May is a magical month— full of promises and long stretches of morning and evening twilight. Most days are sunny, pleasant and fairly dry. Fields are a tender green and the new grass smells sweet. Everywhere you look along old country roads there are flowers in bloom.
The poets wrote about April—angry one day and sweet as syrup the next. A killing frost might come, along with spring’s most lavish floral displays. It may be a spring month, but winter retreats reluctantly. It’s always touch-and-go in April, but most of us are more than ready to put that RV on the road and head to some place.
The Greek philosopher Pythagoras, born around 580 B.C., is known for his theorem about a right triangle, but he is also known as the father of vegetarianism. And for nearly 2,300 years, those who followed his dietary practices were known as Pythagoreans. The term vegetarian wasn’t used generally until the founding of the British Vegetarian Society in 1847.
February’s weather usually includes one or two mild spurts of warmth to remind us that spring is coming. It is then that we quickly pack up the RV and head out of town for a few days if we can, and if not, we begin to think about that spring getaway trip.
It may be a New Year, but it’s the same old Mother Nature that is with us. And someone once said that every weather proverb bearing the whiskers of age holds a grain of truth.
Christmas without cookies?
Don’t even think such a thing! Somehow food and holidays are almost synonymous, and so it is with Christmas and cookies. Nothing represents the spirit of loving, nurturing and giving more than a homemade cookie. It is small and pretty, sweet and comforting. A cookie is a treat that doesn’t need to be eaten right away either. It will last, sometimes for months (if well hidden), to be savored when one desires.
As we know, the Pilgrims celebrated the first Thanksgiving to commemorate their successful harvest in the New World and to thank the neighboring Indians who had helped them survive a difficult first year. In celebration, the Pilgrims and Indians feasted on roast duck, roast goose, venison, clams, eel, leeks, watercress, wheat and corn breads, wild plums, homemade wine and turkey.
When September draws to a close, it is called by some the bittersweet time of year, for it brings with it a twinge of sadness. It is definitely the turning point of the year. Many of us feel another year has passed. Summer has faded and fall has arrived, and with it there are new beginnings for many of us. School starts, classes begin, clubs become active, and those of us with vegetable gardens are busily “putting them to bed.” And for some RVers, it is time to wind down the trips and prepare for winter storage.
September is one of the nicest times to be on the road. And taking the back roads through little towns can be one of the most exciting experiences of a trip. It can be like a treasure hunt—stopping at little roadside stands where farmers sell their fresh produce, maybe homemade bread, and bunches of flowers from the garden. If you are lucky maybe the farmer will be there to tell you about everything, or you will meet his wife or one of the kids.
This is the hot and breathless time of year most everywhere. The sun rises early and inches up, taking its first look at the horizon, then glows warmly all day. In some places the heat settles in, working its way into every nook and cranny. ‘Tis not surprising August is called the heyday of summer.
If you are traveling around the Northwest this month, plan on taking in Sequim’s Lavender Festival, July 16 to 18. Sequim, pronounced “Skwim,” is a growing community of about 5,700 in the Sequim-Dungeness Valley. The valley is bounded by Jefferson County on the east, the Strait of Juan de Fuca on the north, Port Angeles on the west, and the Olympic National Forest on the south. In the rain shadow of the 7,000-foot Olympic Mountains, Sequim is one of the driest locales in Western Washington, receiving an average of 16 inches of precipitation annually. It is also known as “Sunny Sequim” as it is blessed with an average of 300 days a year of sunshine.