Is there anything that symbolises the cusp of autumn more than a peach smoothie in one hand and an earl grey latte in the other? We’re still clinging on to summer here - freezing some of the soft fruit harvest, drying lavender and roasting tomatoes. This morning though, there is a distinct nip in the air. There’s no denying fall’s swift approach. Although I’m sure we’ll still spend many nights sitting out cooking and sipping our elderflower wine, there’s a tinge of melancholy to this time of year.
I feel an anxiety over whether I've cherished these summer days enough. Did we miss out on a trip to the beach or an opportunity for a garden party? Why didn't I plant those seeds in time? It's natural to feel this way in a country with so little sunshine, but I take care to remind myself that it isn't all bad.
Autumn's approach is a natural queue to slow down a bit and to stock up and nest. This has coincided perfectly with the beginning of our homestead transformation and is perfect motivation. As the evenings start to draw in, we've been spending them picking paint colours, reading farming books and practising slow food. This week I began my first sourdough starter in years, spurred on by the newly formed habit of baking all our own bread. I've spent
time filling the freezer with baked goods and jars with dried semolina pasta.
My days have been all about enjoying the remaining sun and warm weather. The tomatoes are still green and the raised bed has been emptied ready for over winter crops. Plums, peaches and rhubarb have been portioned and frozen for cakes, compotes and jams. My hope is that through all of this slow, mindful preparation we will have the opportunity to still sample a taste of summer, even if there's snow on the ground. We will have all the seasons right there in our larder.