Over the past week I’ve ushered a bat from the bathroom, foraged a few premature quinces, and eaten my first purple peach. Is that a thing? In fact, I’ve eaten several. Thank you, Di.

The mornings are darkening; daylight saving will soon slip away. I wake before the birds and covet an hour or so to read. This week: Troy by Stephen Fry — terrific. Thank you for the book, Gaga.

Food, as ever, has been the true measure of the days. A flathead all’acqua pazza at Bistro Merenda — peak joy. At home, a steady rotation of spaghetti: Ortiz anchovies melted into garlic-infused olive oil, finished with a generous snowfall of parmesan and scattering of homemade pangrattato. Our salty, fishy answer to an improvised cacio e pepe.

The weekend arrived in full autumnal form — market wanders, grazing, a little quiet study. Shoes off, lunch on the grass, Grant happily at work on the barn. Joie de vivre, in its simplest register. A swift visit to Queen Victoria Market yielded a wafer-thin slice of Neal’s Yard cheddar, paired with torn focaccia, local olive oil, and an already-opened bottle of Minim rosé — an effortless pre-dinner pleasure. I might opine that such moments are the very point of it all.

In less favourable news, some pantry regulars have taken to ambitious new heights — no longer small, incremental rises but leaps from $12 to something closer to $20. I returned with a bottle of Italian balsamic, worthy of a small loan. It will be rationed accordingly.

With geopolitical tremors echoing everywhere, the act of a late afternoon walk or plucking fruit straight from the tree — feels entirely necessary. On the study front, I’ve been writing as an ancient observer, recounting present events in the manner of Thucydides; a small exercise in perspective, and a way of sifting sense from the day’s crushed mental edifices.

PS — Thank you to everyone who has ordered the pocketbook. Copies will begin shipping shortly.

Autumn, with Anchovies and Perspective

Sunflowers, Soup Weather and the First Fire