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I started writing this on a very dark and stormy Tuesday morning, with the rain hitting the windows and the wind doing its best to convince me that autumn has finally arrived properly.
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It was 6.44 a.m. and I had approximately ten minutes before I needed to start waking the house, so naturally I decided this was the perfect moment to begin writing to you.
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By the time this lands in your inbox, it will be October.
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I'm genuinely not sure how that happened.
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I've spent quite a lot of this week thinking about the month ahead. What I want to write. What I want to make. What needs updating on the website. What Christmas things need to be ready ridiculously early. What projects I'd like to get to. What I should do next.
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And somewhere in the middle of all that thinking, I realised something.
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Taking something I love and making it considerably more complicated than it needs to be.
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It's been an extraordinary few weeks here at Our Little House. More and more of you have been finding the website and Instagram. The Printable Library has been busier than ever. I've had some really interesting requests from people wanting to use my work in different ways, and my inbox has been full of the loveliest messages and conversations.
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I keep having these strange little moments where I look at something I built quietly from my kitchen table and think, How on earth did this happen?
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And then, a few days ago, something particularly lovely happened.
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A couple of weeks ago I quietly added a little support button to the website after a few people had asked whether there was a way to contribute towards all the free printables and things I create here.
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My first ever little virtual cup of coffee from a reader. ❤️
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It wasn't really the amount that touched me. It was the thought behind it. Somebody, somewhere, had found something useful or comforting in what I make here and had decided, entirely voluntarily, to say thank you in that way. I can't quite explain how lovely that felt.
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But here's the funny thing about something going well.
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Almost immediately, my brain starts asking:
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What else could I create?
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I am very good at this. 😂
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One idea becomes five ideas. A small project becomes an enormous project. Something I genuinely enjoy starts acquiring imaginary deadlines and expectations that absolutely nobody has imposed except me.
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I caught myself doing it again this week.
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I've been working on some winter printables behind the scenes, and a fairly simple idea was rapidly threatening to become several enormous collections and companions and all sorts of other things that apparently needed to exist.
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What if I simply made a handful of really lovely, useful pages and put them together in one place?
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It worked perfectly well.
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Nobody complained. Nothing terrible happened. The Printable Police did not arrive at the door. 😂
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It was such a tiny thing, but it got me thinking about how often we do this in other parts of our lives too.
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We find something we enjoy and somehow create rules around it.
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A walk becomes an exercise target.
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A hobby becomes something we should be getting better at.
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A home becomes an endless list of things that need improving.
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A new month arrives and suddenly we need goals and intentions and plans for becoming an entirely new person before it ends.
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Even trying to live a little more slowly can somehow become another thing we're supposed to be doing properly.
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And I wonder sometimes if we become so busy building the next version of our lives that we forget to notice the life that's already here. Because when I stop looking for the next thing long enough to actually notice, there is quite a lot that's already good.
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My family has settled into its autumn rhythm. I'm doing work I genuinely love. I'm writing and making things. I'm getting outside for walks again. I'm cooking, pottering around my home, lighting the lamps earlier in the evenings and watching autumn slowly settle in around us.
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And this week I'm stepping back into another part of my life too.
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Yesterday I spent the day substitute teaching.
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I've mentioned before that I did a handful of days back in the spring, after being away from the classroom for quite a long time. I remember wondering beforehand whether I would feel terribly rusty, only to discover that once I was standing in front of a class again, so much of it felt surprisingly natural.
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Even now, though, I still get that little flutter beforehand.
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Teaching was my everyday life for so many years. Now I'm stepping temporarily from this life I've built into another part of myself that is still very much there.
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And I've realised I don't need to decide what any of that means.
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Perhaps I'll return to education more regularly at some point. Perhaps occasional days here and there will suit this season of my life. There are decisions for another time.
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And maybe this is something else I'm learning:
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Not everything good has to become a plan.
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I can enjoy a day teaching without deciding what the next ten years of my career will look like.
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I can enjoy walking without deciding how many times a week I ought to do it.
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I can be thrilled that Our Little House is growing without immediately creating another twenty jobs for myself.
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Sometimes something can simply be good.
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And perhaps we can allow ourselves to notice that.
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Life certainly isn't perfect here. There are difficult things and uncertain things, as there are in every family. There are things I worry about and things I can't control.
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But good doesn't have to mean perfect before we're allowed to recognise it.
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And when I look around at this particular season of my life, I realise something rather simple.
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It is a life I rather like.
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A little something for October
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Nothing complicated. Nothing else for your to-do list.
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And definitely no requirement to reinvent yourself before Halloween. 😂
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Just a couple of quiet pages to help you see the month ahead, jot down what's happening, think about what matters to you and perhaps make a little room for the things you'd simply like to enjoy.
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As October begins, I'm going to try to resist immediately asking myself what I need to add, improve, organise or achieve next.
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Perhaps I'll begin with a different question.
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What's already good here?
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Maybe that's something worth asking ourselves every now and again — before we rush off to improve it.
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With love from our little house in the country,
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P.S. If October has arrived and you don't have a perfectly organised routine, a beautifully colour-coded calendar and a completely transformed version of yourself ready to go, please don't worry. Neither do I. 😂🍂
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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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Download your October calendar by clicking on the images below:
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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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What Makes My Ordinary Life Feel Meaningful? A Gentle Reflection on What Really Matters
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What makes an ordinary life feel meaningful? This gentle reflection explores the people, places, routines, contributions and tiny everyday moments that make a life feel like our own — with a beautiful free A4 printable to help you notice what matters to you.
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