One September day a certain Lady entered our preschool. She wore a dress in the colours of fire — red, orange, brown. On her head she had a wreath of leaves and rowan. In her basket she carried conkers, acorns, pinecones. And she was sad.
“Krasnoludki, dear Krasnoludki” — she said quietly — “I am afraid no one likes me any more. Summer came and everyone rejoiced. Spring is coming and everyone will be waiting. And me? I am grey. Wet. Evenings darken so quickly. Do you want me to stay?”
The Skrzaty opened their eyes wide. The Elfy smiled. The Mędrki looked at one another and as one chorus said — YES. We love you, Lady Autumn. Stay.
This moment — and everything that happened over the next hour — was one of the most beautiful early-childhood pedagogies we know. In this article we want to talk with you about why we personify the seasons. Why Lady Autumn comes to us every September. And what specifically is built in the Child’s head when they treat a season as a real person.
Personification — a tool of the youngest brain
Personification, that is, ascribing human traits to non-human things, is one of the most natural moves of a Child’s mind. A three-year-old who talks to a plush bear as to a friend is doing exactly that. A four-year-old writing a letter to the moon does the same. A five-year-old who names their toy and asks if the toy is hungry, too.
For the adult mind this is sometimes amusing, sometimes touching, but is often treated as “a developmental phase to outgrow”. In our preschool we think entirely differently. Personification is not a phase to outgrow — it is one of the most powerful cognitive capacities the Child develops. And one we want to use consciously.
Because personification in the Child’s head triggers several things at once. First — empathy. A Child who treats an object or an abstraction as a person practises the capacity to imagine another’s emotions. Second — narrative. Personification connects with the building of stories. Third — memory. Content the Child gets to know as “a relationship with a character” is rooted much more deeply than content given as abstract facts.
A season is a perfect candidate for this. Because a season has its features, its own personality, its own rhythm. It is easy to make a Lady out of it. Easy to give her a voice. Easy to invite her into preschool.
Why specifically sad
Notice an important detail of our narrative. Lady Autumn does not arrive triumphant. Does not arrive beautiful and full of herself. She arrives worried. She is afraid we do not want her. She is afraid we prefer Summer or Spring.
This detail is not accidental. It is a very deliberate pedagogical decision. And we want to explain it to you, because for us it is fundamental.
Every preschool Child knows the feeling Lady Autumn carries. The feeling that someone does not like us. The feeling that someone else is more fun. The feeling that we have to seek someone’s affection. These feelings are everyday in preschool age — the Skrzaty compete for the favour of the teacher, the Elfy envy each other their toys, the Mędrki sometimes feel less than one another.
Lady Autumn, who arrives sad, gives the Child something very valuable — the model of a person who turns to others for help. The fact that an adult is able to say “I am afraid I am not liked” is a revelation for the Child. Because adults usually pretend to be self-confident, competent, all-in-order. Lady Autumn breaks this convention. And teaches the children that one can be a fully emotional person — and need not hide it.
This is emotional pedagogy in pure form. A Child who learns to receive a sad Lady Autumn will more easily accept their own sadness. A Child who helps Lady Autumn — will more easily help a friend when the friend is afraid. A Child who literally sees that sadness can be lifted by tenderness and community — will know how to do that for themselves when they are adult.
And one more thing — Lady Autumn, who worried asks “do you want me to stay”, teaches the children an important truth about transience. Because Lady Autumn really will leave. After two months everything will turn into winter. Someone else will come — Lady Winter, in our narrative. This helps the Child tame change. Every season is a guest for a while. Every is valuable, even if it does not stay forever.
What specifically happened
Lady Autumn, when she stayed with us, did not idle. Together with the Krasnoludki she began work on something that is the heart of every autumn of ours — the Treasury of Autumn.
First we went out together to the garden. Lady Autumn, walking next to the Krasnoludki, showed them where to look. “Here are my conkers. Here is the rowan. Here are the first dry leaves. All of these are my treasures — come and see.” Each Child had a basket. Each gathered what they found. After an hour all the baskets were full.
We came back to the room. Lady Autumn invited us to make wreaths. “Together we will make the most beautiful wreaths — each just as you wish.” The Lady showed us how to begin. The rest was already the work of the children. Each Skrzaty chose their own treasures. Each threaded, arranged, tied. Some wreaths were dense, colourful, full. Others were minimalist — a few leaves, two conkers, end. Each was personal. Each had its story.
Then there was supper in the studio. Tea with honey. Bread from our kitchen. Lady Autumn sat with the Krasnoludki at the table. She told stories. She listened. And at the end, when the sunset was already falling earlier and earlier, she thanked them.
“Krasnoludki, thanks to you I feel loved. I will stay with you as long as you want. And then I will hand you over to Lady Winter. And I will tell her that here is a home — in which the seasons are loved.”
Every Child, going home from preschool, told their Mum about Lady Autumn. Some Mums later phoned us, asking us to confirm it was not a dream. Because the child spoke as if Lady Autumn were real.
For us this is the most beautiful proof that the pedagogy worked.
