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As I sit here at the kitchen table this morning with a mug of coffee warming my hands, I'm looking out at clear blue skies, fields that have just been harvested, and tractors and trailers making their way up and down the country roads. There is something about August that feels full of quiet industry. The garden is still beautifully green, the evenings are still warm enough to linger outside, and summer is very much still here.
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And yet, on my computer screen...
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It's a rather strange contradiction.
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For someone who spends so much time writing about living intentionally, slowing down and embracing the season we're actually in, it must seem slightly odd that if you were to visit Our Little House in the Country today, you'd be greeted by autumn almost everywhere you looked.
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The truth is, blogging has changed enormously over the years.
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When I first started writing back in 2014, you could publish a seasonal post in the season itself and people would find it. Now, the internet seems to have developed its own peculiar rhythm. Autumn has to be written in summer, Christmas in early autumn, and before one season has properly arrived, you're already quietly preparing the next.
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I used to find that quite unsettling.
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This year, though, I've been looking at it differently.
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Because the interesting thing is... although my hands are busy creating autumn, my heart is still very much in August.
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I've genuinely loved this summer.
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Perhaps it's because we travelled earlier than usual this year and came home before the end of June. Perhaps it's because the weather has been so unusually kind to us here in Ireland. Whatever the reason, this summer has felt wonderfully unhurried.
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Only last week I remember saying, "I can't believe it's still July."
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In just a few short weeks the children will be back at school, routines will quietly return, and another season will begin. I'm not clinging desperately to summer, because I know every season has something beautiful to offer. In fact, that's exactly what our August series on the blog is about—allowing August to be August, without rushing it towards autumn.
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But I have realised something over these last few months.
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Preparing for tomorrow doesn't mean you have to leave today behind.
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I can spend an afternoon creating autumn printables, then close the laptop, step outside in my shorts and T-shirt, feel the warmth of an August evening on my face, and remember that this is the season I'm actually living in.
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The two don't have to compete.
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Perhaps that's true of life as well.
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We can lay foundations for whatever comes next.
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But we don't have to live there yet.
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One of the loveliest surprises of writing these Friday letters has reminded me of that too.
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When I first started this newsletter, I imagined sending little updates every couple of weeks. I hoped people might enjoy reading them over a quiet cup of tea.
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What I never imagined was that people would write back.
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Over the past few months, my inbox has become one of my favourite places.
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I've received beautiful letters from readers in Australia, America, Canada, Croatia, Italy, England and all around Ireland. Some have written about their gardens, others about books they've loved or recipes they've been making. Some have shared stories of illness, injury and grief, and how slowing down wasn't something they chose, but something life gently insisted upon. Others have written about grandchildren, changing seasons, favourite birds, family traditions and the quiet moments that have become unexpectedly precious.
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Some emails are only a few lines long.
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Every single one feels like opening a letter from a friend.
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Do you remember pen pals?
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I certainly do. At school we wrote letters to students in France—our French to them, their English to us—and there was always such excitement when an envelope arrived with your name on it.
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That's exactly what these Friday letters have started to feel like.
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Little conversations travelling quietly across oceans and time zones before arriving back here at my kitchen table.
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If you've ever replied to one of my emails, thank you.
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It means far more than you probably realise.
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So this weekend I'll probably spend some time working on autumn again. I'll no doubt create another printable or finish another blog post.
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Tomorrow I'll also be heading to the Dublin Horse Show with my daughter, who is happiest anywhere there are horses, and I know we'll have a wonderful day together.
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But somewhere in between all of that, I'll close the laptop, step outside, and remind myself...
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And I really don't want to miss it.
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P.S. Thank you to everyone who has replied to the last few Friday letters. Every single email is read, and every single one is appreciated. You've made this little newsletter feel less like something I send, and much more like an ongoing conversation between friends scattered all over the world.
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If you'd like to keep reading this weekend...
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🌿 Let August to Be Enough — This week's essay is the first in our August series, a gentle invitation to savour the season exactly as it is, with a beautiful free reflection printable to accompany it.
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📅 Slow August Calendar — This month I've created two versions of the calendar after a lovely reader suggested a larger-print option. You'll now find both the illustrated version and a new, more accessible large-print edition, along with the monthly reflection page. I'm so grateful for thoughtful feedback like this—it really does help me make these resources better for everyone.
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🍂 Autumn at Our Little House — If you've noticed pumpkins quietly appearing around the blog already... now you know why! I'm happily preparing for the seasons ahead while doing my very best to enjoy every last moment of the one we're living in.
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Stay in touch – I’d genuinely love to hear from you — This little letter is very much a two-way conversation. If something here resonates, if you have a thought to share, or if there’s something you’d love to see in a future newsletter, blog post, or printable, I’d really love to hear from you.You can simply reply directly to this email, send a message via the contact form on the blog, email me at hello@ourlittlehouseinthecountry.com, or say hello over on Instagram — whatever feels easiest.
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Comments on the blog or Instagram are always welcome too. I read every single one.Thank you, as always, for being here and for taking the time to read along.
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A Slower Life, Right in the Middle of a Full One
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Slow living doesn't necessarily mean having a slow life. An autumn reflection on intentional living, seasonal rhythms, full family days and learning to notice the life that's already happening around us.
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Slow October: 31 Simple Ways to Cosy Up Your Days This October
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Welcome to Slow October — 31 gentle invitations to notice the season, find little moments of comfort and connection, and enjoy the heart of autumn. Download the free illustrated and large-text October calendars plus the October Journaling Reflections page.
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When the Days Feel Like Themselves Again
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There’s something lovely about summer days losing their edges. But as autumn returns, I’m rediscovering the quiet comfort of the week finding its shape again — Friday feeling like Friday, Sunday feeling like Sunday, and ordinary life settling back into its familiar rhythm.
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Not Everything Ripens at the Same Time
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On a soft, drizzly September morning, the apples, pears and blackberries offered a quiet reminder: not everything ripens at the same time. A seasonal reflection on change, readiness and learning to let life unfold in its own time.
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September can feel like the beginning of the end of the year — autumn arrives, Christmas appears on the horizon and suddenly we're looking towards January. But there are still four whole months left. Not four months to catch up, optimise or make the most of. Just four months of ordinary life still waiting to be lived.
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