After sixteen weeks of living minimally, our container finally arrived, and with it, the boxes marked ‘Fall’ & ‘Halloween’. Tucked inside were garlands, candle holders, and little treasures that have followed us through years of celebrations. Unpacking them felt like opening a time capsule of joy, velvet pumpkins wrapped in tissue, flickering lanterns nestled beside paper bats, and the scent of cinnamon lingering in forgotten corners.

These weren’t just decorations. They were fragments of our family’s rhythm, markers of time, memory, and intention.

Fall First: A Gentle Shift

Autumn in London is softer than Seattle, less dramatic, more poetic. The skies turned silver, the leaves rustled in quiet swirls, and the air carried a kind of hush. We began layering warmth into the house slowly, deliberately. Velvet pumpkins, dried hydrangeas, and amber glass votives found their way onto mantels and windowsills. A rust-colored throw draped over the arm of a chair. A flicker of candlelight in the hallway.

We leaned into texture and tone, rust, ochre, deep plum. It wasn’t about perfection, it was about presence. About marking the season, even in the midst of renovation dust and half-finished rooms.

There’s something grounding about decorating in transition. It reminds you that beauty doesn’t wait for completion, it blooms in the middle of the mess.

Halloween: Familiar Fun in a New Place

Halloween has always been a big deal in our family. Costumes, crafts, spooky playlists, and the annual pumpkin carving contest. This year felt different, new country, new rhythms, but we kept the traditions alive.

We found our decorations (eventually), and the girls helped style the house with paper bats and flickering lights. We sourced local treats, found a local pumpkin patch, and added a few new touches, vintage lanterns, witches hats made from napkins, sparkling cocktails, cupcakes and a scattering of dried leaves that felt perfectly Gothic Revival.

The house may be Victorian, but it welcomed Halloween with open arms. There was laughter, a little chaos, and the kind of joy that only comes from doing something familiar in a completely new way.

It wasn’t the same, but it was ours. And that made it special.

Decorating Through Transition

What made this season so meaningful wasn’t just the décor, it was the act of decorating through transition. We didn’t wait for the house to be finished. We celebrated in the midst of the dust, the delays, the decisions. We honoured what was familiar while embracing what’s new.

We styled corners that weren’t quite ready. We hung things over half-painted walls. We lit candles in rooms still waiting for curtains. And in doing so, we reminded ourselves that home isn’t just a place, it’s a rhythm, a ritual, a feeling.

Final Thoughts

Unpacking our seasonal boxes was more than just decorating, it was reconnecting. With our past, with each other, and with the house itself. These traditions, old and new, are how we root ourselves. How we say,

“We’re here. We’re home. And we’re ready for what’s next.”