A Good Omen for the Future? How Autumn Welcomed Me at the Homestead

This October, Poland welcomed me with the kind of autumn I had been dreaming of - golden, calm, and full of quiet light. I hadn’t been at my homestead since July, and I was curious to see how it had changed. It’s alive now, always transforming. Each visit feels like coming back to something both familiar and new.

When I arrived, the air was crisp, the light soft and warm. On the way from the airport, I sat in the car, glued to the window, watching the beauty of this simple moment. The road framed by trees glowing in golds and reds, fields stretching under a wide sky. That scene stayed with me - I can still close my eyes and see it.

Poland in October - gold, copper, and quiet water

I had planned only three days of work, thinking it would be calm and quick. But in the usual Siedlisko style, new ideas appeared faster than we could count them :) Together with my family, we worked, laughed, carried birch logs, and built something new - a bird feeder with a little water station for the garden visitors, and two hedgehog gates.

A new bird feeder before winter - small gesture, big joy

Many of you mentioned it before, and you were right - fences can trap more than just space; they can block life. So we fixed it. Two small gates are now open in the fence, inviting hedgehogs to wander safely through. A small gesture, but one that changes things. I want this place to hum and rustle with life, not stay sealed off from it.

I also created a new garden island - this time more natural, wilder, inspired by the forest itself. Birch logs, stones, heathers, and fallen leaves - all mixed in with soil from the woods and a touch of peat. It’s a small ecosystem in progress.

In time, I’ll add more plants - maybe wild strawberries and herbs - and a little iron bench, half-sunny, half-shaded, a corner to pause and breathe.

And then came the hedge - my hornbeams. Planted in spring, they had a tough season. I gave each one a mix of soil and compost, covered with wood chips for warmth. They looked fragile but determined. Next spring, I’ll fill the gaps and add more trees - beeches, blackthorn, maybe cherry plum. I don’t want a straight wall of green, but a living, changing border where birds will sing and nest.

Before leaving, I planted bulbs - daffodils, narcissus, and alliums. A quiet promise for spring.

When I booked my flight a month ago, I told myself that if I got even one day of sunshine, it would be a good sign - a good omen for what’s ahead. And then, as if on cue, I got three perfect days. As if the land itself was whispering: It will all be fine. Better than fine.

Time well spent, truly.