October at Hiljay Homes: Finding Comfort in the Season
The garden is mostly put to bed for winter, but I’m not quite finished out there. I’m planting garlic for next year—a small promise to spring, tucked into the ground as the days grow shorter.
There is something comforting about planting at this time of year. The garden may look quiet, but beneath the soil, something is beginning. The garlic will rest through the cold months, and when spring returns, green shoots will appear. It reminds me that not everything has to happen right away. Some things need time, patience, and a little faith.
Inside, the apples are keeping me busy. The grandkids have been helping themselves from the tree, and I’m turning what’s left into applesauce. The kitchen smells like cinnamon and warm apples, and there is something about making applesauce that feels like home. It is simple, familiar work—the kind that connects one season to the next.
I may have to make room in the freezer by eating something first. That seems fair. There is always something tucked away in there that I forgot about, waiting for its turn. Perhaps this is the year I finally discover what is hiding behind the frozen vegetables.
The one thing I’m not making room for yet is the heat. I’m holding out. I’ll put on another sweater, find a blanket, and insist the house is fine. The thermostat can wait—at least for now.
I know the day will come when I give in. Someone will point out that it is cold, or I’ll notice that everyone is wearing two layers, and I’ll finally turn the heat on. Until then, I’ll continue to defend my position. There is still plenty of fall left, and I’m not ready to surrender it to winter just yet.
October is full of signs that the season is changing. The mornings are darker, the evenings arrive earlier, and the leaves seem to change a little more each day. Halloween is coming, and the holidays will be close behind. Decorations, extra activity, visitors, music, and familiar bustle can make this time of year feel special.
In dementia care, though, changes that seem small to us can feel overwhelming to someone whose days depend on familiar faces and routines. A different decoration in the hallway, a change in the usual schedule, or more people coming and going can create confusion or anxiety. Even happy occasions can be tiring when there is a lot happening at once.
The holidays invite us to celebrate while remembering that calm and familiarity matter, too. We can keep traditions simple, introduce changes gradually, and pay attention to how each person is responding. Sometimes the most meaningful celebration is not a crowded room or a full schedule. It may be listening to a favorite song, looking at old photographs, sharing a familiar dessert, or sitting quietly with someone while the rest of the world carries on around us.
Some days are simply long. Dementia care can mean repeating, redirecting, and reassuring—then doing it all again a little later. It can mean answering the same question many times, helping someone settle after a difficult moment, or adjusting plans because the day is not going the way we expected.
It can be tiring, even when we care deeply. Saying that out loud isn’t whining; it’s an honest acknowledgment of the patience this work requires. Caregivers are human beings, too. We need rest, encouragement, understanding, and the freedom to admit when something has been difficult.
There are hard moments, but there are also the moments that remind us why we keep showing up: a laugh, a small connection, a familiar smile, or the comfort of knowing someone feels safe. Sometimes it is a resident reaching for your hand. Sometimes it is a story told for the tenth time, but told with the same enthusiasm as the first. Sometimes it is simply a peaceful afternoon when everyone is comfortable and settled.
Those moments may seem small, but they matter. In a home like Hiljay Homes, care is built from many small things done consistently: a warm meal, a clean room, a gentle reminder, a favorite activity, a familiar voice, and someone nearby who notices when a person needs help.
The world feels full of change right now. I can’t make sense of all of it, and I can’t control most of it. But I can plant garlic for next year, make applesauce for the family, and help make Hiljay Homes a steady, caring place through whatever the season brings.
That is one of the gifts of this work. We may not be able to fix everything happening beyond our doors, but we can create a place where people feel known and cared for. We can offer steadiness when the world feels uncertain. We can make room for laughter, quiet, memories, and the ordinary routines that help a day feel manageable.
Hilary and I are grateful to our residents, families, and caregivers who make this home what it is. Thank you for the trust you place in us, for the kindness you bring, and for the many ways you help create a sense of community here.
We’ll take October as it comes—with care, humor, warm applesauce, and hopefully a few more weeks before I lose my battle with the thermostat.
Warmly,
Jo Ann and Hilary
Hiljay Homes Adult Family Home