Hello,
You may not know this, but September is my favourite of all seasons and months. Not because the forest turns gold, although it does, and beautifully so. It is because September feels like a beginning. A proper one, with a little ceremony to it, the way the first cold morning makes you want to fold your blankets differently, or line up your pens before you have even decided what you will write with them. And most importantly, it's the tingly feeling in my heart, the expectation of something great about to happen.
We Nettlekind are creatures of rhythm. Not by accident, but by design. There is a place for everything, and (more importantly to me) everything returns to its place, every day, without needing to be told twice. I am, I confess, the sort who finds this deeply satisfying. Mr. Dandelion says I would organise the wind if it held still long enough. He is not wrong.
So September, to me, is the month the whole system gets its polish. It's when I spend time, in between canning sessions and mushroom foraging expeditions, reviewing my year and dreaming up the next. This is also when the pantry jars get reorganised and the mycelium-mail routes get checked for slow spots. Even Mossy, my trusty typewriter, gets a little oiling at the joints, though she complains about it the whole time. Everything, checked, everything, in its rhythm. It should all make sense (that is the whole point of a system, is it not?)
Except, of course, for Mrs. Mint.
Mrs. Mint is one of us, make no mistake. She lives by the same calendar, eats at the same long table. But she has never once, in all the years I have known her, kept a rhythm all the way through without breaking it. She will move the teacups to the wrong shelf because she liked how the light hit them there. Ask her about next summer and she will only shrug (far too early to know, she says, and how could she plan a feeling that hasn't happened yet?). I have never quite gotten used to it, though I suppose enough summers with her have taught me the shrug always resolves itself eventually, usually about three months out, and always, somehow, in time to catch the boat.
I keep my life in systems so that nothing slips through the gaps. I remember everything because I have somewhere to put it. Mrs. Mint keeps hers in feeling. If she remembers it, she says, it mattered enough. If she doesn't, well. Perhaps it didn't.
I should say, in fairness to myself, that I am not always the rigid one either. Mr. Dandelion flew me to that jungle you may remember me telling you about, with no more warning than a suitcase and a grin, and I loved every unplanned minute of it. Perhaps what I actually need is not order all the time, but the right Nettlekind who are occasionally allowed to take it away from me.
I did not understand Mrs. Mint for a long time. I am not sure I fully understand her now. But I have come to notice that the moments I remember most fondly are usually the ones she interrupted with something unnecessary and lovely. A system tells you where everything belongs. Mrs. Mint reminds you why you wanted it to be beautiful in the first place. I suppose we need both, though I will only admit that to you, and not to her directly.
It was Mrs Mint, in fact, who talked me into this month's little project (not because it was needed, but because, in her words, "your books deserve better than bare covers"). She is not wrong about that either, even if she is wrong about most things involving planning.
How to dress a book in its autumn coat
You will need: a sheet of paper you love (wrapping paper is perfect, so is old map paper, or the back of something you almost threw away), scissors, a ruler, sticky tape, and something warm to drink while you work, because this is not a project to rush.
- Lay the book flat and open on your paper, and measure enough to wrap it with room to spare (a good five centimetres past every edge, more if your hands are impatient like mine).
- Snip a small notch at the spine, top and bottom, just enough for the paper to fold around it neatly.
- Fold in the side flap
- Fold all the corners in on the diagonal, turning them into neat little triangles.
- Fold each triangle down again, tucking it flat, until every corner sits snug against the cover.
- Secure it all with a little sticky tape. Then turn the book around, and do the very same on the other side.
And there it is: practical, because now the corners are protected from the wear of travel and tea-table accidents. Pretty, because Mrs. Mint would never let it be otherwise.
That is autumn, in our corner of the forest. Half order, half beauty, and neither one willing to fully win.
Until next time,
Mrs. Nettle
A little more of Mrs Nettle…
You can find Mrs Nettle’s paper dolls in the Friendly Nettle shop https://payhip.com/FriendlyNettleStudios
New here?
Catch up on the letters so far at the archive. https://friendly-nettle-studios.kit.com/
