Harvest season from a windowsill garden

The winds of late autumn whisper through the rusting leaves. The days are getting shorter and grumpier, it seems. Christmas lights are lit, making the darkness in my city feel even darker. There's sparkly tinsel and red nosed Santas and reindeer everywhere. Christmas has its own magic, but I'm not ready for it. I still want to linger a bit more into autumn before running to the next thing.

I've been keeping a small windowsill garden for a few years now. I try to plant seeds from food I eat or edible things in general. Some things have worked out and some have not. But I always seem to have a good supply of hot peppers, parsley and basil. Some years I have lots of marigolds, not this year. So my garden is a little different every year, as am I.

Looking at my humble windowsill garden makes me think of folks of times long gone, and their harvests. Of that time when harvest was the most important time of the year, ensuring sustenance through the bleakness of winter.

Gathering the crop, that spectacle of abundance. I remember it from my childhood, at the countryside. How festive it seemed to me, this task and this specific time. And how different it feels today. The joy of harvest, diluted by a rush to buy buy buy.

To me, tending to a windowsill garden, despite its miniature scale, allows me to engage with the spirit of harvest. To pay attention to autumn as she is now. Seeing the growth halt, the leaves turning yellow, fruit getting heavier. It sings of that age-old rhythm of planting, nurturing, and reaping. Of cycles starting and ending and the joy and the nostalgia of it.

What I am making

A red-hot scarf

Instead of finishing my sweater or my vest I talked about last week, I cast on a Sophie Scarf. I think I might have been influenced by my hot pepper harvest. Or maybe Christmas decorations?

I'm enjoying slowly knitting with this rustic, fire red yarn from my stash, made by a small company in Lithuania, with these small DPNs I bought on a trip many years ago.

Book of the week

Seasonal Slow Knitting by Hannah Thiessen, Meredith A. Clark

I have a lot of knitting books. But more and more I pick up these books not for the patterns themselves, but rather for the feeling and mood that book can transport me to. As you might have noticed already, I also love books organized by seasons.

The chapter about the autumn equinox paints scenes of knitting on a screened porch, enveloped in a throw blanket, relishing the cool, wood-smoked air. It emphasizes the meditative nature of unraveling knitting projects, the importance of embracing mistakes and finding a sense of calmness in starting anew. And the joy of rediscovering stored knitwear.

The author suggests autumn is a good time for tackling WIPs, reviving and reusing yarn, a good time to mend knitted items and think about building a slow wardrobe.

The chapter’s suggestion for autumnal adventures extends beyond the craft itself, celebrating outdoor walks, enjoying tea time or pampering oneself with homemade body oil.

May your days be filled with mindful moments. Until next time, be present.

Sky