Introducing A Storied Home, in winter.
a guide to creating a cosy cocoon and a place to rest.
Hello, I am so glad you have found your way here… I’m Lyndsay — mother, creative and storyteller with a background in interiors PR.
Step inside Story & Thread., a cosy, layered home where the threads of creativity, interiors and mothering meet. Here, we unearth the stories from the seasons of our lives, with a house & a garden at the heart, and everyday beauty as our guide…
“We talk so much of light, please
let me speak on behalf
of the good dark. Let us
talk more of how dark
the beginning of the day is”.
—Maggie Smith.
Dearest reader…
How are you feeling as we edge deeper into winter and the festive period?
As the living world empties and slows into stillness, it seems that the trappings of the festive season urges us to fill our time and space with lists and busyness. Instead this winter, I have created A Storied Home. — a very gentle guide to creating a sanctuary for softening into the season ahead, led by the senses, and our stories to cultivate a feeling of sacredness and homecoming.
A Storied Home. delves into the importance of softening into our senses and telling our stories at home during each season; it includes gentle intentions for creating softness and sparkle at home in winter; an exploration of the power of the fire element in bringing warmth to our homes, including warming rituals to appeal to each of the senses. I intend to layer more into the guide as the season unfolds, including a chapter about winter flowers/foliage and bringing the outside in; a moodboard recipe for arranging a cosy living space, and more ideas for storytelling and memory-making at home.
Within this post, I include an extract from A Storied Home., ‘A home in winter’, the chapter about my experience of home in winter which I hope you will enjoy. To access the full guide, you would be so welcome to join The Beauty Thread. membership. Please do not hesitate to ask me any questions.
**SAVE THE DATE**
The next online gathering for A Seasonal Salon. winter edition for members of The Beauty Thread. will take place on Thursday 6th February 2025. More details to follow soon…
A home in winter.
(extract from A Storied Home., winter edition).
A nascent/ancient winter love.
In the past, I dreaded the winter months and often daydreamed of jetting off to sunnier climes to escape the harshness of the season — but after many years of unlearning and reconnecting with a more ancient part of myself, I now sense the silent softness that sits side by side with the bleak conditions, and the depth of beauty that lies in the dark.
Where I once operated in summer energy mode all of the time, seeing winter as an inconvenience and rest as something I didn’t have time for, I now understand that as in the living world, rest and quietude is a necessary part of the continuous cycle of growth. Winter is now a time of the year that I look forward to sinking into, most of all, for all of the many reasons to spend curled up at home.
Where I once mourned the loss of vibrancy in the outdoor world, I now see the necessity in the emptiness, the need to strip away and to make sense of the world and ourselves in the silhouettes and the negative space that find both form and formlessness around us.
In winter here in London, we are afforded a mere glimpse of what feels like half light during the day, providing only a brief opportunity for ‘doing’, before we must retreat back to be held by the bones of our homes.
Dark mornings.
Here, our days begin in the inky, dark mornings. On waking, I sense the time by the tone of the light that filters in and frames the edges of the curtains. There is a certain enchantment in waking up, drawing the curtains to disclose more slate darkness beyond with only the outlines of bare trees visible, whilst neighbouring homes gradually reveal twinkly Christmas lights through advent windows, telling the tiny stories of the lives lived there.
My children relish the togetherness in the darkness and it takes us time to rise fully — the process begun by the task of turning on lamps to give a warm glow. In winter, the morning mayhem unfolds to a backdrop of borrowed light and a gradually shifting watercolour sky.
Making our way downstairs, our way is lit by fairy lights on the stairs and we are beckoned by the glistening call of the Christmas tree, before I light candles and turn on corners of light in the kitchen and living room.
Come rain, (snow) or shine, we leave the comfort of home to make our way down the hill to school each morning, and feel into our first sense of the day. I am glad to have this (often bracing) walk in the morning but I am always glad to return home, and after months of feeling pulled in lots of directions, I feel a semblance of order and a new layer of ‘us’ finding its way into the walls of our home.
A winter garden.
These past days I have been dividing any ‘free’ time I have had between writing and being in the garden (when the weather allows between storms). This year more than ever, I am enjoying being in the garden in winter after a period of letting things unravel of their own accord in autumn.
I am working slowly but methodically to cut back and strip away the plants and trees that have become lifeless skeletons; to clear debris from the winter storms and make space for planting bulbs (quite late I know but I am in no rush, I have it on good authority, and experience of last year, that as long as bulbs are in by Christmas, all will be well).
So far, I have planted Narcissus tazetta ‘Paperwhites’ indoors and I am already looking forward to their potent fresh fragrance and pretty white star-like blooms to fill our wintry home. I have planted a number of varieties of Narcissus including ‘Thalia’, ‘Minnow’ and ‘White Petticoat’, a few tulips and some summer snowflake snowdrops, (Leucojum aestivum) which flower later than the traditional snowdrop.
My next task is pulling away the ivy that covers, and cascades over our back fence. For the last few years, I have brought the ivy indoors and draped it over bannisters and mantelpieces, not knowing initially that bringing evergreens inside during winter is an ancient practice, said to bring strength to endure the darkest night and hope that life will return.
I hope to combine the ivy with branches of holly and its berries that we were lucky to receive from our neighbours as a Christmas gift last year and with strung up dried oranges, as much for their scent as for the colour they bring.
Despite enjoying my time outside for its physicality in the act of clearing, the freshness of the bracing air and the connection to the cold earth at this time of year, I can’t spend as long out there as I do in the spring and summer months. Winter draws me indoors, into the shelter of our home.
By following nature’s cues, we can live in a rhythm that honours the ebbs and flows of our energy. The short, dark days lend themselves to hunkering down and bringing warmth and light inside, creating a glow that imbues our homes with spirit.
I am drawn to bringing the season into our home with me, draping it in ivy and filling it with twinkly light.
Where can you find space and stillness to create a warm, cosy cocoon in winter?
Thank you so much for reading, I would love to hear your thoughts and chat more in the comments, or of course feel free to send me an email/message, I really love to hear from you.
I would also be so grateful if you felt called to share any aspect of the post or guide that resonate with you.
A Storied Home. guide is featured below and as a PDF for you to save.
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