Contemplating Autumn

As I sit contemplating the rain-streaked windows, I pull on my coat and brace the chill wind from the threshold of the door. Burnished leaves litter the lawn like an ochre confetti as I make my way to tend to the pumpkins and kale. It only seems like yesterday that I recall the halcyon days of summer…

Meandering down the garden path, bathed in the early morning summer sun beams, the air thick with pollen and insects. Birdsong reaches its morning crescendo as my olfactory centre is filled with the fresh scent of herbs and vegetable leaves.

Now is my time, a time to forage through verdurous foliage to seek my bounty: swollen fruits, plump with a nectar both sweet and tart. Berries, tomatoes, baby cucumbers, fleshy and sweet with the heat and dew of these halcyon days.

I cannot help but pop a few into my mouth, as if to awaken it from its slumber, they burst, leaving a party on my palate, sweet, juicy and a little tart, warm from the morning zephyr that carries the heat of the sunbeams to their very core.

A little smug, I carry my treasure indoors, stunned by a temporary blindness from the contrast in light. Adjusted, I admire my hoard, a cacophony of colour, the deepest crimsons, magenta and purples, interjected by antique golds and blush pink. I have been a little too heavy handed with some, neglecting their delicacy in favour of my eagerness to fill my basket, they have spilled their wine-stained juice on both my fingers and their counterparts.

It is now that my mind becomes alive, a discordance of ideas of how best to use them. Fantush layer cakes, cremeux, weeklong projects that hail showstopping centre pieces, savoury dishes that incorporate foams, espuma, sous vide, chiffonade and concasse. You see, all this bounty needs to shine, proud of our neanderthal roots of foraging and gathering, we feel the need to impress.

This is where I have my epiphany. Good ingredients need little or no adornment to shine. These ripe berries are the epitome of Mother Nature’s ability to produce her own treasure, perfect just as it is. Fancy techniques lose the very essence of having access to fresh, seasonal ingredients. What could possibly compete with the ripest of berries, still warm from the heat of the morning sun?

But now Autumn arrives like a whispered promise, a soft rustle in the trees, and a golden glow that bathes the world in warmth. There’s something about the crispness of the air, the sharp bite of the breeze, and the slow, deliberate shedding of leaves that reminds us to pause. It is a season that asks nothing of us but to observe, to breathe deeply, and to find joy in the simple things.

Take the pumpkin, for instance. It sits humble and unassuming on the porch steps, a round emblem of the harvest, thick-skinned and solid. To some, it’s just a vegetable—an ingredient for pie or a symbol of Halloween, carved with jagged smiles. But there’s more to this plump, orange orb if you look closer. Within its ridged surface lies an invitation to creativity, to celebration, to joy.

Carving a pumpkin is a simple act, yet it is one of transformation. You take a knife, make careful cuts, and suddenly, an ordinary gourd becomes something new—alive with flickering candlelight, grinning beneath the autumn sky. This is the essence of finding the extraordinary in the ordinary. In autumn, the pumpkin becomes more than food or decoration; it becomes a canvas, a reminder that even the most mundane things can hold beauty when touched by imagination.

And autumn is full of such moments. The leaves that tumble to the ground are not simply discarded remnants of summer; they are works of art, each a masterpiece of reds, yellows, and oranges. A single leaf, caught mid-fall in a gust of wind, can be a symbol of change—how nature lets go gracefully, teaching us to release what no longer serves us. To walk among fallen leaves is to walk through a gallery, where the earth displays its fleeting brilliance without a hint of self-importance.

In the rhythm of autumn, there is a gentle invitation to slow down and notice. The early twilight that beckons us home, the way the sun slants through branches, casting long shadows—it all reminds us that joy is not always found in grand gestures. It is often tucked into the folds of the ordinary: the sound of boots crunching through leaves, the smell of cinnamon lingering from a freshly baked pie, the warmth of a flannel shirt against a brisk breeze.

Creativity, like joy, does not need extravagance to flourish. Autumn teaches us this with its quiet splendour. The season itself is a masterpiece of transformation, where nature’s ordinary cycles become extraordinary through colour, texture, and change. And so too can we transform our everyday moments into something special, if only we approach them with curiosity and care.

Pumpkins, leaves, the chill of an autumn morning—they remind us that beauty is often quiet, subtle, and easily missed if we don’t take the time to look. Autumn teaches us to embrace the art of noticing, to find creativity not in the grandiose, but in the gentle rituals of life. The joy is always there, waiting, in the ordinary things. It’s up to us to carve it out, like a jack-o’-lantern, and let it shine.