Fall Frolics

The first real southeaster of the season usually arrives overnight. By morning the ferry is running late, the maples on the road to the harbour have dropped half their leaves onto the pavement, and the air smells of wet cedar and woodsmoke. Summer on the Gulf Islands gets the postcards. Autumn is the season most people who live here quietly prefer.

Nothing below costs much or takes planning. These are the small things we look forward to once the visitors thin out and the light goes low and gold by four in the afternoon.

Beach walks in wool

A beach in October is a different place from the same beach in July. The logs have shifted, the kelp lies in thick brown ropes along the tide line, and you may have the whole curve of shore to yourself apart from a heron and somebody's dog. It is cool enough to walk hard and warm enough to stop and sit.

Wool is the right fabric for this. It stays warm when it is damp, it shrugs off a light drizzle, and it airs out after a beach fire far better than a synthetic fleece does. A heavy knit over a cotton shirt covers most days. The sweaters in the catalogue list the fibre each one is knit from. Put a toque in the pocket and wear boots you do not mind getting salty.

Apples from the Saturday market

Salt Spring has grown apples for a long time, and old orchards still stand along the back roads. By late September the market tables are stacked with varieties that never reach a supermarket: russets with rough brown skin, tart green cookers, small striped apples that taste faintly of pear. Most growers will cut you a slice if you ask what something is.

Buy more than you think you need. Eat the crisp ones out of hand on the walk back to the car, bake the soft ones, and leave a bowl on the counter for the smell. A paper bag of mixed apples and a wedge of local cheese is a complete lunch on a dry day.

Storm watching

When the wind warnings go up, find a headland or a south-facing beach and go and look. Stay well back from the logs, which roll in surf with no warning, and keep off slick rock. From a safe distance a November sea is worth the cold: grey-green swells, spray coming over the point, gulls hanging almost still in the wind.

The second half of storm watching happens indoors. Kettle on, wet coats on hooks, a candle lit against the early dark. If the power goes out, which it does out here, so much the better. A thermos filled before the storm, a deck of cards and a stack of library books will carry a household through an evening.

Getting dressed in layers

Coastal weather in autumn changes by the hour, so three light layers work better than one heavy one:

• Next to the skin: something that breathes, such as organic cotton, hemp jersey or fine merino.
• In the middle: a wool sweater or a thick overshirt that traps warm air.
• On top: a shell or waxed jacket that keeps out wind and rain. The outerwear section of the catalogue has a few examples.

Peel one off on the uphill and put it back on at the viewpoint. Natural fibres also freshen up overnight on a hook, which means less washing through the damp months when nothing dries on the line.

A few more for the list:

• Chanterelle season in the fir woods, if you go with someone who knows their mushrooms.
• Raking maple leaves onto the garden beds as mulch and leaving them there.
• Soup on Sundays, made with whatever squash came home from the farm stand.
• One last swim in September, while the sea still holds some of its summer warmth.

Then the clocks go back and the afternoons close in. The sweater goes on the hook by the door, slightly salty and smelling of smoke, ready for the next walk.