Kathy D'Agostino

If you're thinking about vacationing in Maine, March is part of the offseason for everything except skiing, sledding, and maybe ice skating or ice fishing. If you're into winter sports, you're in luck. But hiking trails are either frozen or muddy from rain or thaw. And while the weather is inconsistent, one thing is for sure: It will be cold.

As kids, we didn't have much choice about what to do during February. Extracurricular activities were limited, as we lived in a rural area. Besides sledding and ice skating, there wasn't much to choose from when it was cold outdoors.

Well, it's that time of year — time to set goals for the new year and promise ourselves we'll see them through. We all do it. We often set the bar too high. We promise to eat healthier, exercise more, perhaps read more books or take a class to enhance a skill.

It's the holiday season and maybe it's me, but I'm just not feeling it this year like I usually do. In my heart I know it's the lack of snowfall. When I was young, storms would dump copious amounts of snow in December. We would go downtown and see store windows decorated for the season. The streets were lined with lights and garland that ended at a large tree covered in snow that glittered with colorful lights. It was simply glorious.

I have to admit that November isn't exactly my favorite month. It's a time of frosty breezes and solitude. When I was young, the harvest had been completed and all the farm machinery had been put away by November. With the intense work over, the fields that had been vibrant green and full of promise in spring had turned stark and brown.

I recently went to my family physician. At each appointment, patients are asked about food insecurity. I admit I just dismiss the question. But for many, it can't be dismissed.

I remember coming home from school in September and being greeted by the smell of whatever my mother was canning — tomatoes, pickles, relishes and more. Every vegetable from the garden was being preserved. As a result of living through the Great Depression, my mother never wasted anything. Anything not canned was frozen.

August can be a lot of things to a lot of people. For some, it's the last hurrah of summer, with final trips to the beach and lingering sunsets.

I'm realizing that as I age, I still can prepare some recipes from memory, recall profound emotional events and remember joyful moments — oh, those escapades full of laughter that will be etched forever in my heart. I remember one spectacular moment in particular, when I was about 7.

While pondering a theme for this month's column, I kept remembering the summers of my childhood. When we were in grade school, there wasn't a feeling in the world that could compare to hearing the last bell ring for dismissal and the start of summer vacation. It was pure freedom.