaw.
- Jams, jellies and marmalades. We make them all, store them in mismatched jam jars, and give a few away… but mainly indulge with freshly baked bread. It always reminds me of a poem from our wedding, one that my husband once wrote out, illustrated and framed for me in our early days. It reminds me of partnership and it’s something I reread when marriage and family life isn’t all sparkles… I’ll share it below, because it’s wholesome and matters.
- Wash the sand out of those beach buckets and head out foraging. Blackberries make for a spiffing crumble, and stain snacking children’s faces and hands in the most charming way.
- Layers. A favourite in itself. I love vest-top-jumper-coat-scarf seasons. It makes me feel like a little kid again, like my clothes are always a little big and keep me from noticing the chill while I’m busy exploring.
- Squash. We (okay okay, I) decorate the house with a hundred of them, the wartier the better, then cook with them throughout the season. I made a Squashy Bottom Soup the other day – essentially cheesy soup cooked within a hollowed out squash then eaten with the flesh – and it was nothing short of glorious.
- Cinema dates. The more old-fashioned a cinema you can find, the better. Last time we were away, I found a small-town theatre which was showing The Hobbit. Walking to and from there, linking arms and drinking hot chocolates while clouds of our breath swirled around us was quite lovely.
- Look up, look down. Walk footpaths that surround you with colour. Soak it up before the world looks bare. (Headphones playing Bare Trees by Fleetwood Mac is a welcome addition to this scenario)
- Have your milk/bread/vegetables delivered to your door. Seasonal cooking is just part of life for us, nature knows what our bodies need. Light salad flourishing in summer sun, starchy root vegetables having their time to shine as the air cools. There’s something about opening my door to glass milk bottles on the doorstep and a fresh box of veg to inspire me to thumb through my shelves of recipe books.
Let me know what has you smitten with this time of year, and I hope this brought you some autumn inspiration.
‘In my future I see you and me,
And a house and garden filled with trees.
I see dinner parties surrounded by friends,
And a vegetable patch we love to tend.
I see cosy nights in front of the fire,
And a four-poster bed for when we tire.
I see our kitchen which will be the heart of the home,
And a Victorian bath brimming with foam.
I see muddy wellies by the front door,
And the kids eating cookies and asking for more.
I see nights in the garden camping under the stars,
And shelves full of mismatching local jam jars.
I see family picnics outside with the dog,
And a little blue shed containing the logs.
I see us sat by the window watching the snow,
And reading the papers and learning to grow.
I see pictures of family in quirky frames,
And letters on the kids’ doors spelling out their names.
I see laughter, pain, kisses and tears,
And helping each other to confront our fears.
I see you as my friend and also my lover,
Your confidant and your children’s mother.
I see a wonderful future for you and I,
And it’s cloaked in love until we die.‘
Poem by Emma Salmon
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