On October mornings you can often hear the sound of geese flying low over the lake, their calls echoing across the water as a reminder of the season’s big turn. I step outside and breathe deeply – I love the freshness of the morning air, sharp and clean, with the smell of damp leaves and wood smoke. By midday the sun still holds a gentle warmth, bathing the world in a soft golden light. But come evening, there’s no doubt that winter isn’t far behind. That’s fall in Connecticut.
Everywhere I look, October is a study in contrasts. Each leaf is vibrant, vibrant in color, and yet already on its way to release. The asters make their last stand in the field, the tall grass bends low, the sumac burns scarlet along the edges of the forest and the ground itself feels cooler under my boots. I feel the shift in my bones – the slowing down, the stilling, the deep drawing in. – A deep breath between the fullness of summer and the silence of winter.
October speaks in hushed tones if we want to listen: slow down, collect what’s important, let go of the rest. It is an invitation to engage with change rather than resist it, to find a rhythm that is in sync with the land itself.
In what follows, I’ll share ideas for seasonal living in October and some of the ways I navigate the month – practices for nourishment, rituals for renewal, and gentle reminders to stay connected to the wild. Take what resonates, leave what does not resonate and always be guided by your own place and body.