In exchanging emails yesterday with my dear friend, Julie, in our former hometown of East Wenatchee, Wash., I learned that they are currently “enjoying” a weather phenomenon which occurs several times every winter there. When I first moved to North Central Washington six years ago, I heard a lot about the 300+ days of sunshine the area gets. No one talked about what seemed like the 30+ days spent under the cold, gray blanket of fog that smothers the area in the winter months. I found it ironic that I would be sitting on the “sunny” side of the Cascades in midwinter in dreary misery,  watching the Seattle news broadcasts gloating at the beautiful sunny winter days they were enjoying. (Note that, all you who believe it rains all the time in Seattle!)

This winter has taught me that the Rogue Valley here in Southern Oregon ALSO experiences weeks of fog during high-pressure inversions — the one aspect I’m not at all pleased my present and former residences have in common. It seems these things sweep in and clamp a lid over the valleys, trapping us under a gray, inpenetrable shroud, while just a few hundred feet up into the hills and mountains the sky is bright blue and the sun smiles down like a blessing. This is the worst time of year for such depressing weather, as we all hit the post-holiday blahs. Due to tighter budgets after all that December spending, new-year work that keeps us chained to our desks and weather that makes long-distance travel iffy at best, everyday life can seem pretty dull and bleak.

What are your solutions for the gray days of January and February? What do you do to cure cabin fever? Where do you go when you can’t escape for a week to some sunny beach somewhere but only have a day or two to leave behind the winter doldrums? Me, I just may literally head for the hills to climb above the current fog bank. Julie tells me she may trek up to Lake Chelan for a little retail therapy and maybe some winetasting, too. Sometimes it just requires throwing off that mental shroud and shaking things up a bit to get the juices flowing again. What’s your solution?

– Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader

This last week I finally confronted the thick clusters of grass and weeds that have taken root in my newly planted flower beds and borders. I’ve been eyeing them for some time, observing how, shortly after we’d settled the last new plant and I’d dug in over 400 spring-blooming bulbs, tiny bits of green were appearing in the rich, dark soil. I knew that plenty of native seeds had mingled with the good dirt we’d brought in to compensate for the heavy clay of our property, but I had hoped that I’d be able to spread some pre-emergent herbicide on the bare spots to prevent the invasion that was lurking. But Ma Nature was far too quick for me, and I can’t hardly blame her for trying to fill the vacuum, since she also helps all those pretty plants I want to flourish to do so.

So, I let a few weeks pass. It was either too hot or too wet, or I had too many more urgent claims on my time (or so I told myself). Although I truly enjoy gardening, I will be the first to admit that dealing with a widespread attack of weeds is not the least bit fun. So I find a few excuses, like, “It’s hard to pull those when they’re so tiny; I’ll yank them when there’s more to grasp,” or “If we get a good frost tonight, it might just kill those weeds.” Yeah, right. I think most weeds have antifreeze in their genetic make-up, and at best the tops die back while the roots dig in with greater vengeance.

Finally, though, I couldn’t let them go any longer, and so, with trowel in hand, I got down and (literally) dirty with the unwelcome guests in my garden. There are two satisfying aspects to weeding, I have found. One is that it is one of those chores which, when finished, provides one with clear evidence of the effort expended. Where once the shrubs and perennials were surrounded by thickets of vegetation threatening to strangle them, there follows a smooth expanse of clear, dark soil framing those expensive plantings. The second is that one has plenty of time for introspection and/or plain old wool-gathering, as the process of separating the evil plants from the good ones doesn’t require a very large portion of one’s focus. And so, a few things which popped into my head as I did battle with the weeds:

Why is it that it takes such an enormous effort to get grass to grow in those bare spots in the lawn, and yet it grows so easily and lushly without any help from me where I don’t want it?

I don’t care what anyone says, some weeds are called that for more than the fact that they’re growing where we don’t want them to; some of them are just plain UGLY!

I read somewhere that dandelions are not native to this part of the world, but that they were brought in by settlers for their various useful properties. Like what?!!? Sure, I’ve heard of dandelion greens and dandelion wine, but give me lettuce and grapes and please, take the *!#%* dandelions!

After two or three hours of weed-pulling, there is no comfortable position for this body to take. Squatting, kneeling, bending over — it’s all gonna hurt!

I recall that just about a year ago, I wrote about putting my garden to bed, for the last time, at our former home in Central Washington. I still miss that place a lot, but I’m so thankful to have this new garden to nurture (weeds and all), especially when, at this time last year, we weren’t sure when our house there would sell. And, as with all my previous gardens, that one taught me a little more so that I could use that knowledge as I create this new one.

It’s absolutely amazing to me how a few tiny little leaves or a short blade or two of grass can have such an extensive, branching network of roots below ground. It doesn’t seem to take long at all for those roots to burrow deep and get those unassuming topside bits established. Hmmm, might be a nice metaphor for any of us getting established in a new place. Focus on digging in, getting your support network developed, finding nourishment in your new surroundings (no sense longing for what’s no longer there or where you no longer are). It might take a season or two, but before long you’ve become a part of a new garden — and hopefully not a weed, but a productive species providing a bit of beauty to your corner of the world.

– Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader

According to my calendar, Christmas is 85 days away. Yet last night I heard Brenda Lee’s “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” on a local radio station. I am sure it was some cheesy disc jockey’s ploy to be the first to play a holiday tune.

The upbeat Lee song left me feeling blue. These aren’t the holiday blues. These are the “summer was lousy and followed a horrible winter and I don’t want winter back again” blues.

Our bad weather started in early September of 2008, when rain poured down on Chicago, amassing a record number of inches and flooding basements (mine included). The rain was followed all too quickly by a cold snap and snow. That snow was joined by more snow and more snow as the winter progressed.

We had a brief warm spell around Christmas which resulted in frozen roads everywhere. This wasn’t just slick pavement. This was literally a sheet of ice over every street (whether a one-lane country road or a major highway). I was stuck at my sister’s house for two days, waiting for the icy streets to become drivable.

All winter I kept saying that as bad as it was, we really needed a good summer to balance things. That never happened. We had the least sunny summer since 1992.

Now here it is, the end of September, and it was 40 yesterday. This doesn’t bode well for the winter.

I guess all I can do is put on a sweatshirt and deal with it. Well, that and find that DJ and give him a big lump of coal upside his head.

– John Wroblewski, distribution specialist

My last concert of the summer was both a surprise and a delight. A friend provided a ticket at the last minute to a performance at the local amphitheater by James Taylor and his band (and thus, the surprise), and the concert itself was pure delight. First, the weather couldn’t have been better. Sunny and a little too warm most of the day (low 90s), the temperature eased off as the sun dropped down and, softened by a pleasant breeze, was perfect for an evening under the stars. Arriving at the venue about two hours before the music was to start, I staked out a perfect spot on the grass with my lawn chair and blanket. Well back from the stage but just opposite the center mic, I enjoyed a great vantage point for both people-watching and concert viewing.

As I mentioned yesterday, I’ve always enjoyed Taylor’s music; he takes that clear, pure, emotive voice and wraps it around an assortment of genres (blues, folk, rock, jazz, country) and makes them his own. This was my first chance to see him in a live performance, and while I was pleased that the playlist included his most well-known and -loved songs (”Fire and Rain,” “You’ve Got a Friend,” “Sweet Baby James,” “Carolina in My Mind”),  I enjoyed the variety of other tunes it included. We got a sampling from his latest Covers album as well as a few folk songs from the first half of the last century and what Taylor jokingly referred to as a few “state fair” numbers.

Taylor was backed by four superb voices. David Lasley has been singing with James Taylor for nearly three decades, but check out his bio to see what a remarkable career he’s had as a solo artist, song writer and backup for other performers. And Andrea Zonn provided vocals as well as beautiful fiddle/violin accompaniment throughout the show. Larry Goldings on keyboards provided great, jazzy sound; and Bob Mann (guitar) and Jimmy Johnson (bass) showed great versatility whether in rock, blues or country mode.

It was interesting to compare the acoustics on this night with that of Tuesday’s Crosby, Stills & Nash concert, and I really didn’t notice any of the unpleasant qualities from that earlier performance. I’m sure Saturday’s near-sold-out audience helped buffer some of the ambient sound, and fewer speakers may also have contributed to better sound. Most importantly, though, just has to be the fact that James Taylor still has excellent control of a voice that is just as strong and true as it was at the start of his career, and he has assembled great musicians and vocalists to help him deliver the music. Playing straight through for more than two hours, together they presented a truly fine evening of music.

I really can’t imagine a much better way to end the last full week of summer than with such a great evening. The memories will carry me through the dark, wet days of winter and keep me looking forward to more great outdoor events next year.

–Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader

This weekend marks both the “official” end of summer, as it is the last long weekend of the season, and the beginning of fall. In most parts of the country, at least weather-wise, it will still feel like summer (and meterologically, factually will be) for another month or so. But offices which had early release on Fridays through the last three months go back to the usual routine, everyone’s pace seems to pick up as the days get shorter and the temperatures cool, and the kids are back in school.

Although our youngest is now in her last year of college, our lives are still deeply influenced by the public school year, as my husband works for a small, rural school district here in southern Oregon. And, being one of those people who really loved school and the excitement that came with its start again each fall (even though I loved those long, lazy summer days, too), I don’t mind the school calendar at all. Last night we marked the last Friday of summer with one of the great traditions of fall: the first high school home football game of the season.

Classes actually don’t start up for the students in Rogue River until the Tuesday after Labor Day, but the players and cheerleaders have been practicing for weeks, and the stands were filled with kids and adults alike who seemed to relish the chance to be back in the bleachers for a season of cheering on the Chieftains. We were blessed with a beautiful balmy evening, and attire skewed more toward what you’d see at a mid-summer baseball game (shorts and shirt sleeves) than the warmer gear that will be de rigueur in just a few weeks. Most of the first half could have been played without the stadium lights, as daylight still lingers until nearly 8 p.m. And then, after it grew dark, we were treated to an enormous full moon rising above the trees. With a soft, warm breeze still blowing, it was hard to remember that such evenings will soon be replaced by 4:30 p.m. sunsets and a damp, deep chill.

Our team was a scoring machine last night (which even only very recently was far from its reality), and “we” defeated our opponents in a resounding 50-14 victory. So, although we are saying good-bye to summer, it seems that we can look forward to an entertaining and exciting fall.

–Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader