When I came to work Monday morning, my coworker – who is normally a jocular fellow – growled about his weekend.

“I’m going to make a video of why I hate going to the fair,” he grumbled, “so that next year when someone tries to talk me into it, I can watch and remind myself why I should say ‘no’.”

I laughed, thinking how much I had thoroughly enjoyed my own evening at the fair eating those once-a-year indulgences, watching people, and laughing at the antics of baby pigs.

It seems people either love the fair or hate it – and maybe that’s a reflection of how we feel about the change of seasons this time of year. After the manic daylight hours of summer, many of us welcome autumn for its gentler change of pace. The curtains have finally darkened for at least part of the night; we breathe a little deeper, sleep more restfully. The last of the garden is harvested and the final berries are gathered from the vine. Rose colored sunrises and crimson sunsets hearken a time when the nights will grow colder and the snow will lay its skirt down the mountainside.

On the other hand, with winter comes its requisite hassle. Car tires need to be changed. Garden hoses need to be put away and snow shovels brought out. Icy roads and the darkness will have to be contended with. And (oh glory be!) skis will come out of the closet for a good waxing before snowfall.

We may have strong and sometimes mixed feelings about the seasons changing, but one thing is certain. It will happen whether we are ready for it or not. Author Carol Bishop Hipps wrote that autumn is “the mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause between the opposing miseries of summer and winter.”  And so the days pass, the seasons change, and our lives are richer for it in spite of that age-old tinge of melancholy.

While at the fair, I spent much of my time in the barn at the farm exhibits. The piglets were all awake, scampering around their mother who was snuffling down dinner in the manner that has given gluttony its namesake. The babies romped with enthusiastic abandon. Pink, black and spotted piglets tumbled with glee, little ears flopping. While the babies surely made me smile, what was even more remarkable were the people who gathered around the pen. Folks of every shape and ilk – people who might not acknowledge each other on the street, all of whom carried some burden or another – stood shoulder-to-shoulder grinning and laughing at the unabashed silliness of those piglets. There wasn’t a sad face in the bunch. Not one. And I thought to myself, these are moments to savor – moments when the world seems good and right, and oh-so-tender. Surely these latter days of summer are a place to linger and smile.

It’s been said that anyone can grow rhubarb, and to be careful where you place the plant since it grows prolifically and lives for a long time. I remember pulling stalks of rhubarb from the garden as a kid. Mom would give us a dish of white sugar and my sisters and I would dunk the end of the stalk before crunching down on its mouth-watering tartness.

Trouble is I’ve had no luck whatsoever growing the stuff. I love rhubarb. Pies, jams, crisps, sauces – anything with even a hint of rhubarb is delicious. But my plants are anemic and have rarely produced more than a stalk or two – and hardly the big rhubarb swizzle sticks of my childhood. In fact, it’s given me a bit of a gardening complex. Many friends have given me rhubarb starts – all of which eventually fail to produce. How can I grow a profusion of flowers, baskets full of blossoms, and still fail to raise this so-called resilient, hardy plant? A friend, who is currently enrolled in Master Gardener courses, suggested I may need to have my soil tested. I’m sure she’s right.

Meanwhile, I’m always grateful for the abundance of rhubarb patches other than my own. One of the best rhubarb gardens I’ve ever seen is at Jon and Myra Nauman’s in Chugiak. Owners of the Horse Drawn Carriage Company, the couple dig up their rhubarb plants every few years, plunk in a few shovels full of horse manure, and reset the plants back into the soil. Their rhubarb stalks grow thick as fists with leaves the size of elephant ears. (Yes, I’ve tried this trick with my plants but to no avail.)

The history of rhubarb is long and colorful. The Chinese had been cultivating rhubarb for medicinal uses since 2700 BC. Marco Polo talked about Chinese rhubarb at length in the accounts of his travels. In 1778 rhubarb was recorded as a food plant in Europe – its earliest use was as filling for tarts & pies. Rhubarb was first grown in America between 1790-1800 by a Maine gardener who managed to get seed or root stock from Europe.

My family’s history of the plant is, as mentioned, scant. Yet there is one “rhubarb” that currently abounds. My son’s family just so happen to name their puppy “Rhubarb.” An energetic lab, she is the daughter of my dog “LC” and now a happy one-year-old. She is the family’s friend and protector. (She excels at warning the family about bears in the yard.) And she is as sweet as the sugar I used for dipping rhubarb as a kid.

As for next year’s attempt at growing the stuff, I will get the soil tested and try it again. For now, the rainy days of August put me in the mood for Rhubarb Crisp. I may have to ask around if anyone has rhubarb to spare.

