September

Although I always think of September as being actually autumn, the recent heatwave seemed to delay things a bit. We seem to be getting false autumns somehow; the odd cooler day and mists creeping over the moors, then more searing sun and airless afternoons.

But even though it’s still mild, the temperatures have dropped and the nights are drawing in.

The past few days have seen torrential rain, too - my umbrella’s back in regular use.

There’s been a lot going on here: Joe started high school and is - so far - doing extremely well. He has to be out of the house an hour earlier now and I watch him go, dressed in his slightly-too-big blazer, to catch the yellow bus. He already knew the driver (this being a small place) and a handful of his old classmates share the journey from the village.

I do get a little twinge of sadness each time I walk past the primary school. He was born on the 29th of August, so a few days later and he’d have another year there.

We went to the Museum of Science and Industry in Manchester for his birthday this time; there was a Gaming exhibition with computers dating from the 1970s up to the present day. Lots of games to play and try (including virtual reality, which gave me a strange feeling of motion sickness) - he really enjoyed himself though. Plenty of cake and gifts, and his new computer - so carefully saved up for - arrived. It was a day late, which was disappointing, but he’s over that now.

I’ve just signed up for a new photography course, this being September. I like to start new projects at this time of year. And I’m going to be running some workshops from a new studio/workspace, too: the three I’ve been planning (for quite some time) will be one-to-one sessions for beginners; florography/botanical photography, with an emphasis on capturing the magic of the seasons, and group photo walks with a focus on slowing down and being more mindful.

More details will follow once I’ve finished the page for this website, and of course there’ll be updates on Instagram.

As for the journal: I’ve been giving it a lot of consideration.

Producing it is a full time job. One person is responsible for researching,copywriting, photography and editing, graphic design and formatting, proofreading, planning, finances, liaising with printers, quality control, orders, dispatch, admin, promotion, correspondence…

To do this four times a year (a season in advance) with the pressure of deadlines and getting the numbers right, is a lot. And it’s not hugely financially rewarding once I factor in the cost of printing, my time and the resources that go into its production.

My options are a) to publish it exclusively online as opposed to in print; b) to switch from quarterly to annual publications, or c) to perhaps write a book illustrated with my own photography.

Lots to consider.

But for now I’m focusing on other areas. I already have two part-time jobs, both of which I enjoy. The house is still half-finished, thanks to various obstacles. Joe’s only just 11 and needs plenty of input if we want to avoid him spending every free moment in front of a screen…

We’ve been doing lots of walking.

Picking blackberries, finding pheasant tail feathers and owl pellets, collecting conkers, looking for toadstools and mushrooms.

There are a few new walks we’ve discovered locally and it’s the perfect time of year to go out exploring. Up on the moors, down through the woods, alongside streams and shoulder-high banks of rusty bracken. The hawthorn berries are in full colour, as are rosehips. Birches are dropping the first gilded leaves.

Bookselling is an art I’m finally getting more comfortable with.

So many people think working in a bookshop is simple; just getting lost in the pages of a novel and serving the odd customer once they’ve made their choice.

But it’s actually a very skilled occupation - particularly as so much of it involves electronic systems. Some are quite complex, and there are always anomalies and oddities.

My favourite part of the job is opening the boxes (we receive a daily delivery), adding the books to the system and shelving them. We’re given a lot of freedom when it comes to displays so this element of faffing literally makes my heart sing.

Of course, the downside is having access to a whole world of books. So often a title comes in - a special edition, maybe - and I have to buy it before it makes it onto the shelves (and then re-order a new one for stock). My to-buy list is reaching epic proportions.

But I don’t think I’m going to have the dwindling bedside reading pile panic again for a very long time…

I’m planning to savour every moment of the autumn. It’s my favourite season.

Already I’ve been baking crumble cake, making slow-cooked stews, buying pears and Bramley apples. There are films to watch, rambles to take, a new tin of cocoa in the cupboard. I bought some bedlinen in a deep burnt orange shade, and with its green walls, the bedroom reminds me of the moors outside.

We have candles and jars of feathers, bowls of pine cones, vases of bracken and poppy heads.

There’s a collaborative project coming up which I’m excited about - more on that soon - and I’ve been sewing an old cross stitch sampler I’d put aside last year.

We visited the market at the weekend: the next town along has one, with both outdoor stalls and an old Victorian hall.

