People in North America and Europe tend to think of the seasons as they are depicted in stories,songs,  movies and even comics. Seasons are specific weather, the plant cycle, the animal cycles, and traditions for humans: special foods, special activities and holidays.
 Autumn is falling leaves, crisp cold air, apple cider, harvest time. We celebrate Halloween with pumpkins and Thanksgiving with turkey, corn stalks and more pumpkin. Winter is cold, with snow and ice. We build snowmen, go skiing or skating, drink cocoa by the fire. The trees are bare. Spring is lilacs, bulbs sprouting and flowering, rain showers followed by sun, warming air, cherry blossoms. The first strawberries, freshly sprouted greens. And summer is hot, time to go to the beach, trees in full leaf, cherries, ice cream, sodas, picnics and barbecues on a lush green lawn.  Outside living. Interrupted by a brief thunderstorm. 
​These symbols are not wrong but they are provincial and stereotypical. 
Meanwhile, I have heard many people say that the Bay Area has no seasons. Having grown up here, I can attest that these people are wrong. We do not have the Hallmark card Christmasses or dream of a White Christmas (except to drive to the Sierras), many of our trees are still in leaf in January, and the grass is green in Winter, brown in Summer. But we have seasons, albeit a bit more subtle here. One must be tuned into Nature to feel our seasons. We do celebrate the traditional holidays the same as on the East Coast, but with a slight change. And our diverse community means that many other holidays are celebrated as well, such as Divali, Moon Festival, Eid al Fiitr, Rosh Hashana, and Juneteenth. The photo essay that follows are my thoughts and feelings about our seasons in the Bay Area. I'd love to hear from readers if they agree or disagree and what are your favorite parts to each season.

Autumn, to me, is the beginning of the year. First of all, it is the beginning of the school year. And I spent 20 years in school as a student and another 21 years as a teacher. Then too, the rainy season begins in late Autumn. Every year, usually near the end of August, there is one day when I feel Autumn coming. The day is warm with a light wind and the air is dry. The days are colder in Vallejo, 20 miles to the North, and warmer in Berkeley, the reverse of the Spring and Summer days. After Labor Day is the true beginning of Autumn. Gradually, leaves turn colors on the trees. Harvest is in full force. We bring in tomatoes and make tomato sauce, cook zucchini and make soup, stuff a large zucchini, and still have plenty to give away. And apples! Apple pie, apple sauce to last the entire Winter. The freezer is full. 
Then there are the holidays. Stereotypical and provincial as they are, I grew up with these holidays and they still mean something special to me. Autumn brings the harvest holidays for many cultures. It brings the Moon Festival, when one eats mooncakes, and Diwali, festival of lights, and Sukkoth, another harvest festival. But most popular is Halloween, a time for kids to dress up and go out at night. Spooky decorations and carved pumpkins.  Then comes Thanksgiving, a holiday to spend with family, and interestingly one that has been less commercialized than other holidays.  Cooking together, sharing food, and sharing a meal. And a chance to eat turkey. Roast turkey with gravy, hot turkey sandwich, cold turkey sandwich until finally I have had enough turkey to last me a while.  A cornucopia centerpiece filled with Fall produce, which in the Bay Area usually includes a pomegranate, sometimes kiwis, and lemons. And Fall leaves dipped in melted wax to preserve them. Traditionally, I plant my bulbs on Thanksgiving weekend.  A promise of Spring to come. 

