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Somehow, we are already halfway through September.
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I'm not entirely sure how that happened.
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I feel as though I've spent much of the past few weeks talking about getting back into a rhythm after the summer, and I'm conscious that I'm beginning to sound a little like a broken record. I had all sorts of lovely ideas about what September would look like once the children went back to school. There would be structure. There would be routine. There would be long walks and productive mornings and beautifully organised days.
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Life, naturally, had other ideas.
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My husband was away with work for a week. One of the children came down with the inevitable back-to-school bug. Activities started again. There were appointments and meetings and school runs and all the usual things that seem to multiply once September arrives.
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And then our broadband stopped working.
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We actually managed surprisingly well as a family. We have decent 4G coverage here, so phones were hotspotted to televisions and school devices and whatever else was needed. My own laptop, however, was having absolutely none of it. It would connect to my phone for a few minutes and then disconnect. I'd reconnect it. It would disconnect again. I'd reconnect it again. Eventually, I realised I was spending considerably more time trying to persuade the internet to work than actually doing any work. And worse, I was getting so frustrated by it that I wasn't enjoying the work I could do either. So eventually I stopped. Not forever. Just for a few days.
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I put aside the grand September plan I'd made for myself and accepted that there were certain things I simply couldn't do until the problem was sorted. I wasn't particularly graceful about this acceptance at first, I should add. 😂 But there wasn't much point in fighting something I couldn't change.
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And perhaps that's been one of the quieter lessons of these first few weeks of September.
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Because while I've been waiting for everything to fall neatly back into place, I've gradually realised that quite a lot already has.
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I'm waking naturally again at around six every morning. Those first quiet moments downstairs have become mine again — usually a cup of tea in the kitchen before everyone else appears and the lunches, breakfasts, bags, uniforms and general morning commotion begin.
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I'm back doing the morning shift with the pony too. My daughter takes over in the evenings now that she's back at school, while I turn the pony out in the morning, muck out her stable and get everything ready for later. And Pilates has found its new place in the week. I'm going to two classes now, usually on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, which seems to fit beautifully with term-time life.
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I've also acquired my own reformer in possibly the least glamorous fitness purchase story ever.
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I'd been keeping an eye out for a second-hand one for ages because reformers are expensive. Aldi had sold them earlier in the summer, but at the time I couldn't really justify buying one when I was happily going to classes. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I popped into Aldi for a few bits and spotted one lonely reformer left. Reduced to €50. Naturally, I assumed there had to be something wrong with it. There wasn't. They just wanted rid of it.
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So I now own a €50 Aldi reformer and I am absolutely delighted with myself. 😂
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It doesn't have every bell and whistle imaginable, but it does exactly what I need it to do. I can still go to the classes I love twice a week, and on the days in between I can do twenty minutes at home with a video.
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The walking, on the other hand, has not found its way back into my days yet.
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I've intended to go several times and then a meeting has happened, or somebody has been sick, or something else has taken its place. I'm hoping that before September ends I'll be back out three or four times a week.
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But I'm trying very hard not to turn that into another thing I'm “behind” on.
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Old friends and old parts of ourselves
Something else lovely happened over the past couple of weeks.
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Within the space of about 48 hours, I met up separately with two old colleagues — one for coffee and one for a glass of wine. Although “colleagues” doesn't really describe either of them anymore. They're friends. I've worked with both for more than twenty years, and I actually went to college with one of them. I hadn't seen one of them in a very long time.
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And within minutes, we were talking as though we'd seen each other the previous week.
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I've never been somebody with an enormous circle of friends. Even when I was younger, I've tended to have a relatively small number of people I'm close to. And these days, some of the people I consider very good friends are people I might not see for months — sometimes much longer.
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There is something incredibly comforting about the friendships that can withstand that.
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You sit down. You order the coffee or pour the wine. And there is no awkward catching up or trying to work out who you are to one another now.
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Those conversations also made me realise something I hadn't thought much about recently.
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I sometimes miss being part of a team. I love the work I do now. I love writing Our Little House in the Country. I love the creativity and independence of it, and the freedom to follow an idea simply because I think it might become something interesting. But most of this work is done alone.
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For more than twenty years, my working life involved other people. Talking things through. Making plans. Solving problems. Bouncing ideas around a table. Laughing in the staffroom. Making decisions together.
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This is my fourth September not returning to school full-time, and I don't find myself wishing I were back there right now. But those conversations reminded me that there are parts of that life I still value.
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And perhaps that's another thing I'm getting better at accepting.
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We don't necessarily have to choose between I loved that life and I'm happy with this one.
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A little something to look forward to
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We've also booked France for next summer.
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Because of my daughter's State exams, we can't leave quite as early as we normally would, and we'll only have two weeks rather than our usual longer stay.
