Human life used to be intrinsically linked to the seasons — taking in the harvest each fall, preparing for the winter, or celebrating the arrival of warmer weather. Even today, the seasons impact our lives, whether we’re preparing for some beach time or a serious snowfall. The facts below, drawn from around the website, spotlight some of the fascinating science and culture around each season. For example, do you know what time of year the sky looks bluest? Or where our names for spring and fall come from? When did people start “leaf peeping,” or celebrating the cherry blossoms? Read on for our 25 favorite facts connected to the seasons of the year.
If you think the son/niece/grandchild in your life starts to sprout before your eyes once the winter clothing has been shed, you're probably not imagining things. Researchers have long studied the connection between seasonal changes and youth growth patterns, with substantial evidence pointing to higher rates of growth among children in the Northern Hemisphere during the spring and summer months. While we might question results drawn from, say, a 1930 publication, newer research has validated these older findings: A 2015 study of 760 Danish students ages 8 to 11 revealed the most growth recorded around April and May, while a 2022 paper, which tracked the development of thousands of Texas kids from kindergarten to fifth grade, confirmed strong growth rates in spring and early summer.
The science is less definitive when it comes to determining the reasons behind the growth. One possible explanation is that exposure to longer hours of sunlight may stimulate bone growth and hormone regulation. Other potential factors, which can vary according to location and financial means, include increased access to fresh foods and healthy activities come springtime.
As beloved as the crisp fall weather seems to be, English speakers haven’t always paid attention to it … at least not linguistically. Historically, the more extreme seasons have always been named — specifically winter, which was so important that it was used to mark the passage of time by the Anglo-Saxons, who counted their years in winters. But when English speakers of the past referred to summer’s end, they often used the term “harvest,” from the Old English (and ultimately Germanic) haerfest. The first recorded usage of “harvest” to mean a season appears in the 10th century, but the word didn’t stick around in common usage; by the 1700s, it was considered outdated.
Eventually, the English language began recognizing the transitional seasons. Spring was first known as “lent” or “lenten” in the 12th and 13th centuries, then “spryngyng time,” among other terms, around the 14th century. “Autumn” emerged around the 1300s, taken from the Latin autumnus and French autompne, and slowly pushing out “harvest.” “Fall” cropped up around the 1500s as part of “fall of the leaf,” mirroring the popular phrase “spring of the leaf” used for the vernal equinox, and it’s likely that these phrases were simply shortened to give the seasons their modern names. “Autumn” and “fall” have been used interchangeably ever since, with their popularity waxing and waning over time.
When things heat up around July and August, you’ll inevitably hear the phrase “dog days of summer.” This doesn’t have anything to do with canines lying around panting in the heat — instead, the phrase is a celestial reference. Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky, is nicknamed the “dog star” because it makes up the “eye” of the constellation Canis Major (Latin for “Greater Dog”). In Greek mythology, Canis Major is said to be a hunting dog who belongs to the legendary huntsman Orion. Cosmologically speaking, this relationship is fitting, because the three stars that make up the asterism Orion’s belt point to the “dog star” in the southern sky.
The phrase “dog days of summer” actually refers to a specific period on the calendar, from July 3 until August 11. The ancient Greeks and Romans believed these “dog days” occurred when Sirius appeared to rise with the sun, which always occurred during the summer. The idea was that the immense luminosity of Sirius along with the sun’s heat somehow created summer’s scorching temperatures. Of course, we now know this doesn’t make much sense. For one thing, Sirius is much farther away from Earth than the sun is — like 50 trillion miles farther — so the star has absolutely no effect on Earth’s climate. For another, the dog days of summer are relative to where you live on Earth, appearing earlier in the year for those living farther south and later for those in the north. Also, the position of Sirius is subject to Earth’s wobbly rotation — meaning that in 13,000 years, Sirius will rise in midwinter rather than midsummer. So, no, “dog days of summer” isn’t an allusion to our cuddly canines, but a vestigial phrase derived from some 2,500-year-old astronomy.