What is built in the Child’s head
The first thing — trust in narrative. A Child who hears the whole of this story — with a sad Lady Autumn, with the joint gathering of treasures, with the wreaths, with the tea, with the farewell — lives through a complete dramatic arc. Introduction. Conflict (Lady Autumn’s sadness). Action (the children’s help). Resolution (Lady Autumn glad). Ending (the promise of a winter sequel). This is the structure the world teaches — from literature through cinema to adult conversations.
A Child who from the third year lives through such complete narratives carries within them a pattern they will use for life. Reading a book. Writing a letter. Telling a story. Understanding a film. Taking part in a conversation. They will always have in their head the pattern — something begins, something gets complicated, something is resolved. This is the foundation of understanding the world.
The second thing — extended empathy. The Krasnoludki who felt Lady Autumn’s sadness practised empathy in a higher, abstract form. Because Lady Autumn is not a human being. She has no body. She has no family. She is a season, which the adult mind understands as a meteorological abstraction. And the Child, thanks to personification, can empathise even with a season.
This capacity for extended empathy — empathy with abstractions, with creatures, with ideas — is for us extraordinarily important. Because the adult capable of empathising broadly is capable of caring for a world that goes beyond them. For the environment. For the climate. For foreign cultures. For future generations. All these objects of empathy are abstractions — they cannot be seen, they cannot be touched. But they can be loved. And we teach this capacity from the third year — through Lady Autumn, through Mr Handyman, through the Wawel Dragon.
The third thing — internalised seasonality. A Child who every September welcomes Lady Autumn, every December Lady Winter, every spring Mister Spring, every summer Mister Summer — internally takes in the rhythm of the year. Not as a calendar abstraction — as a relational sequence. Every season has its place. Every is a guest. Every comes and goes.
This model is more important than it seems. Because the adult who inwardly feels the rhythm of the year copes better with change and transience. More easily accepts that some phases of life pass and others come. More easily delights in what is now, knowing it is not the last. More easily misses what has passed, knowing it will return. The cyclicity of life, adult wisdom — is built from childhood, with the seasons as the first lesson.
The fourth thing — magic that makes sense. Here we want to be honest with you. We adults know that Lady Autumn does not exist. She is the Lady from our preschool in costume. After an hour she returns to her duties. Lady Autumn as a character is the creation of our narrative — nothing more.
But for a five-year-old — and this is key — that distinction does not matter. Lady Autumn is for them as real as any other person they have met in life. Because for a Child of preschool age the magical world and the real world are not yet separated. Magic is available. Magic is here. And precisely because of this, this developmental period is so precious — because the Child is still capable of fully experiencing things the adult mind no longer can.
In our preschool we protect this capacity. We do not spoil the magic with the question “and do you think Lady Autumn was really a Lady in costume?”. Magic is, for the Child, a functional tool. It allows them to experience the world more deeply than adult rationality permits. And only when the Child themselves begins to ask — in the sixth, seventh, eighth year — do we answer gently. But until that moment — magic is alive.
What a Parent can do
The first practice — telling the seasons as characters. Please name them with a capital. Lady Autumn. Mister October. Lady First Mist. Mister Frost. Each such character gives the season a personality. And a personality gives the Child something on which to base their relationship with time.
The second practice — daily noticing. Walking with the Child, please say: “Look, Mister October has painted the tree red again.” “Lady Mist was with us this morning, she left drops on the grass.” These are small things, but they fall into a coherent pattern — the world has its guests, the world is full of characters.
The third practice — seasonal rituals. Welcoming spring with the first twig. Saying goodbye to winter with the last snow figure. Let every season have its ritual — its own outing, its own dishes, its own song. These rituals stay in the Child’s memory as anchors. In twenty years’ time, when our adults have their own children, the same rituals will return.
The fourth practice — talking about the emotions of the seasons. “What would Lady Autumn say if she knew you did not notice her today?” “What would Mister Frost do if he wanted to show you something special?” These questions trigger empathy and imagination at once in the Child. You can hold such conversations on a walk, in the car, at dinner.
The fifth practice — preserving the magic. Please do not be in a rush to resolve for the Child questions like “and is Father Christmas real?” Every Child will ask sooner or later. The longer the Child lives in full imagination — the better. Magic in its full bloom between the third and seventh year of life gives the Child something that adult rationality will later keep as a capacity for creativity.
What this is all for
Because our Krasnoludki finish September with something not to be had from school, nor from an educational app, nor from the best television programme. Each of them carries in their head an image — Lady Autumn came worried, but left happy. We loved her. She is at home with us. She will come back.
This image in the Child’s head is the first stone in the foundation of something very important. In the foundation of the feeling that the world is full of characters who can be loved. In the foundation of the feeling that sadness can be dispersed by tenderness. In the foundation of the feeling that the seasons come and go, but the ritual with them stays for ever.
And one more thing — the foundation of the belief that imagination makes sense. That what we have only imagined can be real. That Lady Autumn, though she was a Lady from our preschool in costume, was also really Lady Autumn. Because if all the Krasnoludki named her so, if all took her sadness seriously, if all together they made wreaths to give her a sense of home — she really was with us.
This truth cannot be explained in adult language. But every one of our Krasnoludki understands it without words. And this is, for us, the most beautiful moment of pedagogy — when the Child knows a truth the adult no longer knows.
And learning through play is what the Krasnoludki love most. We do too. Especially when play becomes magic, and magic — life.