The Cozy Art of Living Well Through the ‘BER’ Months

By Rachel Schemmerling|Timeless Living

Growing up in our old historic home, I remember how the first crisp nights of fall seemed to bring everyone closer to the fire. We had four fireplaces, but my favorite was the one in the keeping room.

A keeping room, historically, was the heart of early American homes — a cozy space just off the kitchen where people gathered to stay warm, talk, and simply be together. Ours was painted a deep red, with an old threadbare sofa and a large bookcase overflowing with cookbooks, novels, and well-loved pieces of early American cookware.

There’s something deeply human about that fireside glow — the way it draws us in, settles our nervous systems, and reminds us of our ancient connection to the elements: fire, earth, air, and water. These aren’t just poetic ideas; they are the building blocks of how we feel safe, grounded, and alive.

The Art of Hygge

In Denmark, they have a word for this — hygge (pronounced “hoo-gah”). It’s more than cozy socks and candles. Hygge is the art of contentment — a way of being that invites us to slow down, savor what’s simple, and create warmth in the middle of life’s storms.

As a child, I didn’t know the word hygge, but I felt it deeply. It was woven into the wool blankets draped over our laps, the scent of my mother’s oatmeal bread baking in the overn or the clam chowder simmering on the wood stove and the crackle of the wood fire that seemed to tell stories of its own.

A Taste of Home: My Mother’s Recipes

My mother, Dale Carson, had a gift for making every season feel sacred. In her cookbook, Native New England Cooking, she shared recipes that embodied that same spirit of comfort — humble, hearty, and made with love.

But beyond the recipes themselves was something deeper — a reverence for the stories behind them. My mother’s lifelong study of the Indigenous people in New England and her Abenaki and French Canadian heritage wasn’t just academic; it was soulful. She approached food as a way to honor the rhythms of the earth and the wisdom of those who lived in harmony with it long before us.

Through her research and writing, she reawakened forgotten traditions — the gathering, the blending, simmering, and most importantly the gratitude for what each season offered. Our home became a living classroom where she taught us that nourishment was more than feeding the body; it was a way of remembering, a way of honoring each other and the earth.

When I think of her now, I can still see her at the stove — a wooden spoon in one hand, a story in the other — blending history, heritage, and heart into every meal. Her work wasn’t just about food. It was about connection: to land, lineage, and love. Mom was the kind of person who loved everyone and she would show you that through the food she created for you.

A few of my favorites for this time of year:

• New England Chowder — slow-simmered with fresh clams, cream, and potatoes.
• Oatmeal Bread — warm, fragrant, and perfect for tearing apart around the dinner table.

Message me if you’d like the recipes- I’d be happy to share them with you.

Finding Calm in a Restless World

In the cooler seasons, the season of storms — both literal and political — these small rituals matter more than ever. Meaning while the snow is falling, life as you know it is changing and or the political climate is storming…taking care of your nervous system, your state of mind, as this is so important to your well being. Lighting a candle, stirring a pot of soup, baking bread, wrapping yourself in something soft… they’re not luxuries. They’re acts of resilience.

As we head into the months ahead, I invite you to find your own version of hygge. Create warmth. Gather light. Let your home be your sanctuary — a place where you can reconnect to what’s timeless, true, and nourishing for your soul.