The surprisingly resilient phrase “April showers bring May flowers” first appeared in English poet Thomas Tusser’s 1557 work A Hundreth Good Pointes of Husbandrie, which contained both poetry and practical advice. The book was widely read throughout England, and scholars believe it was possibly the most popular book of poetry during the Elizabethan era. In the book, Tusser writes, “Swéete April showers, Doo spring Maie flowers.” Of course the validity of such a phrase is very much dependent on where you live. In the U.S., for example, April is only the fifth-wettest month on average, with June often being the wettest overall (more on that later).
Although the sky is blue throughout the year, it’s often a richer blue in the fall and winter, especially in latitudes farther from the equator. The reason has to do with both electromagnetism and the biology of the human eye. As a refresher: All visible colors are tied to some wavelength along the electromagnetic spectrum. When sunlight enters Earth’s atmosphere, gas and dust particles reflect the shorter wavelengths of visible light (such as blue) more than longer wavelengths (such as red). That — and the sensitivity of the human eye to the color blue — is why the sky appears as a cool sapphire.
However, as the seasons progress, one part of this equation changes: the sun’s position. As the sun gets lower and lower in the sky, the angle of the sun’s light hitting the atmosphere causes more blue light to scatter, while red and green light decrease. That causes the sky to turn an even richer blue. These blue skies are especially easy to see in much of North America, as cooler temperatures mean less moisture (and therefore fewer clouds), giving you an uninterrupted view of that deep azure atmosphere.
Few trees are more beautiful than cherry trees when in full bloom. Although millions flock to see cherry blossoms around the world, the trees have a special resonance in Japan, where they are known as sakura. During Japan’s Heian period (794 to 1185), when art and poetry flourished, sakura became associated with the ephemeral beauty of life, since the blossoms last only a few weeks before wilting. The Japanese aristocracy ate and drank tea under sakura during events known as hanami (“cherry blossom viewing”), a tradition that’s still observed in Japan today. Throughout the centuries, sakura continued to play a role in Japanese society, especially during the Edo period, when the pink blossoms became the subject of many woodblock prints known as ukiyo-e.
He may be heralded as the most prophetic rodent in the world, but Punxsutawney Phil’s annual predictions are far from accurate. According to records, Phil has predicted 107 forecasts of a longer winter compared to just 20 early springs (nine additional years lack records on file). When taking into account the historic weather data that followed Phil’s predictions, he’s been correct only around 39% of the time — making him a less reliable barometer than a coin flip.
Phil has a bit of competition when it comes to weather forecasting. Staten Island Chuck — a resident of New York’s Staten Island Zoo — has a prediction rate over 80%. Chuck went on a hot streak and made a correct weather prediction every Groundhog Day between 2010 and 2021, with the exception of 2017. So while Phil is undeniably more famous, Chuck may have the edge when it comes to actually foreseeing the future.
There are three different pigments responsible for the coloration of autumn leaves: chlorophyll, carotenoids, and anthocyanin. Chlorophyll, the most basic pigment that every plant possesses, is a key component of the photosynthetic process that gives leaves their green color during the warmer, brighter months. The other two pigments become more prevalent as conditions change. Carotenoids are unmasked as chlorophyll levels deplete; these produce more yellow, orange, and brown tones. Though scientists once thought that anthocyanin also lay dormant during the warmer months, they now believe that production begins anew each year during the fall. The anthocyanin pigment not only contributes to the deep red color found in leaves (and in fruits such as cranberries and apples), but it also acts as a natural sunscreen against bright sunlight in colder weather.
During the transformative autumnal months, it’s easier to discern the types of trees based on the color of their leaves. Varying proportions of pigmentation can be found in the chemical composition of each tree type, leading to colorful contrasts. For example, red leaves are found on various maples (particularly red and sugar maples), oaks, sweetgums, and dogwoods, while yellow and orange shades are more commonly associated with hickories, ashes, birches, and black maples.
