Salon No. 3: Gathering In
The first cold morning, a larder full of jars, the equinox on its way, and a first word about the Inner Chamber.
Dear friend,
The first cold morning arrived this week. I opened the back door and the air had changed: that clean, faintly smoky edge that means the year has turned. Lenisa stood on the step, considered the situation, and went straight back to bed. I envied her.
It is the season of gathering in, and the house knows it.
In the larder
I have spent the last fortnight filling jars. Plum jam, a rather ambitious green tomato chutney, and six jars of pickled beetroot that turned my hands purple for two days. The larder shelf is fuller than it has been all year. There is something deeply settling about it. Every jar is a small promise to the dark months: you will be provided for.
I know not everyone has a garden, or the time to make preserves. You do not need to. Gathering in can look like buying a sack of good potatoes, or a jar of honey from the market, or simply putting a few extra tins in the cupboard. The gesture is what matters. We are telling the house, and ourselves, that we are ready.
The equinox is coming
In a few days, the light and the dark will be equal, and then the dark half of the year begins. I will be writing about Mabon, the autumn equinox, and why it asks us for balance rather than busyness. If September has already swept you up in its new routines and resolutions, please consider this a gentle invitation to slow down.
What has been happening at Haus Hexe
- I wrote about the Hearth Keeper and the Wanderer, the pair of archetypes I meet most often in the women who find their way here. Judging by your replies, a great many of you carry both, and argue with yourselves daily.
- For those of you house-hunting this autumn, I have shared how I go about reading a house before you buy it.
- And Lenisa had an essay all of her own: she always finds the warm spot. She has not read it. She is, as ever, far too busy resting.
A little something coming
Several of you have asked whether there will ever be somewhere to go deeper, beyond these letters and essays. There will. I am quietly shaping the Inner Chamber, a smaller, more intimate room for the work that asks for more time and attention. It is not ready yet, and I will not rush it. But I wanted you to know it is being built, and that you will be the first to hear.
Until then, the Salon is where we gather. Light a candle at supper this week. Bring in a blanket. Fill one jar with something good.
With love from a house that is slowly turning inward,
Ramona