October is a bitter-sweet month here in our household. We celebrate five family birthdays, two for both of my children who turn a year older, eight days apart at the beginning of the month, and three for family who are now just memories (my lovely Gangan and Gampy, and my father-in-law). It’s not then surprising that this month brings with it so many feelings of nostalgia and is brimming with memories from both my own childhood and those of my children, and I go about my days feeling grateful that I have such a deep well of happy memories to call to mind.

But then October is traditionally a month of reflection for many, with multiple festivals relating to remembrance spanning many different cultures. It is a liminal time between the bright, warm days of summer and winter’s cold and dark, a time for settling in, for gathering together what is needed to get through the harshest months of the year, for cosying up and for reminiscing. Here it’s a time for sweeping the chimney, stacking logs, batch cooking casseroles and soups and unpacking blankets and winter woollies from summer storage, and I busy myself with gathering together everything that comforts on cold, dark days.

Out in the countryside Autumn brings such melancholic beauty, with misty mornings and the colourful seasonal changes. It’s also an exciting time to be out in the woods and one of my favourites, due to the arrival of fungi underfoot. So it’s that time of year when I write my traditional toadstool blog post. Getting out into the woods and lying on my tummy in the wet moss in order to photograph their fantastical forms is one of my great autumnal pleasures. I am always delighted and surprised to see something that I’ve not seen before and even the types of toadstool and fungi that I do recognise are always different and amazing.

Coming back into the warmth and cosiness of home after getting chilled and damp in the woods is also a delicious pleasure. And curling up with my knitting as I start to warm up again is a comfort and delight. Pattern writing is happening in the quieter moments of my days and I hope to share some new patterns with you over the remaining months of this year, pictured above are some of the coats and cardigans I’m working on for the small 7 inch animals, and there are a couple of other clothing patterns in progress too. And in the evenings, when I’ve run out of brain power, simple and rhythmic sock knitting in autumnal colours is a soothing end to the day.

I’m reluctant to state it (just in case I jinx things) but we are beginning to feel on more of an even keel here. Toby is currently, for the most part, content and happier than he’s been for quite a while. I know that change is inevitable and always waiting around the corner but I hope this feeling of calm lasts, at least for a little while longer, as it’s brought such relief and comfort to me and is very much needed.

I hope that things are calm and comfortable where you are, thanks as always for visiting here with me, 

J x

 

The shortening days are making me appreciate how precious light is and I take time to notice how magical the daylight is at this time of year. Here at the beginning of December the sun only rises to around 16 degrees above the horizon and so even at midday there’s a low light shining through the windows (I am doing my best to ignore that this highlights the dust on all the surfaces).

Early in the day the dawn highlights droplets captured on spider webs, condensed from the early morning mists.  And on clear afternoons from 2-3pm there’s a wonderful honey gold light which glorifies the last of the autumn leaves still clinging to the trees and makes even the tv aerials shine as though burnished with precious metals.

This golden afternoon light glows through the hedge outside my window here at home and traces lacey patterns on the curtain. Out in the woods it is cut into thick lambent wedges by the tree trunks and illuminates the ferns and fallen leaf carpet to flaming tones, and the setting sun blushes great ships of cloud sailing across the autumn sky.

The colours that I see out in the woods prompt me to rummage out from my yarn stash all the colours of peaty earth, golden toadstools and sunlit leaves and I’m enjoying playing around with these colours in some gentle paced making.

I feel so thankful to live somewhere that has seasonal changes and contrasts and deeply appreciate how they give a rhythm to my year. At the moment that rhythm is encouraging me to slow down a little and conserve energy, a muted form of hibernation if you will and I’m planning on having a quiet winter, a much needed pause before the springtime planning that we need to do for Toby’s future. Today I’m curled up here by the fire, knitting and feeling grateful to be warm and safe, I hope there’s something making you feel grateful this week, J x