​

 Sometime in November, the rains arrive (hopefully) and Winter is here in the Bay Area. The skies are gray and cloudy, days are shorter and nightfall earlier. And best of all, the hills turn green. Every year, I watch the hills, rejoicing when I see green grass sprouting and worrying when the hills are still brown. Not golden as in the summer but more a more sickly parched brown. This year, they turned green on time! More time is spent indoors. In December, the kiwis grow large and ripen. Then it is a race to pick them before the squirrels eat them all.  In the store and at market, mandarins arrive, juicy sunshine. 
December is a holiday month. Like others, I put up lights at the beginning of the month to brighten the dark evenings. I decorate the house with Christmas scenes and I set up an advent wreath. Some years, there is a Christmas tree. Aa a child, the Christmas tree was the centerpiece, surrounded by wrapped presents that we could see but not touch. Eager anticipation. Then there was the display put on by Mr. Shadi, an Indian Sikh who, despite his origin and religion, put on a full Bethlehem display every year. I knew that  display from my early childhood and it has now been taken on by volunteers so that it lives beyond its creator. A true gift to the community. 
 As an adult, I attend the Christmas Revels, the Messiah sing along, and the Christmas Eve service. I sing Christmas carols in the car, at home alone, in my singing group. I love Christmas carols, always have, and have learned at least 100 of them in various languages. As a teacher, I loved planning holiday lessons in Math, Language Arts, and Art, singing holiday songs, and the general aura of festivity. 
The last days of December have always been a letdown to me. The presents were opened and no longer a focus of anticipation but simply things. The holiday festivities ended and financial tasks awaited. While teaching, I did no schoolwork the week before Christmas but then had to do it all the following week before classes started again. Today, it is more an end to the festivities and activity and a time for quiet reflection. 
But January brings its own pleasures. While there is still welcome rain, one day I see the tulip trees are blooming, a harbinger of Spring to come. The bulbs begin to poke up their green leaves. The days imperceptibly begin to grow longer. Spring is on its way.

In the Bay Area, Spring comes in February. The plum and cherry trees are in full blooms, other trees begin to leaf out, the robins return. My mother used to buy the first strawberries for my father's February birthday. Valentine's Day fits Spring with its pinks and reds and message of love. Tulips and daffodils are blooming. Easter too, is a fitting holiday, and indeed, it was born of ancient Springtime rituals and the equinox. Its symbols herald the budding life of Spring: eggs, chicks, flowers and grass. There is the cherry blossom festival as well. There are (hopefully) days of rain showers interspersed with sunshine and rainbows. Windy days, just right for kites. Roller skating and swings. Robins arrive.  The ospreys return to begin nesting. Spring is fresh and new, birth and life, babies, new sprouting plants. Time for children to play outside. And time to plant the vegetable garden. There is May Day, celebrated by but a few. And Mother's Day, for what better month in which to honor those who bring us life and love and family. 
I used to hear that Spring was wonderful in the East and that California had no Spring. I would counter that the Eastern Spring may be more spectacular, with its lilacs and the snow melted, but it is fleeting, while our Spring, filled with bird song and blossoms of all colors and sunny days, lasts four months.

In late May comes summer. Along with cherries. Hot summer days, sunning on the beach. Not. Summer in the Bay Area, at least by the Bay, is fog. Warm days and cool nights. As a child, I would change my clothes several times a day in the summer: first long pants and a jacket in the morning, later shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, then back to the jacket in the evening. But always barefoot, for the pavement held the heat of midday. A jacket and shorts was de rigueur. Summer, of course, meant vacation from school. As a student, time to just loaf or find activities of my own. Play time with friends. And family vacations. My favorite of these were the times we went camping. Lots of outdoor time. Popsicles and lemonade. Picnics. As an adult and teacher, summer was a welcome relief, time to rest then to plan the following school year. Perhaps a trip somewhere. Time to clean up and do all the household chores I had neglected during the school year. Time to work in the yard every day. Precious time. For seven years, I enjoyed the arrival of the next Harry Potter book just as school got out. I silently thanked Scholastic for timing the books' arrival to coincide with the end of the schoolyear. I could just sit and read all day and night for several days.
 The only real summer holiday is July 4th. It has never been my favorite holiday. The fireworks didn't impress me all that much and reminded my of bombs. In recent years, I worry about their effect on the ospreys and other birds nesting. Still, they can be fun to watch. Of course, many years, the fog obscures one's view. Our well-loved fog, so loved that it has been named Karl.  The symbol of summer in the Bay Area. 
​

                                    Vain Questions

                              Whence, whither, why?
                              The mysteries of life!
                              We'll never cease to ask
                               And we'll never know. ​

Trying to get that elusive Christmas present that I already stripped of its fur. 

