Autumn has finally arrived, brought on by a time change this Sunday past. “Brisk” mornings, as defined by Californians, was noted upon the recent week’s bread deliveries and dog-sitting duties. Like most wintry things, Fall crept into our lives quite subtly. Just when we thought the Indian summer would last longer than it was welcome, it was gone and replaced by cozy mornings, warm beds, and more frequent occasions for pet snuggling.
To reflect the transition, our home has also undergone its own changes. We’ve created tight reading nooks by the window, encased by bookshelves on either side to instill that cozy feel. The large plush chairs facilitate sinking as the dweller welcomes the early morning light with coffee that wakes, and later in the day, gleans as much evening light with every fervent turn of a book’s page.
The removal of the sectional chairs from the living room has created more space, which allows for higher awareness of the passing of time. Most notably, the way the light streams into our abode as the sun sets and lands on cleared cement floors, or sets shadows against white walls outlining the few furnishings we own, brings into clearer focus this autumnal transition. Herein lies an opportunity to be mindful of the continual shifts in nature, and to practice gratitude in the present state of our home and the time we spend in them.
We’ve re-oriented the dining table to resemble a square, for more communal gatherings in the near future. It sits centered in the entire space, facilitated by the lack of walls thereby allowing the freedom to create rooms where there was once none. I felt that creating a square table for twelve was more conducive for conversation and the sharing of plates than a long apostles table where one can converse with four people, at most. Plus, cooking is at the heart of our home, so it suits to have the sharing of that cooking in the center of our space.
Whereas most people prepare their homes with more stuff in the wintry months (the laying down of rugs on bare floors, the draping of woolen blankets over armchairs, the hanging of tinsel on trees), I don’t really have that luxury. I say this with irony, because I really do think that in having less of this stuff, we have it better. Time, after all, is the ultimate definition of luxury. We simply prep in different ways.
Stripping down rooms to their bare necessities reduces the distractions that would typically pull one OUT OF bed. Having less areas to mingle and less separation between spaces allow for more human connection. Whereas the cement floors kept this loft cool in the summer months, so, too, does the smallness of space keep it warm on colder days.
Meanwhile, the surfaces of tables and our rooms have been emptied of summer’s clutter. It’s a clean slate for all. I’ve been put-putting around the ovens, baking more than usual and dabbling in pies and desserts. Fatty things to keep our bellies warm. Where I was dreading turning on the ovens in the summer’s heat, I am now grateful for the warmth it lends to the home, along with the beautiful scents wafting through the kitchen.
It’s funny how our household has adapted to autumn. It’s nice to notice the changes. Suddenly, you take note of where to find the sun light during certain times of the day. You know when to keep the windows shut, and where you can find a brisk draft.
I like to think of our homes as sentient organisms, and as such, it requires us, its keepers, to be attuned to nature’s quarterly changes. Our homes are individualized spaces, and each has its needs and quirks. The door jams in a certain way with the changing of temperatures, the floor creaks here and there, and the stove creates too much steam when kept on too long thereby setting off the fire alarm. These are the things that indicate a symbiosis between home owner and dwelling, and it is environment creation at its best – past the beauty and function – a relationship between living and non-living thing.
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