🌕 Full Moon Surprise for May
Moonlight and a song. May is showing off — we’re getting two full moons this month.
The first one rises today, the Flower Moon, and the second arrives on May 31, making it a rare Blue Moon month.
A little lunar bookend to kick off May.
I haven’t revisited May Day for a few years — fifteen, to be exact — but who’s counting. If you’re curious (or just in the mood for a laugh), you can see that original 2011 post here. May Day.
May Day is one of those holidays everyone’s heard of, but almost no one can fully explain — which is probably why it’s so much fun to write about. Depending on who you ask, May 1st is about flowers, bonfires, maypoles, ancient goddesses, or childhood memories of weaving ribbons around a pole without tripping over your classmates. And honestly? All of those answers are right.
May Day goes all the way back to the ancient world. The Romans celebrated Floralia, a weeklong festival honoring Flora, the goddess of youth, spring, and flowers. When they reached the British Isles, their festival collided with the Celtic celebration of Beltane, also held on May 1st — a fire festival marking the start of summer. Over time, the two blended into what we now recognize as May Day.
By the medieval period, May Day was the spring holiday across Europe. Villagers would wake up early to gather flowers and greenery — a tradition called “bringing in the May.” They decorated homes, barns, and even livestock with blossoms to welcome the season.
At the center of the festivities stood the maypole — usually a tall birch tree pulled into town by flower‑decked oxen. People danced around it holding colorful ribbons, weaving patterns as they went. Some towns even competed to see who could raise the tallest or most impressive pole.
Many villages crowned a May Queen, a young woman chosen to preside over the day’s games, dances, and pageantry. Think of it as the original spring influencer — minus the hashtags.
🔥 Bonfires, Dew, and a Little MagicIn some regions, May Day included bonfires — a holdover from Beltane — and people believed washing your face in May morning dew would bring good luck and beauty for the year ahead. (Honestly, that one might be worth trying.)
Here in New England, the Puritans were not fans. When an Anglican merchant erected a maypole at Merry Mount (today’s Quincy) in 1627, the neighboring Puritans chopped it down and shipped him back to England. No sense of whimsy, those folks.
So while the Puritans may have tried to shut the whole thing down (party poopers, the lot of them), May Day survived — flowers, maypoles, mischief and all. And honestly? I think that’s worth celebrating. Even if the only dancing you do is from the coffee maker to the couch.
Every April 22, the world pauses—just for a moment—to honor the only home we’ve ever known. Earth Day began in 1970 as a national call for environmental protection, but by 1990 it had grown into a global movement, with organized events in 141 countries and a shared understanding that caring for the planet is something we all hold in common.
One of the sparks that helped shape the early environmental movement wasn’t a speech or a law. It was a photograph.
In 1968, during the Apollo 8 mission, astronaut Bill Anders captured the now‑iconic “Earthrise” image: our blue planet rising above the gray lunar horizon. Small. Bright. Fragile. That single picture changed how millions of people saw the world. It reminded us that everything we love—every ocean, every forest, every city, every memory—exists on this one shimmering sphere floating in the dark. It’s hard not to feel something when you look at it.
Earthrise photo by Bill Anders
Closer to home, Earth Day feels a little more grounded.
The Forever Farm holds a special place in my heart. It was founded by my friend — and former supervisor — Nichole Botelho, one of those rare people who turns life’s lemons into something far sweeter. When the pandemic brought an unexpected layoff, she didn’t shrink from it. She dreamed bigger. What started as a quiet idea she once mentioned to me has grown into a thriving sanctuary for farm animals who deserve a second chance.
Celebrate Earth Day With the Forever Farm
And these aren’t the typical “cute and cuddly” rescues you see on posters. Nichole opens her arms to donkeys and pigs, chickens and roosters, and even a miniature horse named Miracle. Watching her take a dream and build it into a place of safety, healing, and hope has been nothing short of inspiring. The Forever Farm is a reminder that caring for the planet isn’t just about oceans and forests — it’s also about the creatures who share our daily world.
Earth Day doesn’t ask us to be perfect. It simply asks us to pay attention. To notice the beauty around us. To care a little more today than we did yesterday. And to remember that even small choices — recycling, planting, supporting local farms, protecting green spaces — add up when millions of people make them together.
A Moment to Reflect and RecommitSo here’s to Earth Day.
To the big blue marble in the sky.
To the places we love.
And to the people, like Nichole, who turn compassion into action and make this planet a little kinder for all who call it home.
Every spring in Massachusetts, something ancient stirs beneath the surface of our rivers. As the water warms, thousands of river herring — alewives and blueback herring — return from the Atlantic to the exact freshwater streams where they were born. This annual migration, known simply as the herring run, is one of New England’s most reliable signs that winter is finally loosening its grip.
It’s a small miracle that happens in plain sight, and once you know it’s happening, you start to notice the subtle excitement in the air: the gulls gathering, the osprey circling, the water suddenly alive with silver flashes.
River herring are diadromous fish, meaning they split their lives between saltwater and freshwater. They hatch in ponds and streams, spend their early months growing there, then head out to sea. After several years in the Atlantic, instinct pulls them back home to spawn the next generation.
Massachusetts sees two species:
The run typically begins in late March or early April and peaks through mid‑May, depending on water temperature.
