Week 43
Peak lime, calendars, wetsuit booties
Hello! I hope you have had a beautiful week. A few seasonal things I have done this week: I bought chocolate advent calendars! Way too early and exactly the sort of thing that trips me up because it makes me feel like I have done some preparations for Christmas and so I don’t do anything else until December 1st… And I signed up for ‘winter dipping’ at the local swimming lake, the first year that I have done it rather than just telling everyone I MIGHT do it through the month of October and then falling silent. I also bought those daft little booties that the proper cold water swimmers wear. I am committed now. You will no doubt hear more about this from me as one of the main points of cold water swimming is letting everyone else know you’ve done it. And I have been looking at the trees. Haven’t we all? And wondering what stage of autumn we are at. In some spots everything looks utterly autumnal now, where it didn’t a couple of weeks ago, in others it’s still entirely green.
I have become lightly obsessed with the idea of peak autumn, a possibly imaginary moment when the maximum number of trees reach their maximum colour in that brief moment of stillness before the wind blows and they all begin to disperse. When is that moment? I would like to know if you think you are anywhere near it. Here, we have not reached it, , we are still too green I think, but perhaps we *have* reached peak lime. The lime trees on the nearby avenue started into colour first, as ever - I swear I notice their first yellow leaves in August - and now they are all yellows and browns and are even bare in places, as the oak still looks as green as it did in July. Maybe this is how it goes, peak lime followed by peak beech followed by peak acer. Followed eventually by peak oak. And your autumn peak depends on the make up of the trees around you, each working to its own autumnal timetable.
This is our community post in which I write about something I have done, eaten or even just pondered upon this week that felt particularly ‘this week in the year’, and then you tell me yours, in the comments below. At the end of the month - looming now - I gather them all together into one big beautiful poem.
A tiny bit of housekeeping before I sign off: there is still time to sign up for my new venture with Scribehound Gardening, in which I’m planning to do a moon-gardening sow along, as well as incorporating lots of other folklore as we travel through the months. I’d be delighted if you would join me and the 29 other garden writers which will be writing monthly. It all kicks off on November 1st and there is still time to pick up the opening month for £1 - you can unsubscribe any time you want, but I hope we might tempt you to stay.
That done, please tell me: what did you notice about this beautiful autumnal week? What did you do, eat, buy, spot or bake that felt like it could only happen this week of the year?
Cooking crumpets and porridge over the fire, with hot chocolate, for the children’s snack at work.
Fungi hunting with the children and getting just as excited as each other at each new discovery!
Crunchy, jewel-toned leaves underfoot on the walk to school.
Singing ‘Autumn’ by Paolo Nutini, with my siblings, as a tribute to my lovely Grandma who passed away this month.
I've noticed how beautiful the mist looks as it drifts in the nooks and dips of the fields on my way to work in the mornings. Especially when the early morning sun is trying it's best to shine through as well!