The autumnal equinox, which falls on September the 22nd, is a spoke in the wheel of the year — the brief pause when day and night are perfectly balanced, before the tipping into the darker half of the seasons. In the old calendars, it was a time of harvest and gratitude, a season of preparing pantries and hearts for the coming winter.
Across cultures, this threshold was marked with festivals. The Celts observed Mabon, a harvest rite of thanksgiving where fruits, nuts, squashes, and grains were gathered in and shared with kin and community. Herbs such as sage and thyme flavored the loaves and stews, while rosemary was woven into wreaths to bless the home. It was a season of pausing, giving thanks, and carrying the abundance of the fields inward.
In medieval Europe, the equinox was followed by Michaelmas, the feast of St. Michael, celebrated on September 29. This feast marked the close of the harvest season and the turning toward darker days. Geese were roasted and stuffed with sage, breads baked and shared, and rosemary sprigs placed on the table for protection. Michaelmas carried both joy and reassurance — that with herbs, food, and faith, the long winter could be faced with courage.
Herbs, then, have always been more than seasonings. They are companions at the threshold — steadying the heart, lifting the memory, reminding us of courage as we step into the unknown.
Sage, rosemary, and thyme have long been companions at the turning of the year. Sage, with its soft silvery leaves, was gathered by the Romans with ceremony and never with iron tools, its very name drawn from salvere — to save, to heal. In the Middle Ages it was said that a garden with sage would keep a family protected and well, and even now it reminds us to carry the wisdom of summer into the winter ahead. Rosemary, a plant of memory, has been worn at both weddings and funerals, tying remembrance to love and loss; sprigs hung in kitchens were said to bring protection and clarity of mind. Folklore even tells us that rosemary growing by the door marks a household where the woman rules, a story that always makes me smile. And then there is thyme, delicate in fragrance but bold in story, once stitched into the scarves of medieval knights for courage. In the kitchen it clears and strengthens, reminding us that true bravery often comes in small, unassuming forms. Together these herbs steady, protect, and fortify us at the equinox, carrying wisdom, remembrance, and courage into the darker half of the year.
Out in the hedgerows, autumn offers up her jewels in the form of hawthorn and rose hips. Hawthorn, long regarded in Celtic lore as a tree of enchantment, was believed to guard thresholds between worlds. Its bright berries strengthen the heart in both body and spirit, reminding us to tend carefully to what we love most. Alongside it glows the rose hip, the small lantern of the wild rose that brightens after frost, carrying the gift of vitamin C and a promise of winter nourishment. Together they weave heart and hearth, offering both protection and sustenance as the season turns, holding us steady as we step into the long, quiet months ahead.
(Note: Hawthorn can lower blood pressure and may interact with certain medications. Anyone using prescription heart or blood pressure medicine or if you have any sort of heart condition, should consult a health professional before using hawthorn.)
Garlic may not fit the tidy definition of a leafy kitchen herb, yet it has always been treated as one of the most essential herbs of autumn. As the days grow shorter, garlic is gathered and braided to hang in kitchens, both for its practicality and its lore. In old traditions it was thought to guard the home, a fierce protector against illness and misfortune as the darker half of the year began. In the pantry, garlic stores beautifully, carrying the harvest forward into winter, while in the pot it transforms soups and stews into food that is both hearty and healing. Strong, earthy, and enduring, garlic is as much a symbol of the equinox as sage or rosemary — an herb of health and protection, carrying the warmth of the hearth deep into the cold months ahead.
The old wisdom wasn’t just to admire these plants, but to bring them into daily life — into food, into drink, into ritual. What follows are a few of my favorite ways to invite their gifts to your autumn table.
Apple & Sage Chutney
Sweet-tart apples, raisins, cider vinegar, and fresh sage simmer down into a preserve that carries the orchard’s abundance into winter. Delicious with roasted squash, warm bread and fresh butter, or a slice of robust cheddar cheese.
Ingredients
6 apples, peeled and chopped
1 onion, finely diced
1 cup cider vinegar
½ cup brown sugar or honey
½ cup raisins
2 tbsp fresh sage, chopped
1 tsp ground ginger
Pinch of salt
Combine all ingredients in a heavy pot. Simmer, stirring occasionally, until thickened (about 45 minutes). Spoon into clean jars and refrigerate.
Autumn Equinox Tea
Rose hips and hawthorn berries, simmered with rosemary and cinnamon. A tea to strengthen the heart and warm the spirit as evenings lengthen.
Ingredients
2 tbsp dried rose hips
2 tbsp dried hawthorn berries
2 tbsp dried Tulsi basil
1 tsp dried rosemary
1 cinnamon stick
Simmer the berries for 10 minutes, then add the Tulsi, rosemary, and cinnamon and steep 5 minutes more. Strain, add honey or maple syrup and enjoy.
Herbal Kitchen Soup Wreaths
Gather sprigs of sage, rosemary, chives, savory, parsley, and thyme. To make your own soup wreath, all you need is sturdy undyed thread or twine and a handful of herb branches. Rosemary makes a beautiful, fragrant base, and garlic chives are wonderful for wrapping. Simply wind the herbs together and tie firmly with the thread. Hang the wreaths in a cool place, and within a week or two they’ll be dry and ready to use.
Keep in mind that flavors concentrate as herbs dry — a little sage or oregano goes a long way! To use, simply drop a wreath into a simmering pot of soup or stew, then remove it once the meal is ready. These wreaths also make lovely autumn gifts, charming to hang in the kitchen until needed. In earlier times, such charms were believed to guard the home and sweeten the air. Today, they remind us that herbs are more than seasonings — they are threads of memory and meaning, binding harvest to hearth.
As the equinox arrives, I always feel its reminder in my own bones — that gentle balance of light and dark, of holding on and letting go. The herbs of this season ask us to do the same: to gather up what truly nourishes, to honor what’s behind us, and to step with courage into what comes next.
From my own hearth to yours, I wish you a season of abundance and ease — may your harvest be rich, your kitchen warm, and your heart deeply tended.
