There’s something deeply satisfying about harvesting in autumn. Even if it’s just a handful of herbs you’ve kept alive on your windowsill or a single carrot pulled out of the soil looking a bit wonky and surprised to see you, it hits different this time of year. It’s not just food. It’s a pause. A quiet moment where you realise: the work I did months ago? It mattered.And today, I want to talk about that harvest.Not the romanticised, golden field version.The small, scruffy, real kind; balcony baskets, allotment beds, pots tucked into corners, and whatever else you’ve managed to coax into growing.Because even now, even as the days shorten and the weather cools, there’s still so much growing to be done. And when it comes to eating seasonally, cooking with what’s in front of you, and preserving those small harvests? Autumn is where it all comes together.Growing in Small Spaces (Yes, Even Now)If you’ve been here a while, you’ll know: we don’t have a sprawling garden. Our main growing spaces are: a 1m x 4m balcony, two floors up, with patchy light and random gusts of wind, and a small, scruffy allotment plot.And still nine seasons in we’re pulling food from it and loving it.Tomatoes that made it through summer. Courgettes that tried to take over the world. Herbs tucked into every available corner.The Allotment in Autumn: Messy, Honest, and MagicDown at the allotment, things are winding down, but it’s not over. Far from it. This is the season of roots, storage crops, and putting the soil to bed.The courgettes have usually packed it in by now. The tomatoes are sulking. But the beans are drying on the vine, the squash is fattening up, and the carrots and onions are waiting for the fork. I like to head down in the early evening, basket in hand, and come home with muddy veg and cold fingers. It’s one of the most grounding feelings I know.There’s also the clean-up… pulling old plants, clearing space, layering mulch or cardboard to protect the soil over winter. It’s the kind of work that doesn’t give you instant gratification, but it matters. It’s slow stewardship. It’s thinking ahead, even when the garden’s starting to look like it’s giving up.And there’s still time to sneak in some autumn sowings, overwintering onions, garlic, broad beans. The stuff that sits patiently through the cold and explodes into life in spring. It’s quiet, humble gardening. The long game. My favourite kind.Autumn in the KitchenOnce the food’s in the basket (or bag, or jumper — no shame), the real magic starts. The kitchen turns seasonal too.This is when the slow cooking starts. Big pots of soup. Roasted roots. Crumbles. Casseroles with everything chucked in. Bowls that steam up your glasses when you lean in.We make tomato sauce from the glut, freeze berries, whizz up pesto from the last of the basil, and stuff herbs into ice cube trays with olive oil. It’s not fancy. It’s practical. It’s “future me will thank you” food.And I’ll be honest… we don’t have a giant freezer or a dreamy pantry. Our kitchen is small. Our storage is small. But every year, we still manage to tuck away a bit of autumn. And when I pull out that tomato sauce in January, it’s like the season left me a note: Hey, remember this? You grew it. You made it. You’re still doing it.Real Meals, No Aesthetic RequiredI’m not here for curated meal prep shots. I’m here for traybakes made from whatever’s in the allotment basket. Omelettes with herbs you snipped from a pot next to the washing line. One-pot pastas that somehow feel fancy because there’s garlic and kale in them.This is the kind of cooking that feels good. Not because it’s complicated, but because it’s connected.It’s the kind of cooking where you remember: this food didn’t just show up. It came from somewhere. Maybe even from your own hands. And that matters.Sometimes we light a candle at dinner. Not for the vibes, but to mark the moment. To slow down. To give thanks, quietly, for the work that went in. For the fact we get to eat this way. I want my kids to remember that food isn’t just something you grab. It’s part of the cycle. Part of the season. Part of us.If You’re New to Growing — Start HereIf you’re reading this and thinking, I don’t grow much, that’s okay. Start small. One pot of herbs. One tray of roasted veg. One soup that uses what’s in season. That’s enough.You don’t need to be a farmer. You don’t need a huge kitchen or a big garden or a fancy dehydrator. You just need the willingness to notice what’s growing, and work with it. Let it feed you. Let it teach you. Let it slow you down.The Season of EnoughAutumn isn’t here to tell you to do more. It’s here to remind you what enough feels like. Enough food. Enough work. Enough harvest. Enough you.So whether you’re pulling a few carrots from the soil, or just adding a handful of balcony herbs to your dinner, you’re doing it. You’re part of the rhythm. You’re part of the season. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit <a href="https://theslowlivingcollective.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&#38;utm_campaign=CTA_2">theslowlivingcollective.substack.com/subscribe</a>

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