Inside there’s a lovely coffee bar with myriad tins of all the different beans and blends to choose from. And the most wonderful stall selling Mediterranean foods: Greek, Spanish, French and Italian delicacies with their beautiful packaging. Ropes of smoked garlic, jars of olives, bottles of oils, boxes of biscuits, cakes wrapped in waxed paper…

We have lots of ideas for Christmas presents.

I’m still reading a Ladies Detective Agency book - The Joy and Light Bus Company - but am feeling the pull of more seasonal fayre.

A particularly lovely edition of Agatha Christie’s Halloween Party arrived in the bookshop last week and if it’s still there I may have to indulge. As you know, I watch the Poirot episode every year so know exactly whodunnit. But I don’t think I’ve ever read the book.

This time of year is usually when the good films and TV arrive. I’m on the lookout for something spooky (but not horror - unsettling is preferable), as well as the usual cosy Hallmark movies.

The kitchen cupboard is gradually filling up with cups and mugs. I find them irresistible for some reason, but some are big enough for soup. And there’s nothing nicer than wrapping your hands around a warm cup on a cold day…

I ordered a Thermos food flask yesterday. A red one (‘cranberry’). It was a difficult decision between that and the duck egg blue, but the red was cheaper and also very pretty.

So now I can take hot soup and stew to work, and out on my walks on the hills.

It should arrive tomorrow - I feel quite excited about it.

Yes, really.

Speaking of little indulgences: the first treacle toffee of the year has been procured and eaten. The sweet shop in Haworth is a magical place so trying to stay away is a futile exercise.

Another treat has been a little bag of chocolate-covered coffee beans, from the market stall I mentioned. They’re delicious but very moreish. And if you eat too many at once you start to feel hyper alert…

I plan to go to Todmorden on Thursday, for a little photo walk and to visit the market again: a cappuccino and a mooch around the secondhand stalls (Thursday’s ‘flea’ day).

Hopefully the weather won’t be quite as wet as it has been. At least I can wear a decent coat and waterproof boots without sweltering.

I’m now wearing woolly jumpers again. Which is, in my opinion, a Good Thing.

Along with warm socks and pyjamas.

Autumn is such a tactile season.

We had mushrooms for tea last night, on toasted sourdough, sprinkled liberally with fresh parsley. It’s one of my favourite meals.

I also have figs, plums and a pomegranate waiting to be eaten: all things Joe and Jay don’t generally enjoy but I’m fine with that. Cauliflower cheese will no doubt be featuring on the menu before too long, and hotpot, and maybe an apple pie.

I get very sniffy about imported apples once autumn rolls around.

Friday marked nine years since my mum died.

It’s gone so fast - I can’t quite fathom how it’s been that long since she last waved me off from her garden gate, or we shared a cake and talked about anything and everything.

I don’t mark the date. It’s one I’d rather not remember.

Instead, I’ll visit her grave on her birthday in October, and we’ll continue our little tradition of buying a picnic lunch and walking around the kitchen gardens at Astley Hall. The trees will be heavy with apples and the leaves will be gold and russet and scarlet.

I’ll shed a few tears and think about her, and miss her, and wonder why she went too soon. And Joe will comfort me as he always does, and Jay will go quiet and try to be strong for us as he always does, then we’ll go away and spend time together like she’d have wanted us to.

This is the season of memories.

And poetry. And stories.

It’s evocative and a gift for the senses.

Here are a few pictures of the house in the gloom; a bit grainy as I had to crank up the ISO. Interestingly, these rooms face west so most afternoons and early evenings we have to draw the curtains because it gets so bright.

The living room’s a bit busy. The kitchen/dining room’s currently something of a building site, so everything lives in here for now.

Minimalists we are not.

And that orange pine mirror still needs sanding…

I love all these little signs appearing: spiders, leaves tumbling along in the wind, misty mornings.

The drive over to Haworth for work is something I truly enjoy, crossing the moors and watching cloud inversions. The colours are rich but fading now; the heather no longer saturated with amethyst but instead sepia-hued. The grasses are bleached pale.

I need to walk along the canal in Hebden again. It hosts a combination of industrial heritage and wilder places: fields and woods. The bright barges and colourful allotments are perfect to photograph.

Maybe I’ll take my new flask and have a few hours’ solitary wandering.