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For about five minutes we considered whether we should go somewhere different.
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And then all four of us essentially said, no.
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Back to the Loire. Back to the same campsite in the grounds of the château. Back to the same little cabin.
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There's something lovely about having a place that has become familiar enough that simply thinking about returning makes you happy.
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We're hoping for a few much smaller adventures before then too. The children have a long weekend coming up at the end of September, so we may disappear somewhere in Ireland for a couple of nights. And at the end of October, we'll head west to Mayo again.
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Just little things on the calendar to look forward to.
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Meanwhile, behind the scenes…
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I should probably confess something.
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While I'm writing to you about September and autumn and putting away my shorts, behind the scenes at Our Little House in the Country I am currently surrounded by...
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If you've visited the website recently, you may even have noticed that the homepage has had a little makeover.
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There is a reason for that.
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The strange reality of writing a seasonal website is that I have to work several months ahead. Christmas posts need time to make their way into Google and Pinterest and all the other mysterious corners of the internet before anyone actually starts looking for them.
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So I'm currently creating Christmas content while being absolutely determined that you should not have to live in Christmas in September simply because I do.
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I don't want you arriving at the homepage to find yourself suddenly assaulted by Christmas trees and mince pies while you're still wondering whether it's warm enough for short sleeves.
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So the website is very firmly dressed for autumn.
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Christmas is there if you're looking for it — and there is quite a lot of it now — but I'm quite happy to leave you wandering amongst the autumn leaves for a while longer.
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I'll be backstage untangling the fairy lights. 😂
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And here we are
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September itself doesn't seem entirely sure what it's doing either.
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I've been getting up in complete darkness.
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The lamps are coming on earlier in the evenings.
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The trees and hedgerows are beginning to change.
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And yet earlier this week we had temperatures well into the twenties. One day felt almost summery, followed a few hours later by torrential rain.
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Last night I finally started taking the shorts and the really summery clothes out of my drawers.
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Today I'm wearing short sleeves again.
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Perhaps that's why autumn is such an interesting season.
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It doesn't usually arrive all at once.
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It inches forward. Then retreats.
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A cooler morning. A warm afternoon. The first lamp switched on before dinner. A tree beginning to turn while everything around it remains green.
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And perhaps our own transitions aren't terribly different.
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At the beginning of September I think I expected to wake up one morning and somehow be back in routine.
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Instead, it has happened in tiny pieces.
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The six o'clock cup of tea.
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The pony waiting for me in the morning.
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An old friend across the table.
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Twenty minutes on my bargain Aldi reformer.
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A little work completed here and another piece there.
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There are still things I haven't quite found my way back to.
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Because as I sit here halfway through September, life doesn't feel perfectly organised.
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But it is beginning to feel familiar again.
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And for now, I think that's enough.
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With love from our little house in the country,
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A little something for you
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For this Friday's little gift, I've made you something very simple.
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A Little Mid-September Pause is a quiet page to sit with for ten minutes or so — perhaps with a cup of tea or coffee — and notice where you are right now.
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Not where you thought you'd be by September.
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Not what you haven't managed to do yet.
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A few gentle questions, a little space to write, and absolutely nothing that needs ticking off.
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P.S. If you’re new here, today’s little Mid-September Pause is just for my Friday Letter readers, but there are lots more completely free printables waiting for you in the Printable Library on the website. You’ll find everyday planners and journaling pages alongside our seasonal collections — including lots of lovely autumn printables and, if you’re quietly beginning to think ahead, the Christmas collection too. Everything is free to download and print at home. 🍂
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If you'd like to keep reading…
Still Four Months Left
September can make it feel as though the year is already beginning to wind down. But there are still four whole months ahead of us — not four months to catch up, optimise or somehow make the most of, but four months of ordinary life still waiting to be lived.
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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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Explore my latest posts:
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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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What Have I Quietly Stopped Making Room For? A Gentle Reflection on the Things We Miss
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Sometimes we don't consciously give things up — they simply get squeezed out as life becomes fuller. This gentle reflection explores the people, interests, pleasures and little parts of ordinary life you may have quietly stopped making room for, with a beautiful free A4 printable.
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What Deserves My Time and Attention? A Gentle Reflection on Where My Energy Goes
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The things that take up most of our time are not necessarily the things that matter most. This gentle reflection invites you to notice where your time and attention are going, what deserves a little more of you and what you might be ready to give a little less.
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Who Do I Want to Stay Close To? A Gentle Reflection on the Relationships That Matter
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Some relationships remain close almost effortlessly, while others we genuinely value can quietly get lost in the busyness of ordinary life. This gentle reflection invites you to notice the people you feel most yourself with, the connections you miss and the relationships you would like to tend a little more carefully.
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