OCTOBER - SPRING

October always feels like the month when everything gets a little louder.

September is lovely, of course. There are those first warm afternoons and little signs everywhere that winter is finally packing its bags. But October? October commits.

The garden seems to double in size overnight. There are flowers everywhere. The days stretch out. The back door stays open. Washing actually dries on the line before you've forgotten you put it there. And suddenly I want to do things again.

I want to cook proper lunches and eat them outside. I want to plant things I absolutely do not have room for. I want big hair and ballet flats and dresses. I want flowers in every room. I want friends around the table. I want a cold glass of wine at four o'clock while something is cooking in the oven.

Basically, I develop an appetite for life again.

And I think that's what I love most about spring.

Not necessarily the very obvious look! flowers! part — although, as a florist with a garden full of roses, obviously I am VERY susceptible to that — but the way life starts expanding again.

Winter makes everything a little smaller. We retreat inside. We cook warmer food, close the curtains earlier, put on another jumper and tell ourselves we'll deal with the garden later.

Then October arrives and suddenly there is more.

More daylight. More colour. More things growing. More places to go. More things I want to make.

My little world feels wonderfully full again.

The month everything shows off

The garden in October has absolutely no interest in subtlety.

Everything is growing faster than I can keep up with it. There are things that need cutting, tying, watering, deadheading and occasionally rescuing from a chicken who has decided my carefully planted garden bed is actually her personal excavation site.

This is also the time of year when the line between my garden, kitchen and flower studio gets wonderfully blurry. I wander outside to cut something for a vase and come back with chives for dinner. I go looking for herbs and get distracted by a rose. I take scraps out to the chickens and return with eggs.

There is usually a pair of secateurs abandoned somewhere.

And this is when my garden starts influencing my floristry even more than usual. I'm looking at how things actually grow — stems leaning towards the light, flowers sitting at funny angles, tiny bits poking out where they probably shouldn't — and bringing that same looseness into the studio.

Nature, as it turns out, has never once made a perfectly symmetrical bouquet.

I feel vindicated.

This is less of a recipe and more of everything good about October thrown into pastry.

Asparagus because it's spring. Chard, dill and chives from the garden. Eggs from our girls. Salty pancetta. Tangy goat's cheese. And little spoonfuls of fig jam because apparently I am physically incapable of leaving well enough alone.

The fig jam sounds slightly rogue, but trust me. With the goat's cheese and pancetta? Ridiculous.

This is exactly the sort of thing I want to eat outside on a warm spring afternoon with a very simple salad and a cold glass of white wine.

1 sheet shortcrust pastry
6 eggs
200ml thickened cream
1 bunch asparagus
A good handful of chard
100–150g pancetta, diced
100g goat's cheese
2 tbsp fig jam, plus a little extra to serve
A small handful of fresh dill
A small handful of fresh chives
Salt and cracked black pepper

Heat your oven to 180°C fan forced.

Line a tart or quiche tin with the pastry, prick the base with a fork and blind bake until it's just beginning to turn golden.

Meanwhile, fry the pancetta until golden and slightly crisp. Roughly chop the chard and add it to the pan for the final minute or so, just until it begins to wilt.

Trim the asparagus and cut most of it into smaller pieces, keeping a few longer spears for the top because we do care about appearances.

Whisk together the eggs and cream, then add plenty of cracked pepper, a small pinch of salt, chopped dill and chives.

Scatter the pancetta, chard and chopped asparagus over the pastry base. Crumble over the goat's cheese and dot little teaspoons of fig jam between everything.

Pour over the egg mixture and arrange the remaining asparagus prettily-ish on top.

Bake for around 30–35 minutes, or until golden and just set in the middle.

Let it sit for ten minutes before cutting.

I like it with a simple leafy salad dressed with lemon, olive oil, Dijon and a little salt. And another tiny dollop of fig jam on the side.

Bonus points if the eggs came from chickens wandering around your garden.

October in the studio is... a lot.

Beautiful. Ridiculous. Slightly chaotic. But a lot.

Wedding season is well and truly here, which means there are buckets lining the studio floor, ribbons draped over things they shouldn't be draped over, flower orders open on my phone, lists absolutely everywhere and usually at least one moment where I walk into a room and completely forget why I'm there.

There are spring flowers everywhere, though, so it's difficult to complain.

This is the season florists spend winter dreaming about. Sweet peas, roses, delphiniums, beautiful little fluttery things that don't particularly enjoy being handled but which I will continue buying because apparently I enjoy stress.

And then there are the wedding mornings themselves.

The car is packed. Bouquets are sitting in water waiting for their ribbons. I've checked my list approximately 47 times. Everything that has occupied a corner of my brain for months suddenly leaves the studio.

And then I come home and it's quiet again.

Until next week.

I have officially reached the part of the year where getting dressed becomes fun again.

My oversized shirts aren't going anywhere — you'll have to prise those from my cold, dead hands — but now they're being worn with bare legs, floaty skirts, ballet flats and little cardigans for the mornings.

The hair is big.

Obviously.

There is something about spring that makes me want to look slightly more romantic. Soft blues, washed pinks, gingham, tiny florals, cotton and linen. Things that look equally appropriate buying flowers at 6am or wandering around an English village in a film where absolutely nothing bad ever happens.

I'm also very much enjoying ballet flats again, despite the fact that spending an entire wedding setup in them occasionally makes me question my choices.

Beauty is pain - or so they say.

October needs music you can play with all the doors open.

I'm currently firmly in my Fleetwood Mac / Stevie Nicks / slightly witchy woman wandering through a garden era.

Rhiannon is obviously having her annual moment.

There's also Carole King, a little George Harrison, The Cranberries, some Taylor Swift inevitably sneaking in, and whatever classical or film score I've decided I need to dramatically arrange flowers to that particular week.

I firmly believe every mundane task improves by approximately 40% if you give it a soundtrack.

Washing dishes? Montage.

Making dinner? Nancy Meyers.

Conditioning 200 roses alone in a shed? Period drama heroine preparing for battle.

There is one small problem with October in Australia.

It's spring.

And somewhere on the other side of the world, people are wearing chunky knits, carving pumpkins, drinking cider and walking through piles of orange leaves.

This feels deeply unfair to me personally.

Because although I adore spring, there is also a very specific part of my personality that wakes up every October and demands AUTUMN. WITCHES. HALLOWEEN.

So I simply refuse to choose.

I'll have roses blooming outside and Practical Magic playing inside.

I'll spend the afternoon in the garden and the evening pretending I live in New England.

I'll listen to Fleetwood Mac while arranging spring flowers and light a candle that smells like something called Autumn Library.

We contain multitudes.

The first cup of tea outside before the day properly begins. Bringing warm eggs in from the nesting boxes. The smell of tomato vines on my hands. Opening the studio doors while I work. A vase of flowers cut from the garden rather than the market. Dinner while it's still light outside. Clean sheets.. Finding something I planted months ago suddenly flowering when I'd completely forgotten about it.

And that particular late afternoon spring light that makes the garden look far more impressive than it has any right to.

Maybe that's what I love most about spring.

It doesn't arrive all at once.

One day you realise you've left the back door open all afternoon.

Then you're eating dinner outside.

Then there are flowers on every surface and dirt under your fingernails and herbs growing faster than you can use them. The chickens are laying. The roses are opening. The studio is full. Someone is coming over for lunch.

Life gets a little bigger again.

A little messier, too.

But I think I'm very ready for that.

Until next month,

With love & roses,

Kels x 🌸