Hello my loves,
November has arrived, and the garden is looking very, VERY pleased with itself.
The roses are putting on their annual performance, the days are growing warmer, and the chickens have decided that anything freshly planted is a personal invitation to investigate.
I'm spending most mornings in the garden before heading into the studio, usually making mental lists of things I need to do and promptly forgetting half of them by the time I've put the kettle on.
But amongst all the lovely chaos of late spring, I've been thinking about something a little less flowery.
Bitterness.
Not exactly the sort of thing you'd expect to find amongst the roses, is it?
A Funny Old Thing, Bitterness
I used to think letting go meant accepting that something was over.
A friendship, a chapter of life, a relationship that hadn't turned out quite how you'd hoped.
Turns out, that's only half the job.
Because you can stop speaking to someone, move on with your life, surround yourself with wonderful people and still find yourself getting cross about something that happened six months ago while you're peeling potatoes for dinner.
And really, what a colossal waste of a perfectly good afternoon.
I've been thinking a lot about that lately.
About how easy it is to let an old hurt quietly turn into bitterness. How something that initially made you sad can, if you're not careful, start making you rather cross with the world.
I don't particularly like admitting that. I'd much rather tell you I've handled every difficult situation in my life with extraordinary grace and dignity.
Unfortunately, I'm human. And sometimes being human means replaying conversations in your head, composing exceptionally clever responses three weeks too late and wondering why someone couldn't simply have behaved a little differently.
But I've started asking myself a rather important question.
What exactly am I gaining from holding on to this? The answer, more often than not, is absolutely nothing. I'm not changing what happened. I'm not making someone understand my point of view. I'm not somehow undoing the disappointment. I'm simply carrying something around that no longer deserves so much of my attention.
And I think that's the part of letting go we don't talk about enough.
It's not always about saying goodbye to someone.
Sometimes it's about saying goodbye to the version of a story you've been telling yourself over and over again.
The one where things should have been different. Where someone should have apologised. Where you should have said something cleverer, kinder or perhaps considerably less kind.
I've come to realise that moving forward doesn't require a perfectly satisfactory ending.
You don't need to agree with someone's behaviour to stop thinking about it.
You don't need to pretend something didn't hurt to decide that you're finished carrying it.
And you certainly don't need to spend your lovely spring afternoons being cross with someone who isn't even there.
There's quite enough to be getting on with.
Making Peace With What Was
One of the loveliest things about getting older, I think, is gradually becoming more comfortable with the idea that not everything needs resolving.
Some friendships end without a proper conversation. Some people misunderstand us. Some situations simply don't have a neat little conclusion tied up with a pretty ribbon.
And while I still find that difficult at times, I'm learning that I don't need to keep returning to something just because I didn't like the way it ended.
I can remember the good parts.
I can acknowledge the difficult parts.
And I can leave the whole thing where it belongs.
In the past.
Because I've got a rather lovely life happening right in front of me, and I'd hate to miss any of it because I'm too busy looking over my shoulder.
There's a garden to tend, flowers to arrange, a little boy growing up far too quickly and some wonderful people who deserve the very best of me.
And I'd quite like to give it to them.
So that's what I'm working on this November.
Not becoming some impossibly serene woman who floats through life entirely unbothered. I think we can safely rule that out.
Just learning to recognise when a thought, a memory or an old disappointment has had quite enough of my time.
And choosing to spend that time on something better.
Preferably involving flowers, good food and a glass of something cold.
From the Garden
Keeping the Roses Happy Through Late Spring
November is one of my favourite months in the garden, particularly when it comes to roses.
My David Austins are beginning to put on a beautiful show, and I'm finding myself wandering around each morning inspecting new buds, checking which varieties have opened overnight and generally behaving like someone with absolutely nothing else to do.
Which couldn't be further from the truth.
But if there's one thing I've learnt from growing roses, it's that a little attention now makes such a difference to how they perform as we move into summer.
Here are a few things I'm concentrating on this month.
1. Deadheading, and plenty of it
Once a rose has finished flowering, I like to remove the spent bloom rather than leaving it on the plant.
For repeat flowering varieties, this encourages the plant to put its energy into producing another flush of flowers rather than developing seed hips.
I generally cut back to a healthy leaf or outward-facing bud, making sure the plant keeps a lovely open shape.
And yes, sometimes I get a little carried away with the secateurs.
2. Watering properly
Adelaide summers aren't particularly forgiving, and as the temperatures begin climbing, I'm making sure the roses are getting a good, deep drink.
I much prefer watering deeply at the base of the plants rather than giving them a quick sprinkle every day.
It encourages stronger roots and helps them cope better as the hotter weather arrives.
Early mornings are my favourite time to do this, before the sun becomes too enthusiastic.
