Most humans get excited about births and marriages. Me? I get excited when bulb deliveries arrive.
This morning, a tantalising box of beautiful, pink Tulip bulbs landed on my doorstep, unexpectedly early, but entirely welcome. I’d ordered them online last week, not quite sure when they’d appear, and now here they are here, full of promise, tucked in their papery jackets, waiting for the right moment to meet the soil.
(There are dwarf Iris bulbs still on their way, but for now, I’m basking in the joyful delight of this delivery).
It feels like a seasonal turning point & one that reminds me how much joy there is in preparing for what’s yet to bloom.
This morning is cloudy and grey. Much cooler than previous days.
Late Summer is beginning to lean towards Autumn.
I’ve noticed the first golden leaves appearing on trees and bushes, with some already fallen onto the ground.
The hedgerows are also just beginning to change colour & the light is also beginning to slant more towards low than high.
It is at this time of the year that the Land...exhales.
Moving from Summer to Autumn feels like a time of quiet unravelling, where what once bloomed begins to turn, and shed and return to the earth.
And in that return, in the silence, there is the medicine.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about mushroom compost. Its fibrous strands, its dark richness, its earthy scent that speaks of decomposition and renewal. Death and rebirth.
It’s not just soil, it’s a story. A layered archive of what has been shed, broken down, and made fertile again.
Mycelial Memory: What the Earth Remembers
Mushroom compost is threaded with mycelium, those ancient, intelligent networks that connect root to root, tree to tree. They carry memory. They transmit warning, nourishment, and wisdom.
In many ways, they mirror the ancestral stories we carry, quiet, connective, often invisible, but deeply alive.
As I walk the Land or sit with clients in healing, I feel those threads.
Old narratives about worth, silence, urgency, regret, shame, all beginning to loosen & start to fall away.
They don’t exactly disappear. They compost ~ and in their breaking down, something shifts, new realisations start appearing, and the new becomes possible.
The Sacred Rot: Honouring Decay
There’s a dignity in decay & falling away.
Mushroom compost doesn’t rush.
It holds the rot with reverence.
It knows that breakdown is not failure, it’s transformation into something new. A rebirth. Success comes in that slow transformative process.
This in-between time, I’m letting go of stories that once protected me but now constrict; roles, that I’ve outgrown; beliefs inherited but rarely questioned.
I’m placing them gently into the compost pile, to transform and transmute. To let them feed & nourish the soil for what is coming next.
Fertile Ground: What Wants to Grow
From this dark richness, new growth will emerge. Not forced. Just quietly ready.
I see it mirrored in the Land as well.
Rogue plants rising from last year’s compost (often called volunteer plants, these are unplanned seedlings that emerge from previous seasons, like errant strands of Calendula). Sometimes seen as weeds these wayward plants offer quiet gifts of resilience and memory.
I also see it in healing: the clients reclaiming their voices, softness, sovereignty, becoming heart-led.
Additionally this year, I have seen it in advocacy & activism, too. Systems are decomposing. Tyrannical mindsets are fraying.
If we tend to this decay wisely, together, we can grow something rooted, regenerative, and authentic.
Garden Tip: Composting with Intention
Composting doesn’t have to be elaborate.
Sometimes, the simplest gestures like when I toss deadheaded blooms to the back of the flower bed, carry the deepest wisdom.
Over winter, those petals & seedheads will break down, returning nutrients to the soil and creating a mulch that feeds next season’s growth.
If you’d like to compost more intentionally, here’s an easy way to begin:
Tip: Simple Compost Recipe for Garden Beds or Pots
- Greens (nitrogen-rich): fresh grass clippings, vegetable peelings*, spent flowers
- Browns (carbon-rich): dried leaves, woody stems, a little straw if to hand
- Moisture: keep it damp but not soggy (rainwater is ideal)
- Air: turn occasionally using a garden fork or a trowel (depending on the state of your knees and back), or layer loosely to allow airflow
- Location: a quiet corner of the garden, or a large flower pot on its side.
* Important note: Don’t be tempted to add food scraps, cooked leftovers, or old eggs to your compost heap or pot as these attract pests, including rats (shudder!). Stick to garden waste and plant matter only.
But what if I don’t have a garden?
If you don’t have a garden, you can still compost in small ways.
Try layering old herbs, flower heads, cut stems from flowers (especially if you have had indoor plants or bouquets of flowers), tea leaves and leaves you have found on your way home.
Place them into a flower pot on a balcony or outdoor ledge (away from pets and not indoors).
[Don’t worry if mould or white fungus appears—this is simply nature’s way of breaking things down. It’s part of the decay process. That’s why we recommend keeping your compost container outside, where it can breathe and transform safely].
You can use this 'recipe' to add to your plants in the Spring.
My offering to you
So here is my offering. As the season turns allow yourself to compost.
Let the old stories & the dramas fall away.
Let the mushroom wisdom guide you quietly, slowly, in structured and quietly intelligent ways. You do not need to rush into rebirth.
Instead, welcome the rogue growth…
…the unplanned seedlings of insight;
…the unexpected softness;
…the truths that rise not from effort, but from fertile surrender.
Honour the decay. Let it be sacred. Let it be slow. Let it nourish what’s coming next.
[Main Image: Copyright - Canva]