Who We Become In The Fall

It started one afternoon in the office, the way most of our favorite ideas do, with tea on the table, Melissa chiming in from customer service (always feisty, always right), and Bassma sketching out what fall should feel like in a campaign. Jason leaned back, tossing out ideas in that way only he can, while Mattee scribbled notes about how it might flow into email. Baltej was already imagining how it could live on Instagram. Even Kai drifted in from the supply chain side, curious to see how the ingredients he works so hard to source might show up in the story.

What came out of that swirl of voices was something surprisingly simple: if you like certain herbs and spices, you might just be a certain kind of person. We started laughing about it, but it stuck, because the more we described them, the truer they became.

The Autumn Gatherer was the first one we spotted. The person who simmers cinnamon sticks in cider, sprinkles nutmeg on pie, drops star anise into mulled wine. They’re the ones who can’t help but turn spices into rituals, filling cupboards and gatherings with warmth.

Then came the Firelight Feaster, championed by Jason. He described the smell of garlic caramelizing in the oven and ginger bubbling in broth, meals made for long tables, clinking glasses, and the kind of nights that stretch late.

Mattee claimed the Harvest Dreamer immediately. Steam rising from chamomile, hibiscus steeping into ruby red, calendula glowing in jars, every detail felt like her, and we all knew it. She reminded us that tea isn’t just a drink, it’s a ritual, a pause, a meditation in the middle of the season.

Baltej, naturally, loved the Woodland Spirit. Mushrooms drying in baskets, nettle and elderberries tucked into jars, juniper and clove waiting like spells. “That’s the one,” he said, already seeing the visuals for it. It’s the person who treats the pantry like a forest floor, and cooking like an adventure.

And then there was the Hearth Keeper. Sage sizzling in butter, pumpkin seeds roasting golden, cinnamon sugar dusting bread, the small, perfect touches that make a kitchen belong to everyone who enters.

By the time Jagatjoti walked in, our compass, as always, we’d filled the room with laughter and a table full of ideas. He just smiled, because he knows this is how it always happens: the herbs and spices spark something bigger, and suddenly we’re all writing ourselves into the story.

Maybe that’s the real magic of fall. Every herb carries a little piece of who we are, and every spice is an invitation, to gather, to feast, to dream, to wander, to keep the hearth warm.