Rhubarb Crisp

4 cups chopped rhubarb

3 tablespoons orange juice mixed with 1 tablespoon cornstarch

1 cup granulated sugar

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 tablespoons cold butter, cut in small pieces

1/4 cup melted butter

1/3 cup brown sugar

2/3 cup sifted all-purpose flour

dash salt

1/4 teaspoon baking soda

2/3 cup quick cooking rolled oats

Heat oven to 375°. Butter an 8-inch square baking dish. Arrange diced rhubarb in the prepared baking dish. Toss rhubarb with the orange juice and cornstarch mixture, then sprinkle with the 1 cup sugar and the cinnamon; dot with the 1 tablespoon of cut up butter.

Combine melted butter with brown sugar. Sift together the flour, salt, and baking soda; mix with oats. Combine the flour oat mixture with the brown sugar and melted butter mixture until well blended. Spread the crumb mixture over rhubarb. Bake for 40 minutes.

Serve warm, with ice cream or whipped topping.

On a cool June day, horses and their owners gathered to test their trail savvy at the third annual Extreme Trail Challenge in Peters Creek. No one knew what the bonus challenge would be, but for twenty bucks, riders could choose to make the secret challenge their final obstacle. As they rode the course, riders had the whole day to think about what they might be up against at the end of the competition.

The event drew 28 competitors from as far away as Fairbanks. Horse and rider teams had the opportunity to test their skills in an event that has steadily grown more popular over the past three years. Sponsored by the Chugach Range Riders, the Extreme Trail Challenge is held at Bill and Diane Sullivan’s 15-acre ranch in Peters Creek. Diane is the event coordinator while Bill thinks of ways to make the course more challenging.

The couple was in Oregon with their horses in 2006 and just happened upon the Northwest Mountain Trail Championships. On a whim, Bill decided to enter the competition as a rookie. In the two day event – to the astonishment of professional cowboys and horse trainers from around the country – Bill, on his horse, Jake, won the championship hands down.

The event was so much fun, the Sullivans decided to create a similar competition for Alaska riders. The obstacles along the course test the skills of the rider and the bravery of the horse. Horses were asked to traverse a bridge, climb onto a rock, jump barrels, drag a log, and undertake a variety of other challenges. More than a few horses snorted and danced at the silhouette cutouts of bears on the trail.

Perhaps the most challenging of all was a deep trench that horse and rider teams were asked to ride through. At least 10 feet deep and 50 feet long, this obstacle was – for some horses – akin to entering the dragon’s lair.

The Extreme Trail Challenge is not just an obstacle course. It reflects the relationship between horse and rider. Horses are willing to try things that are unfamiliar and even frightening when they trust and have confidence in their rider.

“It’s the riders and their sense of adventure that make this event,” said Diane Sullivan, who is a certified John Lyons trainer. “Hopefully they come away having learned something from it.”

At the end of the competition, riders who signed up were given the chance to try the bonus challenge. At that point, Bill brought out “General Westmoreland” the llama. This was a creature many horses had never seen before. While horse and rider teams side-passed around the pen, the cranky llama pinned its ears and spit on any horse that came too close. Most horses managed the obstacle well; but for others, “Wes” was just a bit too much to handle.

In the end, the Extreme Trail Challenge offered a day to revel in the presence of horses and the people who love them.

Winners of the novice division were 1^st Emily Brassard; 2^nd Karol Kolehmainen; 3^rd Christine Lorenzen. Winners of the open division were 1^st Deb Moore; 2^nd Terri Mielke; 3^rd Laurie Knuutila and her horse also won the bonus challenge.

April is that tantalizing month when the days grow longer and the sun’s warmth starts seeping into our bones again. The scent of dirt sends gardeners scurrying for potting soil and seeds. Bits of green grass start pushing their way through the thawing ground. The silence of winter is giving way to the trickle of melting snow. It is a time of renewal and promise.

But let’s face it. Break-up is messy. Our family first arrived in Alaska during break-up and our realtor apologized.

“It’s the ugliest time of year,” he said.

We had never seen a place more beautiful. If this was what Alaskans considered ugly, we were in for a treat. Twenty-five years later I still can’t think of a place more inspiring; but I do have a better understanding of what the man meant about break-up.

Does anyone in April have a clean car? The kids come inside with sopping socks and the dog tracks in enough mud to plant those newly purchased seeds. The slant of sunlight through the windows accentuates every speck of dirt we missed over the winter months. But who wants to see sunlight through a window – we’re all ready to feel it our faces.

One bright afternoon I invited my grandson for an outing to hunt for signs of spring. At age four, he has experienced less than a handful of this season of awakening. So I asked him what kinds of things happen in the spring time. He thought a moment.

“The grass turns green,” he said. “And the bears come out of their caves.”

We could probably find some green grass somewhere – but decided against looking for bears. Here then, are some things we found on our hunt. Green grass (as promised) – being munched by a horse. Lots of puddles. Dogs hanging out car windows. Mud. A barista in short sleeves. Snow. People wearing rain boots. A bug.

Soon we’ll be packing away our skis and digging out hiking boots and backpacks. Meanwhile, Alaskans will smile a little broader, breathe a little deeper, and enjoy this muddy, messy, marvelous season of spring.