8 Old-Fashioned Autumn Things I Want to Bring Back
I love autumn.
But I sometimes think we've managed to turn it into another season we're supposed to buy.
New autumn mug.
New blanket.
New candles.
New wreath.
New coat.
And don't get me wrong, I am absolutely capable of being seduced by a nice autumn candle.
But some of the things I actually love most about this time of year don't cost very much at all.
They're the things people did because autumn genuinely meant something.
The garden was changing.
Food needed preserving.
Clothes needed repairing.
The house had to be made ready for colder weather.
Neighbours shared what they had.
Evenings became slower because there wasn't much else to do once it got dark.
And living in an old cottage in rural Scotland has made me want a little more of that back.
Not because I think life 100 years ago was wonderfully cosy.
It wasn't.
I'd like antibiotics and central heating to remain firmly in the present, thank you.
But there are parts of older seasonal living that we've lost somewhere along the way.
1. Actually preserving the autumn harvest
This is probably the biggest one for me.
We grow food, buy seasonal food, pick fruit...
There was a time when autumn meant putting food away for later.
Jam.
Chutney.
Pickles.
Bottled fruit.
Dried herbs.
Stored potatoes.
Apples wrapped up carefully.
Beans dried for winter.
I want to get better at this.
If we grow too many courgettes, I don't want half of them dying in a vegetable drawer.
I want chutneys.
If we've got herbs everywhere at the end of summer, I want jars of dried herbs that we're still using in February.
If we can grow more winter vegetables here by the coast, I want to know what we can store and preserve too.
There's something satisfying about opening a cupboard in December and eating something you dealt with back in September.
It makes the seasons feel connected.
2. Decorating with things we actually find outside
I genuinely don't know when autumn decorating became a competitive sport.
You can now apparently redecorate your entire house for September.
Then Halloween.
Then "late autumn."
Then Christmas.
I do like decorating.
But I want more of the old version.
Branches.
Dried seed heads.
Pinecones.
Leaves.
Apples.
Dried flowers from the garden.
A bowl of conkers that serves absolutely no purpose whatsoever but makes you happy every time you walk past it.
Maybe a few real pumpkins that eventually become food.
I love the idea of the house changing because outside has changed.
3. Having a proper mending basket
This needs to come back generally.
A button falls off something now and it's remarkably easy to think:
Well, that's ruined.
It isn't.
It needs a button.
People used to mend things as a completely ordinary part of running a household.
Darn socks.
Sew up seams.
Patch clothes.
Replace buttons.
Fix small holes in knitwear before they become enormous holes in knitwear.
And autumn feels like the perfect time to do it.
You're pulling jumpers and coats back out after months in storage anyway.
I want a proper little basket somewhere containing thread, needles, spare buttons and all the things I keep losing precisely when I need them.
4. Making one big pot of something and eating it for days
This might be my favourite autumn tradition.
Soup.
Stew.
Curry.
Something bubbling away while the weather outside becomes increasingly unpleasant.
We've become so used to every meal needing to be different that eating the same thing twice somehow feels like failure.
I want the opposite.
I want to make an enormous pot of soup on Monday and still be eating it on Wednesday.
There's something very old-fashioned and sensible about having food ready.
And somehow soup always tastes better the next day anyway.
5. Writing recipes down instead of saving 800 of them
I have recipes saved everywhere.
Pinterest.
Screenshots.
Bookmarks.
Notes.
Probably something I've emailed myself.
And then when I actually want a recipe, I can't find any of them.
So I want to bring back the handwritten recipe book.
An actual working one.
With stains on it.
Crossed-out measurements.
"Use less sugar next time."
"Mum liked this."
"Don't bother making this again."
Recipes taken from friends.
Family recipes.
Things we've invented because there was half a cabbage that needed using.
I love old handwritten cookbooks because they're not really just recipes.
They're little records of how somebody lived.
6. Calling round with food
This feels like something we've lost a little.
Not everywhere.
But enough.
You make too much cake.
You take some next door.
Someone has loads of apples.
They give you a bag.
You've grown approximately 4,000 courgettes because courgette plants have no understanding of moderation.
Everybody gets courgettes.
Living somewhere small has made me think about this more. We've been given apples, and chillis since being here.
Food is such an easy way of saying:
I thought of you.
I think we could all do with a little more of that.
7. Letting evenings actually get quieter
This might be the hardest one.
Autumn nights used to change people's lives because once it got dark, there were fewer things you could physically do.
Now the sun goes down and...
Netflix.
YouTube.
Emails.
TikTok.
News.
Messages.
Shopping.
Work.
Another episode.
I don't want to stop using technology.
Obviously.
But I would like some autumn evenings where the darkness actually means something.
Lamp on.
Phone somewhere else.
Book.
Music.
Writing.
Maybe a fire.
We complain constantly that life feels fast while carrying devices specifically designed to make sure our brains never experience three consecutive seconds of silence.
Perhaps winter is allowed to be quieter.
8. Treating autumn as preparation, not just an aesthetic
This is probably the one living in an old cottage has taught me most.
Autumn isn't really the event.
Winter is coming.
The roof needed checking.
Chimneys needed sweeping.
Wood needed drying.
Food needed storing.
Animals needed preparing.
Clothes needed repairing.
The garden needed sorting.
If you didn't do those things, January could become quite unpleasant.
We've got our own version.
Our greenhouse roof needs properly fixing.
The workshop roof needs attention before Scottish storms decide to finish the job for us.
The boiler needs checking.
The chimneys need sweeping.
We've got outside pipes to deal with.
And I want more winter-growing beds ready.
It isn't especially glamorous.
Nobody is going to make a Pinterest mood board called Woman Checks Water Pipe Before Frost.
But I like it.
There's something grounding about noticing:
The season is changing.
What does the house need?
What does the garden need?
What do we need?
And then getting on with it.
Maybe this is the autumn I actually want
I don't want to recreate some imaginary past where everybody spent October cheerfully making jam beside a roaring fire.
People were cold.
People were poor.
Winter was genuinely dangerous.
There are many, many reasons I am delighted to live now.
But I do think we've lost some of the rhythm of the year.
Summer ends.
Autumn arrives.
We prepare.
We preserve.
We repair.
We bring things inside.
We share what we've grown.
We make heavier food.
We turn the lights on earlier.
We slow down a bit.
None of that needs to become another enormous lifestyle project.
Maybe you make one jar of jam.
Maybe you sew one button back on instead of replacing the shirt.
Maybe you make soup from whatever is left in the fridge.
Maybe you collect some branches on your walk and stick them in an old vase.
Tiny things.
But I think that's the kind of autumn I want more of.
Less about buying a seasonal life.
More about actually living one.
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