We’re home on our farm in Germany again after the summer in the UK.

We returned to a veg patch that had gone wild with courgettes, tomatoes and cucumbers galore, and an amazing harvest of pumpkins that I can’t wait to roast in the oven and sprinkle with crumbly, sharp feta. Just delicious.

I’ve planted spinach that will last as the weather cools, and soon it’ll be time to clear the beds, tidy things away for winter, climb ladders to clear the gutters before the frost sets in, and keep on top of the yard — sweeping leaves, stacking wood, and generally making sure everything is ready for the colder months.

The last couple of weeks have been full-on — the road trip and ferry crossing back, unpacking everything we’d hauled with us, and our son starting secondary school with a brand-new timetable. Meanwhile, our chickens are in their moulting season, looking like old, weathered rockstars with bald patches and tatty feathers sticking out at odd angles. We also said goodbye to one of them, despite our best efforts to keep her alive. She died in a warm box in the bathroom, safe from her three rather unforgiving coop-mates. It was so sad (I gave her a proper burial in the garden), but there’s something gentle about letting nature take its course. The chickens moult, the leaves turn, things end, and things begin again.

And speaking of beginnings, watching our kiddo stride into this new chapter of school life has made me think a lot about September itself. Summer always feels like a juggle of too much for me. It’s too hot, there’s too many expectations to “make the most of it,” and too many plans crammed in.

But then September arrives. The mornings are suddenly crisp, the light is softer and golden, and I can feel myself exhaling with the farm as it slows down. It’s not the rush of spring, not the heaviness of summer, but a quieter pace that feels like a relief. A chance to pull on my favourite jumpers and cardigans again, tug a beanie hat over my ears, and actually feel comfortable in my own skin.

For many, September feels like a second New Year, a time to add more goals, habits, and routines. I’ve started to look at it a bit differently. Instead of piling things on, I use this season to simplify things. Less rushing, less “should,” less noise.

Nature is always reminding me of this. The chickens shedding what they don’t need. The spinach settling in quietly for the colder months. The trees already letting go of their leaves. Everything pares back, and yet it all keeps going.

So rather than gearing myself up for some huge new goal, I’m using these months to focus on fewer things, smaller things. A steady carrying-through into winter, already knowing what matters and what doesn’t.

For me right now, this looks like taking really good care of my physical and mental health, I’ve been learning to lift heavier weights and walking loads, making sure I get plenty of sleep, and lining up some interesting workshops to do when I’m back in the UK for a few weeks. I’m also about to start Year 3 of my Psychotherapy PGDip — something that still feels both exciting and daunting in equal measure, but definitely part of the path I want to keep walking. And at home, it’s as simple as carving out quiet time to read and write, or the new ritual my wife and I have stumbled into: a coffee on the sofa after we’ve waved our son off on the school bus at 6.50am: German kids start ridiculously early.

Maybe this perspective is useful for you too. If September feels heavy with pressure to add more, what if you looked at it a little differently? Sometimes the real shift comes from paring things back — creating a little more space, a little more air, a little more room for what actually matters.

If September has you craving a slower, clearer way forward, this is exactly the kind of thing I help people with. I’ll be opening up space for new 1:1 coaching clients from mid-October. You can book a free introductory call with me.