Everyone’s heard of April showers, but it turns out June is the wettest month of the year in the U.S., though results vary by location. Alaska-based climatologist Brian Brettschneider analyzed 30 years of data from 8,535 official National Climatic Data Center weather stations and found that 2,053 of those sites reported June as their wettest month, while only 76 sites reported April as the wettest. Not only did he discover that June is the wettest month on average in the contiguous U.S., but Brettschneider also calculated that June 7 was the wettest day overall.
June produces so much rain because warm, humid air travels up through the Gulf of Mexico, creating an uptick in thunderstorms that unleash rain across the Great Plains, the Midwest, and the Northeast. That’s why June is often the wettest month in cities such as Minneapolis, Oklahoma City, and Kansas City. June heat also instigates downpours along the Gulf Coast in places like Houston, New Orleans, and Orlando. Things start to dry out as spring turns to summer, but June makes sure that seasonal transition is a tempestuous one.
Autumn heralds the arrival of many things: pumpkin pie, crisp morning air, and, apparently, more intelligent rodents. Male squirrels get smarter in the fall due to their hippocampus (a part of the brain involved in memory) increasing in size during the caching season — the time of year when they gather even more nuts than usual. Interestingly, female squirrel brains don’t show the same effect; researchers speculate that male squirrel brains may change in the fall to act more like the females’ brains already function all year long. The slightly bigger brains may help male squirrels remember exactly where they’ve stored their nuts, although scientists are still teasing out how.
While this may seem counterintuitive, given all that frolicking in parks and pools, several studies indeed show that children add the most pounds in summer. So what gives? It may simply be a sign of the technology-fueled times: Instead of chasing after friends, kids nowadays often prefer to engage in video games or other sedentary screen activities when not in school. Some experts also believe that the lack of a school day structure may be to blame: With children less likely to wake up at a regular hour, and parents less likely to enforce strict bedtimes, the irregular sleep patterns that follow end up disrupting the circadian rhythms that impact eating habits and digestion.
Rudolph’s nose may have been red, but his eyes were blue — except in the summer, when they would have been golden. That’s because reindeer eyes change color depending on the time of year, which helps them see better in different light levels. Their blue eyes are approximately 1,000 times more sensitive to light than their golden counterparts, a crucial adaptation in the dark days of winter. Only one part changes color, however: the tapetum lucidum, a mirrored layer situated behind the retina. Cats have it, too — it's why their eyes appear to glow in the dark. This part of the reindeer retina shines a different hue depending on the season.
Memorial Day’s precise date on the calendar shifts from year to year (though it’s always the final Monday of May), but at least the reasoning behind it is sound: The late spring date was chosen because it was when flowers would be in full bloom. Because adorning the graves of fallen soldiers with wreaths was once the most important part of the holiday, it’s difficult to imagine Memorial Day taking place at another time of year — especially considering that it was first celebrated in the 1860s, when floristry wasn’t quite as commercially developed as it is today.
Certain aspects of the holiday’s origins are murky, but we know that in the wake of the Civil War, many communities around the country decorated the graves of dead soldiers with blossoms and said prayers. In 1868, General John A. Logan, who led an organization for Northern Civil War veterans, chose May 30 “for the purpose of strewing with flowers, or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion, and whose bodies now lie in almost every city, village and hamlet churchyard in the land.” Originally set aside specifically for the Civil War, Memorial Day came to encompass all military casualties during World War I. It was celebrated on a state and community-wide basis before it became an official federal holiday in 1971.
“Harvest moon” is more than the title of a great Neil Young song — it's also the name given to the full moon closest to the autumnal equinox. This is the traditional time of the harvest when farmers would work in the fields and harvest their crops. The full moon allowed the farmers to work through the night, thanks to the extra hours of light overhead. Since the autumnal equinox happens every year, there is a harvest moon every year too, although the date changes.
Harvest moons marked an important time of the year for European agricultural societies, and often included festivals and celebrations. The event was (and is) also celebrated in China and other parts of Asia during the Mid-Autumn Festival, with lots of games and delicious mooncakes.