 
Solstice 2021
               
On this, the shortest day, the sun has set,
The yellow moon its face has not shown yet.
While misty clouds hide vast and brighter skies,   
Our Earth,  in still and sightless darkness lies.
 Unseen by us, the heavens now conceal
 A  message they care not yet to reveal.
 
Then dark clouds part, the sky is sparked with light,   
Unhindered by moon’s comforting warm light. 
And burdened with the truth of all they know, 
The stars send message down to us below.      
Words, that lie beyond Earth’s atmosphere,
Where air and life, consciousness disappear.
 
Be still now, listen to the heavens’ chime
That rings out, “Do not fear, there is still time.”
 
Dec. 2021

Every year, the Christmas Season starts for me with Saint Nicholas Day, as well as the first Sunday of Advent. 
So each year, I post a holiday story for kids on this day. This year, the theme is, what else, trees! I promise it is the last of my tree obsession. I hope you enjoy reading it and, if you do, that you find a child with whom to share it. May you embrace the inner child in yourself this Christmas Season, forget all the trials and worries of the past year,  and enjoy the holidays with hope and cheer.
                                                 Welcome Yule!

                                                       The Living Christmas Tree
 
Robin loved all the trees in his yard. He liked to climb the oak  tree and sit in its branches. He liked to pick fruit from the apple tree. ….
But his favorite tree was the tall redwood that stood in one corner of the yard. He loved that redwood. It was so tall that he could not see the top.
One day his parents took him for a drive. They drove across the bridge to the other side of the bay. They stopped at the top of a hill. 
“Look across the bay,” his father told him. “What can you see?”
“I see the university tower and the city buildings.”
“Do you see our tree?”
“Where?”
“Over there.”
“That’s our tree? It looks so little.”
“But do you see how it towers above the houses?”
“Oh yes, now I see.  That’s our house. I see our roof with the solar panels. And the tree is way above the roof.”
“Now you can see the top of our tree.”
The tree was the tallest thing in the neighborhood. And that was a problem. The neighbors behind did not like the tree. They wanted the tree cut.
“You can’t just cut a redwood tree,” Robin’s father told them. But they didn’t listen. And they got the city on their side. You can’t block someone’s view. 
So the tree was cut. Now it was ugly. Robin didn’t like to look at it. It made him sad.
It made his parents sad too. So they cut it all the way down. But they left the stump. 
The boy liked to sit on the stump and remember the tree. 
One day he saw something green. He looked closely. There was a small tree growing beside the stump.
“Mama,” he called. “The tree is growing again!”
She came to see. “Redwood trees do that,” she said. 
“Then we will have our big tree again.”
“She shook her head sadly. “Redwoods take years to grow. Besides, the neighbors won’t allow it.”
The boy was sad. But his father said, “I have an idea. What if we take that little tree and put it in a pot? Then you can take care of it on the patio. You’ll be able to see the top whenever you want.”
So Robin and his father carefully dug up and planted the little tree. They used a big pot because they knew the tree would grow. 
The boy loved that little tree and made sure its roots were damp but not too wet and that its branches were clean. 
The first week of Christmas, Robin and his parents went to the tree farm to buy a Christmas tree. They told  him to find a favorite tree. But the he was sad. When his parents asked him why, he said,
“I don’t want to cut down a tree. That’s what was done to our redwood.”
His parents explained that these trees were grown to be cut. 
“But the trees don’t know that,” Robin answered. “They want to grow.” He turned away from the trees. “I don’t want a Christmas tree this year.”
So they went home without a tree. The boy went over to his little redwood.
“Here is our Christmas tree,” he said.
“But we can’t bring this tree inside,” his parents explained. “It wouldn’t like that. It might get sick.”
“Then our Christmas tree will be outside,” the boy said. 
“Santa can’t put presents under a tree outside. It might rain and the presents will get wet.”
“Then I just won’t have any presents this year,” he answered. “I don’t need presents. I need my tree.”
His parents didn’t answer and the Robin was content. His parents put the tree lights on the inside windows and hung ornaments around the house. His  mother gave him the star to put wherever he wished. He put it on the top of his little tree. A top he could reach.
 Whenever his parents asked what he would like for Christmas, Robin said he didn’t want anything.
Christmas Eve came. The family ate a special dinner then they sang Christmas carols. There was no tree to sing around but the Robin didn’t mind. There were lights glowing everywhere in the house. There were no enticing packages, but he didn’t mind that either. 
He asked his parents if they could sing one song outside by his tree. So they went outside and sang Silent Night. 
That night, it didn’t rain but it snowed. It hardly ever snowed in this part of the country, but it did  this Christmas Eve. In the morning, Robin ran out to his little redwood and found its branches covered with snow. It was so pretty. 
“You are a Christmas tree after all,” he told it. He saw a large package under the tree. “Go ahead, open it,” said his mother, who had come out too.
He ripped open the package and found a little garden spade, just his size and a hand trowel and a book about trees. 
“I guess Santa heard about your tree.” His mother smiled. 
“Santa knows everything,” he answered. “But Mommy, will the tree’s branches be too cold with the snow? Should I knock the snow off?”
She smiled. “No, trees are used to the outside weather. They know how to deal with it. Your tree will be fine.”
They went inside for a special Christmas breakfast. When Robin went into the living room after breakfast, he found presents lying in a heap under the lamp. 
So he had presents after all. But the best present of all was his little tree, alive and growing, its branches covered with snow, and a star shining at its very top. 
 May your Christmas be filled with the hope and love the boy found
                                  in his living Christmas tree.

