It began with a seed…
But then, so many things do.
The vegetables that nourish us, the flowers that brighten our days, the medicinal plants that offer their gifts. And sometimes, a seed takes root not in the soil, but in our imagination.
This autumn, that seed was coriander.
What began as a curiosity about the warm, citrusy fragrance of coriander seed became an exploration of its essential oil. One blend led to another, each taking on a character of its own, woven with botanicals and scents that reflect this place I call home.
One even led me back to the bay laurel growing beside our kitchen, a tree planted many years ago that has become part of the landscape of our lives.
After twelve years of making soap, I still find joy in learning something new. A challenging design, an unfamiliar technique, or an unexpected marriage of scents. With the Coriander Collection complete, my imagination is already wandering toward winter, dreaming of new fragrances and designs that might stretch my skills a little further.
Perhaps that’s one of October’s gifts. As the growing season slows, there’s a little more time to wander the forest, sit quietly in the meadow, and allow new ideas to find their way.
Gathering What Remains
Of course, the garden hasn’t quite finished with me.
There’s that familiar autumn race against the frost, gathering and preserving what remains before the season closes. Tomatoes are becoming sauces for the freezer, while others have been dried and tucked into olive oil, little tastes of summer waiting for winter meals.
The tangerine marigolds are still offering their cheerful blossoms, and I’ve been gathering petals to make compound butter. I love the thought of spreading a little October sunshine on warm bread when the days have grown dark.
We’ve covered the raised beds to give our lettuces and greens a little more time, and a few things are growing beneath lights in the greenhouse.
There’s always something to tend, something to gather, something to put away for a cold day.
AN OLD FRIEND IN THE APOTHECARY
And then there’s Hawthorn.
Not long after we moved here, I met a woman who introduced me to some of the medicinal plants growing around us. Hawthorn and dandelion were among the first, and those early introductions opened a door to a world I wanted to know more about.
What began as curiosity became years of learning, observing, gathering, and discovering the many ways plants could become part of our daily lives.
Hawthorn has remained especially dear to me, one of the stars of my apothecary. Each autumn I return to her, and each year I feel that our acquaintance has deepened a little more.
I have enough tincture tucked away for now, so this year’s harvest will be just enough berries for a cordial. Something to savor during the colder months, another small gift from the sanctuary.
There is a quiet satisfaction in gathering only what we need and leaving the rest.
A LITTLE TIME TO SIMPLY BE
October has been generous with its sunshine this year, and I’ve been taking advantage of these beautiful days to spend more time in the woods.
The leaves crunch beneath my feet, mushrooms are appearing among the fallen needles, and the creek beneath the cedars is quiet and low, waiting for the autumn rains to bring back its familiar song. I know how beautiful it will be when the water returns, winding between the moss-covered banks and ferns, just as it does each spring.
I find myself lingering in these places, sometimes sitting beneath a favorite tree, sometimes wandering the meadow with no particular destination.
There’s something about stepping away from the work of tending and making that allows the imagination to wander.
And perhaps that’s the thread connecting it all.
The garden, the kitchen, the apothecary, the soap making, and the woodland paths. Each feeds the other in ways I couldn’t have imagined when we first began making this place our home.
I’m still learning. Still curious. Still discovering that plants have their own ideas, and sometimes my work is simply to pay attention.
October reminds me that creativity doesn’t always mean making something new.
Sometimes it means noticing what is already here.
From the sanctuary, with warmth and gratitude,
Becky