The Eiffel Tower stands 1,083 feet tall, but it gets a bit of a boost in the summer — as many as 6 inches, to be precise. The seasonal phenomenon is the result of warmer temperatures heating up the metal and causing it to expand, making the landmark just a little more imposing. Originally built as the entrance to the 1889 World’s Fair, la Dame de Fer (“The Iron Lady”) wasn't initially as beloved as she is today. Some 40 artists went so far as to sign an open letter published on the front page of Le Temps protesting the “useless and monstrous” structure that “will without a doubt dishonor Paris.”
Suffice to say that the critics were ultimately in the minority, and both the tower and the World’s Fair were massive hits. Even so, the structure wasn’t meant to be permanent: Gustave Eiffel, who designed the tower and lent it his name, was granted a 20-year permit before Paris took over the lease, at which point the monument was supposed to be dismantled. Due to its popularity and usefulness as a radio tower, however, it was allowed to remain a vital part of the City of Light.
In ancient Greece and Rome, the winter solstice was believed to herald “halcyon days,” a period of calm seas and gentle breezes. Pliny the Elder explained the origin of this story in Book X of his Natural History. The halcyon, or kingfisher (Alcedo atthis), a bird that dives into rivers to prey on fish, was thought to build nests seven days before the winter solstice. The birds incubated their eggs for one week after the solstice, at which point the young hatched, “from which circumstance those days are known as the ‘halcyon days’: during this period the sea is calm and navigable,” Pliny wrote. The tale was based on a Greek myth — and it’s a scientific myth, too. Kingfishers actually nest in burrows in riverbanks. Today, the phrase “halcyon days” can refer to any period of tranquility and repose.
Difficult times can lead to great art. Case in point: the volcanic explosion that caused a “year without a summer” in 1816 and inspired the novel Frankenstein. The eruption took place at Indonesia’s Mount Tambora, many thousands of miles away from author Mary Shelley’s home in England. In addition to a harrowing death toll, the April 1815 explosion ejected mass amounts of sulfur dioxide, ash, and dust into the atmosphere, blocking sunlight and plunging the global temperature several degrees lower, resulting in the coldest year in well over two centuries. In part because of the volcano, Europe and North America were subjected to unusually cold, wet conditions the following summer, including a “killing frost” in New England and heavy rainfall that may have contributed to Napoleon’s infamous defeat at Waterloo.
So what does that have to do with Mary Shelley’s masterpiece? Then 18 and still going by her maiden name of Godwin, she and her future husband, Percy Bysshe Shelley, traveled to Lake Geneva in April 1816, a time of extremely gloomy weather. One fateful night that July, the two were with their friend Lord Byron, the infamous poet, when he suggested, “We will each write a ghost story.” Shelley completed hers in just a few days, writing in the introduction to Frankenstein; or, the Modern Prometheus that “a wet, ungenial summer, and incessant rain often confined us for days to the house.” Who knows: If it had been bright and sunny that week, we might never have gotten the endlessly influential 1818 book, which later spawned an assortment of movies, TV shows, plays — and of course, iconic Halloween costumes.
Escaping the scorching heat in a cool movie theater (with a refreshing side of soda and popcorn) hasn’t always been a summer pastime. Prior to the 1970s, movie theaters experienced seasonal slowdowns, since many Americans preferred to spend their summer days outdoors. Knowing this, Hollywood studios of the 1950s and ’60s reserved their biggest releases for the last quarter of the year, pushing films into theaters in October, November, and December with the goal of capturing ticket sales from holiday shoppers. A second major reason to avoid a summer release: Films debuted at the end of the year were freshest in the minds of film awards voters, giving late-year releases a better chance at taking home an Oscar. All this would change in the latter third of the 20th century, however, with the creation of the summer blockbuster.
The tradition of leaf-peeping goes back more than 1,200 years, and it appears we have Japan to thank for the custom. Their version of the practice, which carries the considerably more evocative name of momijigari (“autumn leaf hunting”), dates back to at least the Heian period of 794 to 1185. A renaissance of sorts, that epoch brought about both visual art that celebrated the vibrant colors of fall and the endlessly influential Tale of Genji, which explicitly mentions “an imperial celebration of autumn foliage.”