Bad Moon Arising                                            Harvest Moon Rising
by John Fogerty                                                     midi's reply
 
I see the bad moon a-rising                              I see a harvest moon  a-rising
I see trouble on the way                                   I see that hope is on the way.
I see earthquakes and lightnin'                         I see earthquakes and lightnin’
I see bad times today                                       I see sunshine today. 
Don't go around tonight                                    So, don’t  be afraid tonight
Well it's bound to take your life                         Don’t grieve the waning light.
There's a bad moon on the rise                        Harvest Moon is on the rise.
 
I hear hurricanes a-blowing                              I hear hurricanes a-blowing
I know the end is coming soon                         I fear the end is coming soon.
I fear rivers over flowing                                   I see rivers are not flowing,
I hear the voice of rage and ruin                       I hear the voice of rage and ruin.
Well don't go around tonight                             But don’t be afraid tonight,
Well it's bound to take your life                         Don’t grieve the waning  light.
There's a bad moon on the rise                        Harvest Moon is on the rise.
 
Hope you got your things together                   Hope that you are feeling better
Hope you are quite prepared to die                  Hope you feel the Autumn air. 
Looks like we're in for nasty weather                We may be in for nasty weather,
One eye is taken for an eye                             But the wind is blowing fair.
Well don't go around tonight                            Well, don’t be afraid tonight
Well it's bound to take your life                         Don’t grieve the waning light,
There's a bad moon on the rise                        Harvest moon is on the rise.
 

The Last Day of Summer

Tis the last day of summer
And the ospreys have flown away.
Do you see Rosie up yonder
She too is flying today.
 
She will fly thousands of miles,
To her warm winter home
Find her favorite  Southern beach,
Spend the winter there alone.
 
So farewell to our dear Rosie,
May the wind in your wings be fair
May the skies above be blue
And a warm welcome greet you there.
 
Richie is at the nest
Watching for his mate Rosie.
After your long winter rest,
Rosie, will you return to me?
 