The run isn’t just a quirky local event — it’s a cornerstone of the coastal ecosystem. River herring are a
crucial food source for:
When the herring return, everything else wakes up too. It’s the ecological equivalent of turning the lights back on after winter.
One of the most exciting changes in recent years has been the return of bald eagles to southeastern Massachusetts. After disappearing from the state for decades, they’ve made a dramatic comeback thanks to conservation efforts — and the herring run is one of the seasonal events that draws them in.
During the run, eagles:
Seeing an eagle over the river in April has become one of those “I can’t believe this is Massachusetts” moments.
If you’ve ever watched the dramatic salmon runs in Alaska or the Pacific Northwest — the leaping fish, the roaring rivers, the bears lined up like they’re at a sushi conveyor belt — you might assume the herring run is the same thing on a smaller scale.
It is similar… but also wonderfully different.
Salmon runs attract grizzlies who stand in the river and casually pluck salmon out of the air. It’s peak nature‑documentary energy.
Here?
We get seagulls. Loud, pushy, unapologetic seagulls.
They’re not majestic, but they are extremely committed to the drama.
It’s less “National Geographic” and more “local gossip at the river.”
Pacific salmon make one heroic, exhausting journey upstream and then die, feeding the ecosystem.
River herring?
They spawn, shake it off, and head back to sea. They can repeat the trip several times over their lifespan.
Salmon runs can look like the river is made of fish.
Herring runs are quieter — thousands, not millions — and concentrated at fish ladders and narrow channels. You can stand a few feet away and watch individual fish make their climb.
So while the Pacific Northwest is gearing up for berry season and bears, we’re pulling on light jackets and heading to the fish ladder with coffee.
Historically, yes — they were smoked, salted, pickled, and even used as fertilizer. But today, harvesting river herring is banned in Massachusetts due to population declines.
So the only ones feasting during the run are:
It’s a wildlife buffet, not a human one.
Some of the best spots in Massachusetts include:
Each has fish ladders, viewing platforms, and plenty of opportunities for photos.
I’ve been watching the herring run for years, and every spring it feels like the river wakes up all at once. The gulls start screaming, the water churns, and suddenly you realize winter is officially over.
The Boston Marathon isn’t just a race — it’s a piece of living Massachusetts history. First run in 1897, it holds the title of the world’s oldest annual marathon, inspired by the marathon event at the first modern Olympic Games in 1896. What began with just 15 runners has grown into one of the most iconic road races in the world, drawing elite athletes, charity runners, and more than half a million spectators every year.
During World War I, the marathon wasn’t run in its traditional form. Instead, it became a 10‑man military relay, a patriotic adaptation that kept the spirit of the race alive during wartime.
In 1969, organizers shifted the race from its traditional April 19 date to the third Monday in April, bringing it in line with the modern Patriots’ Day schedule. That’s how Marathon Monday was born.
Although Roberta Gibb completed the race unofficially in 1966 and Kathrine Switzer famously ran with a bib in 1967, 1972 marked the first year women were officially welcomed into the field. It changed the race forever.
One of the most infamous moments in marathon history came in 1980, when Rosie Ruiz was initially crowned the women’s winner — only to be disqualified after it was discovered she hadn’t run the full course. It remains one of the most talked‑about sports scandals in Boston lore.
Heartbreak HillNo discussion of Boston is complete without Heartbreak Hill, the legendary climb in Newton. The name dates back to 1936, when defending champion Johnny Kelley caught up to Ellison “Tarzan” Brown on the hill — only for Brown to surge ahead and win. Kelley’s heartbreak gave the hill its name, and runners have been bracing for it ever since.
The darkest chapter in the race’s history came in 2013, when two bombs exploded near the finish line, killing three people and injuring more than 260. The city’s response — resilience, unity, and the now‑famous “Boston Strong” — became part of the marathon’s identity. The race has carried that spirit forward every year since.
For the first time in its history, the Boston Marathon was not held in person in 2020. Due to the COVID‑19 pandemic, the race shifted to a virtual format, allowing runners to complete 26.2 miles on their own routes. It was a reminder that the marathon is as much about determination as it is about location.
The Boston Marathon is more than a race — it’s a tradition woven into the fabric of Massachusetts. From Hopkinton to Boylston Street, every mile carries stories of determination, heartbreak, triumph, and community. It’s a race that honors its past while evolving with the times, and every April, it reminds us what endurance — and Boston — are made of.
The Boston Marathon is a really big deal in a city that loves its sports with its whole heart. From the Red Sox to the Bruins to the Celtics to the Pats, Boston shows up — loudly, loyally, and without hesitation. And on Marathon Monday, the city shows up in a way that feels almost sacred. Streets fill, cowbells ring, strangers cheer for strangers, and the whole region leans into one long, collective heartbeat.
It feels fitting that my Patriots’ Day post goes live on April 17, covering the full Lexington and Concord weekend, while this Marathon post lands on April 20 — right as runners are making their way toward Boylston Street. Two traditions, two days, each carrying its own history and emotion.
Patriots’ Day honors where Massachusetts began.
The Boston Marathon celebrates who we are now.
And honestly, only Boston could pull off a weekend where muskets at dawn and world‑class athletes share the same spotlight — and somehow, it all feels perfectly natural.