3. Keeping the soil covered
Mulch is one of those rather unglamorous gardening jobs that makes an enormous difference.
A lovely layer of organic mulch helps retain moisture, regulate soil temperature and keep weeds at bay.
Just leave a little breathing room around the base of the rose.
4. Feeding for another flush
Repeat-flowering roses are hungry little things, particularly when they're producing bloom after bloom.
I like to keep an eye on their growth and feed according to the fertiliser instructions, making sure the soil is adequately moist.
Once the really hot weather arrives, I'm a little more cautious about feeding stressed plants.
5. Bringing the best blooms indoors
Possibly my favourite part.
I love cutting a few roses early in the morning, before the day becomes too warm, and bringing them into the house.
A single beautiful rose in a little vessel can be just as lovely as an enormous arrangement.
And as a florist, I think there's something rather nice about arranging flowers simply because I want to, with no brief and no deadline.
A little gardening note: If you're growing roses in Adelaide, keep an eye out for aphids, thrips and signs of fungal disease as the weather changes. Good airflow and regular observation make it much easier to spot problems early.
From My Kitchen
Late Spring Burrata Salad
With heirloom tomatoes, mango, basil and honey balsamic dressing.
This is exactly the sort of thing I want to eat as the weather begins warming up.
Beautiful ripe tomatoes, sweet mango, creamy burrata and plenty of fresh basil. A little sweet, a little sharp and absolutely wonderful with crusty bread.
It's also one of those recipes that looks considerably more impressive than the amount of effort involved.
My favourite kind.
Serves: 4 as a side or starter
You'll need:
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2 balls of fresh burrata
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3-4 heirloom tomatoes, preferably in a mixture of colours
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2 ripe mangoes
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1 handful of cherry tomatoes
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A generous handful of fresh basil
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2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
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1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
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1 teaspoon honey
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Flaky sea salt
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Freshly cracked black pepper
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Crusty sourdough, to serve
To make:
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Slice the heirloom tomatoes into generous, uneven pieces and arrange them on a large serving platter.
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Cut the mango into slices and scatter amongst the tomatoes, along with the halved cherry tomatoes.
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Nestle the burrata in the centre, tearing it open slightly just before serving.
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Whisk together the olive oil, balsamic vinegar and honey, then drizzle over everything.
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Finish with plenty of fresh basil, flaky sea salt and black pepper.
Serve immediately with crusty sourdough.
A little extra: If I'm making this for friends, I'd add a few slices of prosciutto and some toasted pistachios.
The sort of dish that belongs in the middle of a table, surrounded by people helping themselves, pouring another glass and staying far longer than originally planned.
The Rose Garden Edit
A few little things catching my eye this November.
What I'm Wearing
A Little Summer Nostalgia
I've been rather taken with vintage inspired details lately.
Not an entirely new wardrobe, mind you. More the lovely little additions that make an outfit feel a bit more considered.
I'm thinking broderie anglaise, delicate jewellery, silk scarves, tortoiseshell sunglasses and beautiful woven accessories.
A nod to those old photographs of summer holidays in the English countryside, where everyone looks impossibly elegant despite apparently spending the entire day outdoors.
I've also been rediscovering pieces I already own, trying different combinations and reminding myself that a wardrobe doesn't need constant additions to feel exciting.
One lovely accessory can completely change an outfit.
And there's something rather satisfying about finding an old favourite at the back of the wardrobe and wondering why on earth you stopped wearing it.
What I'm Eating
Aside from an abundance of burrata, I'm looking forward to stone fruit season.
Peaches, nectarines and cherries, preferably eaten over the kitchen sink.
I'm also loving the idea of simple summer suppers.
Fresh tomatoes with good olive oil. Warm bread. Roast chicken with lemon and herbs. Little bowls of olives. Beautiful salads with plenty of fresh produce.
The kind of food that doesn't require an afternoon in the kitchen but still feels rather special when you put it on a lovely plate.
What I'm Listening To
My musical taste has been rather all over the place lately. One minute I'm enjoying a beautifully composed period drama soundtrack, the next I'm belting out Céline Dion.
A little bit of everything, really.
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Céline Dion - Because sometimes you need a magnificent power ballad and having no regard for the people who might be able to hear you singing along.
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The new Sense and Sensibility soundtrack — Beautiful, romantic and exactly the sort of music that makes arranging flowers feel like a scene from a period drama. All that's missing is a windswept gentleman appearing at the studio door.
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Queen — For the days when something with a little more energy is required. Freddie Mercury has been keeping me company through more than a few busy studio afternoons.
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Norah Jones — For quieter mornings, a slow cup of tea and those lovely moments before the working day properly begins.
There doesn't seem to be any particular theme to my listening habits at the moment, other than an appreciation for a good melody and a healthy amount of drama.