Tis the last day of summer,
And the ospreys have all flown.
Do you see Richie up yonder
On the nest all alone?
​
​midi 

June is when school lets out, when the Seniors graduate, and when the osprey chicks fledge. The beginning of summer, a new season. Fledging and graduating are not that different. So here are a  story, poem and song for the recent graduates, heading off on their new adventures. The ospreys are not interested in poetry. They just inspire us through their wonderful approach to life's events and their regal beauty. Here's to happy adventures for both the human graduates and the fledging ospreys. May all enjoy a fruitful, restful summer  before they  embark upon a successful  new life's journey. 

The young osprey loved his nest. When the wind was cold, he could nestle up against his siblings, his father brought fish every day for his mother to feed them all, and his father and mother kept all intruders away. He was warm, well-fed, loved and safe. What more could a little bird want?
The little birds grew. They learned to feed themselves from the fish their father brought. They developed wings and began to flap them. Soon the nest was very crowded.  The chick developed feathers. This made him itch but he loved flapping his wings and pretending to fly. One day his wings lifted him off from the nest and he hovered for a few seconds. He was excited. Soon he would be able to fly. Then he could go wherever he wanted. He would not be stuck on this nest. 
But wait, he asked himself. Didn’t he love this nest? Wasn’t this where he wanted to live? Well, yes, and no. He decided he would learn to fly and would leave to visit other places and make friends. But then he would always return by nighttime for his father and mother to take care of him. 
But that’s not the osprey way. One day, the osprey chick was fully feathered. He was fledged and ready to leave the nest. He perched on the very edge of the nest and flapped his wings. His body lifted up into the air. This time, he used his wings to steer and flew a few feet away where he landed on the crane upon which the nest was perched. The fledgling was so proud. He was a real osprey now, ready to go out into the world.
Every day, the fledgling practiced flying short distances. His two siblings watched from the nest. They were younger and were just learning to hover. Then one day, the fledgling heard an osprey call from the North shore. He flew in that direction. There he saw other ospreys his age flying in the sky. What fun! All day, he flew with them. When he got hungry, he tried diving for a fish. But he was not successful. So he bade his new friends good-by and flew back home where he found a fish waiting for him. 
The fledgling continued to meet his friends every day. Some days, he flew with his father and learned from him how to catch a fish. Then came the great day when he caught his own fish! Now he stayed away from the nest for a day or two. It was fun flying with his friends and being on his  own. But there were days when his friends weren’t around and he was lonesome. Other days were cold and windy or he couldn’t find a fish and he was hungry. Then he flew back to the nest. Sometimes his parents were there; sometimes they weren’t. The other two chicks had left the nest too, so there was no reason for the parents to always be on the nest. Sometimes the osprey was so lonely, he would call and call in a loud, demanding voice. Eventually, his mother or father would come with a fish.
One day, the fledgling felt something new. A restlessness, a desire to fly, not just in the sky over his own Bay, but somewhere else. He wanted to travel, to explore, to see the world. So he spent one last night on the nest and the next day, he lifted off and headed out over the Bay. But first he circled around the land over his nest. He met his mother and she flew with him for a bit. Then he turned and headed Southwest, while she returned to the nest. He flew and flew. He didn’t really know where he was going but he knew the general direction to head. His body and brain would direct him. He flew around, first South then East then South again, stopping at night near water so he could catch a fish. Finally one day, he knew which way to go and he headed straight down the coast to his Winter home. He knew he would spend the next year and a half down there learning to be an osprey. Then he would fly back to the nest But his parents would not welcome him. He would find  a mate, build a nest with her, and create a new home. For that is the osprey way.
Best wishes for you on your own journey South, learning to be a responsible, productive adult and eventually finding your own home. We look forward to hearing about your flight into manhood. And will watch for you as we watch for the ospreys. If ever in doubt, take a look at  the ospreys to observe their ability to deal with whatever comes their way with aplomb and equanimity. 

​MW
 

Walk into garden
Find raspberry blossoms chomped.
How did deer get in?