Notelets on Nurture #14

Shifting with the pace of the seasons + living in rhythm with the land

Welcome to the return of Notelets on Nurture, an occasional Sunday series where I welcome a guest to share their thoughts on a topic that helps them tap into their curiosity and creativity.

This week, I invited

Cassie Wilkins

to share her perspective on shifting with the seasons. Drawing from her experience of adapting to life in Australia and the wisdom of the Noongar seasonal calendar, Cassie reflects on what it means to move at the pace of nature — both in life and work.

Cassie is a writer, mentor and the voice behind Making Lemonade: a creative community for those of us determined to squeeze the most out of life, lemons and all.

She describes herself as a recovering wanderer, long-distance caregiver, cat and coffee lover, and a journaler who prefers to work barefoot and perched at the kitchen table. Her community is a place to land for those in search of connection, inspiration and a bit of light to guide the way on darker days.

Cassie’s work is also an ode to resilience and the wisdom found in crafting and sharing our stories. I’m so glad to share her words with you today.

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Shifting Seasons
with Cassie Wilkins

I live in a place where the year has long been divided into six seasons. Officially, it's autumn here in Perth, Australia, but trying to squeeze the sepia-toned autumns of my youth in the UK into the Noongar season of Djeran feels wrong, almost.

There aren’t any harvest festivals, no hedgerows bursting with blackberries and very few crunchy leaves. The land isn't prepping for hibernation, it's prepping for life.

I am, too.

After what felt like an(other) endless summer, my motivation for my business was as dry as the grass in my garden; my creativity used up from finding ways to stay cool and entertained while hiding from the burning sun.

My family and friends on the other side of the world tell me how they yearn for the life-giving properties of summer, but here, it hits different.

Photograph: Cassie Wilkins ~ Birak

For tens of thousands of years, the Noongar people lived by their seasons; their movements and actions determined by subtle environmental shifts that whispered of what was to come.

“This year, I've found myself surrendering to those same whispers, letting them guide me, my body and my business.”

While we now squeeze the Indigenous seasons into nice, neat two-month stints that align with the international calendar, the touchstones, like stars moving, different coloured flowers blooming, birds breeding, and changing winds, are still there for all to see.

Birak, or first summer (Dec-Jan), is known for its predictable wind patterns. Historically, this was the time of burning, when Noongar people would use the regenerative power of fire to shape the landscape.

This past Birak, I found myself setting fire to the business I’d spent the last few years creating. It wasn't entirely intentional, but while I was sitting there, watching the flames, I realised some things have to be burned down to be rebuilt.

Photography: Cassie Wilkins ~ Bunuru

Bunuru (Feb-March) is the hottest time of year. Known as second summer, this was traditionally a time for rest, where the Noongar people moved from the inland to coastlines and river banks, craving the cooling breeze and abundance of food from the ocean.

As much as I'd hoped to go against nature and rise from the ashes, my body had other plans. Try as we may to consider ourselves separate from our external environment - especially in the colonies, where the British work ethic still runs strong - it's also hard to go all in on building a business when it's 45°C.

Instead, I spent much of the season resting (or at least trying to). After years of juggling chronic pain, building a business, and long-distance caregiving for my mum, who has late-stage Alzheimer’s, I didn't realise quite how burned out I was. Every time I felt like I was taking a step forward, something else would come up and set me back.

Photography: Cassie Wilkins ~ Djeran

Now, with the hindsight of Djeran (autumn) and the lifting of the summer haze that slows my thinking and clouds my vision, I can look back and instead see this as an integral part of the process. A portal that I had to journey through, just as the seasons do.

Without summer, autumn wouldn’t come as such a relief, just like the first signs of spring after winter in my motherland.

For the Noongar people, Djeran (April-May) was a time of preparation and getting set for the winter rains, including fixing and waterproofing their mia mias (traditional houses).

For me, it’s been a time of looking at the foundations of what I’d been building - and letting the winds of change bring in new inspiration. Like the air before a storm, there’s a crackle of electricity and aliveness that seems to be running through everything. I’ve been riding that high, letting it lead me back to my dream of writing a book and building a writing community.

Like nature and the seasons, though, I keep having to remind myself that everything flows in its own time - a few short downpours may quickly turn the grass green, but we’ll need a lot more before the rivers start flowing again.

If I zoom out, I can’t help but feel this, too, is how it’s meant to be. Building things takes time - especially a community, a business, or a life.

I should know; I’ve spent 12 years navigating the online business world and six creating a life here, and I still barely feel like I’ve touched the surface.

This year, however, the Noongar seasons have given me renewed hope. I love the way they cycle back around, a reminder that, even after a scorching summer - or a shitty few years - the rains will once again bring life back to the land, to me, and my dreams.

Photography: Cassie Wilkins ~ Makuru

Next month, we’re entering Makuru (June-July), the season of fertility and abundance. I still don’t know quite where I’m going, or what lies in store for me, my book, my business, or my fledgling writing community, but I finally feel ready for it.

Supported by the seasons, I’m reminded that I don’t have to have it all figured out, I just have to slow down, tune into the signs, and trust that it’ll all work out, one way or another.

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Thank you, Cassie, for sharing your story and your perspective on living in tune with the land. To learn more about the Noongar seasons – Birak, Bunuru, Djeran, Makuru, Djilba and Kambarang – visit Austalia’s South West website.

How do the seasons shape your own rhythm? Is there something you’re being invited to let go of? What signs or subtle shifts in your surroundings help you find your way forward? We’d love to meet you in the comments.

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