Show Notes
There’s this moment, right at the start of autumn, where everything changes, but not all at once. It’s the cooler air before the sun rises. The soft light slanting in through the window. The damp earth smell after it rains. The trees start their slow colour change, the shadows grow a little longer, and the energy of everything shifts. If you watch and listen you can feel it. And in our home, when the seasons shift, so does our learning. This time of year doesn’t scream new term to me. It doesn’t scream anything. It quietly taps you on the shoulder and says, you can slow down now. So we do. Ditch the Pressure to “Get Back On Track” September rolls in and the world loses its mind. Everyone’s sprinting back to something; school, routine, productivity. Even in the home ed world, there’s this creeping sense that we should be ramping things up. But here’s the thing: if you’re home educating, you’re not bound to that calendar. You don’t need to make your learning look more “official” just because it’s a new academic year. Honestly? Autumn is the perfect time to do the opposite. To slow down. To tune in. To trust that learning doesn’t get better when it gets louder, it gets better when it gets deeper. Let’s slow down and journey together through the seasons with simplicity and intention. Subscribe to receive simple musings directly in your inbox.
Learning What’s Actually Happening Outside We don’t follow some idealised seasonal Pinterest plan over here. We look outside. That’s it. Autumn gives us all the prompts we need. Leaves changing colour. Birds on the move. Spiders spinning webs in the corners of everything. Mushrooms popping up where yesterday there was nothing. We go for a walk, and the questions come naturally:“Why are the leaves red now?”“Where are the geese flying to?”“Do worms sleep in winter?” That’s science. That’s literacy. That’s wonder. No worksheets needed. Just curiosity and luxury of time to follow it. Yes, We Do Crafts… Do we do seasonal crafts? Yes. But I’m not cutting out 20 felt leaves while my kids ignore me and the kitchen looks like a Pinterest fail. I’m talking simple stuff… beeswax candles, leaf prints, lanterns for those darker evenings, salt dough if we can be bothered. We make things that feel like the season. That’s the point. Not the matching aesthetic or the perfect Instagram reel, just that tangible, grounded reminder: this is where we are right now. That matters more than any curriculum. More Books Something about autumn makes us all crave story. The darker evenings, the earlier bedtimes, the slow afternoons, it just fits. So we lean into that. Our seasonal book basket gets heavy: autumn, migration, harvest, myths, forest stories. We read aloud more. It’s not always peaceful. But it is seasonal. And honestly, if reading does a lot of the heavy lifting in our “curriculum” for a few months, I’m fine with that. Some seasons are about projects and energy. Others are about listening, resting, and letting words do the work. The Season of Introspection (and Not Just for the Kids) There’s something about this time of year that naturally pulls us inward. So we make space for that too. We keep it simple, like drawing what we noticed on our walk or writing poems if the mood strikes, or just naming how the season feels in our bodies. Sometimes we do seasonal self-portraits. “How are you changing right now?” is a big question, but kids get it in a way adults forget. And that’s all learning, too: emotional literacy, art, identity, connection. If You Want to Tick the Boxes, You Still Can For the record — if you want to tie it all back to subjects, that’s easy: * Science: fungi, hibernation, decay, seed dispersal * Maths: baking, measuring, conker-counting * Literacy: journalling, poetry, seasonal vocabulary * History: harvest traditions, ancestral celebrations, equinox myths It’s all right there, hidden in plain sight. But you don’t have to make it formal to make it meaningful. Slow the Hell Down (Seriously
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There are some things I used to compromise on without really noticing and I would explain them away as nothing more than practicality. Listen, I don’t think all compromise is bad because obviously it isn’t and sometimes life requires compromise… none of us are moving through life getting exactly what we want at every moment. But slowly, over the past few years, I have started to realise that some of the compromises I was making weren’t neutral meaning they were costing me something.
I think one of the most grounding things seasonal living has taught me is that not every season asks the same thing from us, and I don’t just mean the seasons outside the window, although I do mean those too. I mean the quieter seasons of our lives, the less obvious ones, the seasons of holding things together, of building. The seasons of rest, of tending, recovering, recalibrating, waiting, grieving, beginning again. The seasons that don’t arrive neatly on a calendar like the actual seasons, but still shape the way we move through our days.
I think one of the most uncomfortable parts of living intentionally is realising that your life might stop making sense to other people and that’s not because you’re doing anything wrong and it’s not because they are doing anything wrong either, but because difference, when it is lived honestly, has a way of unsettling the stories people carry about what a good life is supposed to look like. There is an unspoken expectation in modern life that our choices should be broadly recognisable. Ideally, they should also be explainable. If we choose something different around work, family, home, ambition, money, education or pace, we are often expected to justify it in a way that reassures other people we haven’t made a terrible mistake, it’s as though our lives need to pass some kind of public approval test before we are allowed to feel settled inside them. But life doesn’t need to be universally appealing to be deeply right for you, in fact, it only needs to be coherent to the person living it snd this is something I have had to learn slowly, and sometimes uncomfortably, over the years. I live a life that many people wouldn’t choose; I home educate my children, I live in a small, 650sq ft home by choice, I centre my days around home, rhythm, presence and ordinary life rather than constant expansion, I identify as a homemaker and I have opted out, where I can, from certain forms of pace, productivity and visibility. Not as a rejection of modern life entirely and certainly not because I think everyone should live like me, but because this is how I stay well inside the life I am actually living. And those choices are not meant to be persuasive (a very common assumption) they are simply mine and I speak to those who either associate with this way of living too, or desire to live in a similar way. I think that is where so much unnecessary tension begins. We assume that when someone makes a different choice, they must be making a statement about ours. * If someone home educates, it can be read as a criticism of school. * If someone stays in a small home, it can be read as a rejection of ambition. * If someone chooses a slower pace, it can be read as laziness. * If someone centres home, family or care, it can be read as regressive, especially for women, whose choices are so often treated as public property and moral declarations rather than personal decisions. But someone else’s inability to imagine themselves in your life is not a verdict on yours; it just means they wouldn’t choose it, it is that simple. And it’s also fine, they don’t have to. I wouldn’t choose lots of other people’s lives either. I can scroll through Instagram and see all sorts of lifestyles that make me think, “Absolutely not for me, thank you kindly”, but I don’t need to announce that in the comments section like a woman holding a clipboard at the gates of acceptable living, because it isn’t my life. And this is the bit we seem to forget… not everything needs our approval or agreement and not everything needs to be filtered through the lens of whether we personally would choose it. Sometimes another person’s life can simply exist. When I first started home educating, I noticed this very quickly. I had made the decision before my first child was even born, so it wasn’t sudden or impulsive. It was something we had thought about deeply. It was a long standing choice rooted in our values, our family rhythm and what we wanted for our children and yet even saying that can make people uncomfortable. Because if I say home education is the best choice for my children, some people hear, “School is the wrong choice for yours” and that’s not an assumption, I have literally had this accusation levied at me more than once. But that is of course not what I am saying… I don’t think every child should be home educated and I don’t think every parent has the capacity, desire or circumstances to home educate. I don’t think school is wrong for every child but I do think home education is
I think many of us are exhausted not because our lives are too small, but because we’ve been taught they should always be bigger, better, more remarkable, more productive and more visible.
Opting out is often presented as the answer isn’t it? The way back to yourself or the antidote to burnout. Or even the thing that will finally make life feel manageable again.