And really, I wouldn't have it any other way.
What I'm Loving
Old books with beautiful covers. The first really warm evenings of the season. Fresh herbs picked straight from the garden. Vintage china that doesn't match. A good conversation that turns into a three hour catch-up.
And those friendships where you can be completely yourself, without having to think too hard about any of it.
They're rather precious, aren't they?
The November Special
A Little Rose Garden Dinner Party
Flowers, food, candles and the wonderful art of having people around.
I've always loved the idea of entertaining.
Not the terribly formal sort, where everyone sits bolt upright and you're worried about which fork to use.
I'm talking about long lunches that become dinners. Beautiful food passed around the table. Flowers gathered from the garden. Someone pouring another glass of wine while everyone insists they really ought to be getting home.
And nobody actually gets up.
That's my favourite kind.
So for this month's special feature, I thought I'd put together a little guide to hosting a late spring gathering at home.
Nothing extravagant. Nothing that requires hiring a stylist or purchasing an entirely new dinner service.
Just a few thoughtful details that make an ordinary afternoon feel wonderful.
The Menu
I like to keep things simple when entertaining, particularly as the weather warms up.
The idea is to spend time with your guests, not disappear into the kitchen for forty-five minutes while everyone wonders what's happened to you.
To begin
Our late spring burrata salad with heirloom tomatoes, mango and basil, served with beautiful crusty sourdough.
For the main
Lemon and herb roast chicken, served with crispy baby potatoes and a simple green salad.
Something sweet
A large bowl of strawberries and raspberries, little meringues and softly whipped cream.
Essentially an Eton mess that everyone can help themselves to.
To drink
A lovely chilled rosé, sparkling water with lemon and mint, or a jug of homemade lemonade.
And plenty of tea afterwards, naturally.
Setting the Table
Here's where I get a little carried away.
I love a table that feels as though it's been collected and put together over time.
Old plates, mismatched glasses, a linen tablecloth, perhaps a little vintage silverware.
Nothing too perfect.
In fact, I think a table with a bit of personality is far more interesting than one where everything matches.
For late spring, I'd keep the colours soft and fresh.
Creamy whites, faded pinks, a little buttery yellow and plenty of green.
A simple linen tablecloth makes a lovely starting point, and from there you can add whatever beautiful things you already have at home.
You don't need to buy a single new thing.
Although I can't promise I won't be tempted by another piece of vintage china if I happen to find one.
The Flowers
Naturally, this is my favourite part.
Rather than creating one enormous centrepiece, I love using several smaller arrangements scattered along the table.
Bud vases are wonderful for this.
They're easy to move around, they don't block conversation, and you can use beautiful individual stems without needing enormous quantities of flowers.
For November, I'd choose whatever looks particularly lovely in the garden or at the flower market.
A few garden roses, some sweet peas, perhaps a little cosmos, delicate foliage and something with movement.
The trick is to vary the heights while keeping the arrangements low enough that guests can see one another across the table.
I also like to leave a little breathing room between the flowers.
The food deserves somewhere to go, after all.
And please don't feel as though every vase needs to match.
Old bottles, little ceramic jugs, vintage glassware and small vessels collected over time can look absolutely beautiful together.
The Finishing Touches
A few things I think make a table feel extra lovely:
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Candles. Even during the day. There's something beautiful about candlelight as the afternoon begins turning into evening.
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Cloth napkins. They don't have to match, and a few little creases only add to the charm.
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A handwritten menu. Completely unnecessary, but rather lovely if you're feeling creative.
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Music. Something gentle enough that nobody has to shout over it.
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A little bowl of seasonal fruit. Peaches, lemons or whatever happens to look particularly beautiful.
And perhaps most importantly, don't spend the entire time worrying about whether everything is perfect.
Your guests haven't come to inspect your tablecloth.
They've come to see you.
A Little Note on Hosting
I think we're sometimes so determined to make everything beautiful that we forget the reason we're doing it in the first place.
The point isn't to create a picture-perfect afternoon.
It's to bring people together.
To make lovely memories. To have proper conversations. To laugh about things that probably aren't particularly funny to anyone else.
Some of my favourite gatherings have involved very ordinary food, slightly mismatched furniture and a house that was nowhere near as tidy as I'd have liked.
And I wouldn't change a thing.
Because the best part of having people around is never really the flowers, or the food, or how beautifully you've folded the napkins.
It's the people sitting around the table.
And after everything I've been reflecting on this month, I think that's something worth celebrating.
The people who show up. The ones who make you laugh. The ones you can sit beside in complete comfort, without having to explain yourself.
So perhaps this November, invite a few of those people around.
Put some flowers on the table.
Make something lovely to eat.
Open a bottle of wine.
And enjoy the wonderful business of being together
Until next month,
With love & roses,
Kels xx