As for how it became an American tradition, a professor of Asian art history has a theory: Japan and New England were connected via shipping routes, resulting in New Englanders being exposed to Japanese lacquerware featuring a maple-leaf motif that made them more inclined to seek out gorgeous leaves without traveling halfway across the world.
Longer days mean more sunlight, and more sunlight means higher temperatures, right? Well, not exactly. Even though the days get shorter and shorter following the solstice, temperatures continue to climb in the Northern Hemisphere due to what scientists call “seasonal lag.” The hottest temperature for any given area is largely due to differences in heat capacity (how much heat it takes to warm something up) of land and water. Water takes longer to heat than land, so San Francisco, which is surrounded by water on three sides, doesn’t experience its hottest days until September, whereas cities like El Paso actually do sweat through their hottest days near the solstice. This is also why islands in the Pacific and cities along the coast feel less temperature change between seasons, while deserts experience the opposite. The hottest day in a particular region or city can also be influenced by humidity, summer storms, and even human irrigation.
Although millions of stampeding zebras and wildebeest are an impressive sight, in nearby Zambia, the straw-colored fruit bat (Eidolon helvum), part of a genus of bats known as flying foxes, takes the idea of strength in numbers to a whole new level. Between October and December, upwards of 10 million of these bats descend on Kasanka National Park to feast on the area’s plentiful fruit trees, and in turn spread seeds throughout the plains and savannas of southern Africa as the bats return home to the Congo rainforest. This vital and mysterious migration — considered the largest migration of any mammal in the world — is under threat from deforestation and poaching, but conservation groups are hard at work protecting this bat species.
Temperature has the biggest influence on a snowflake’s size. When the thermometer drops below freezing, individual flakes are generally smaller and more dry; when temperatures creep upward during a snowstorm, snow crystals end up having a higher water content, giving them a chance to clump together to produce larger snowflakes. Generally, snowflakes are dime-sized or smaller, though it’s not uncommon to witness jumbo crystals anywhere from 2 to 6 inches wide. The world’s largest snowflake reportedly reached a massive 15 inches wide; while no photographic evidence exists, reports from an 1887 snowstorm in Fort Keogh, Montana, claim the flake was “larger than milk pans.” Some skeptical scientists say the record-breaking water crystal likely wasn’t an individual snowflake, but a lump of many, since it’s normal for snowflakes to clump together as they fall at different speeds.
Halloween decorations primarily come in orange and black, and while there’s no definitive answer to when this color palette took root, both hues are fitting for the crisp, autumnal holiday. Orange is thought to signify fall, reflecting the colors of changing leaves and the season’s most abundant crops — think pumpkins, wheat, and carrots, which dominate gardens and farms this time of year. If you’ve ever felt called to decorate with seasonal squash, know the vibrant orange hue is practically contagious; despite being inedible, brightly colored gourds have sent Americans into autumnal decorating frenzies since the 1930s.
The use of black has a more clear connection to Halloween, thanks once again to the Celts. Because Samhain was a religious festival honoring the deceased, it wasn’t unusual for mourners and celebrants to don dark clothing or veils during festivities. Black also represented the shift to longer nights and shorter days associated with the autumnal equinox. With the blazing days of summer long gone and bountiful harvests with it, black became a visual symbol of death, darkness, and rest.
People know that the June solstice is the longest day in the Northern Hemisphere (and the shortest day down south), but because of differences between solar time and clock time, the latest sunset actually occurs the following week. During the vernal and autumnal equinoxes, the solar day is actually shorter than 24 hours, and during the solstices, the 24-hour day is slightly longer. Due to this small difference, as well as the planet’s tilt and elliptical orbit, the latest sunsets occur on different days after the summer solstice, depending on latitude. At 40 degrees north (around Philadelphia), the latest sunset occurs on June 27, while farther north near Seattle, the latest sunset is around June 25. The same is true with the winter solstice, as the earliest sunset occurs weeks before that date.
No, you’re not imagining it: Festive fall beverages are creeping into your life a little earlier every year. PSL’s original limited rollout in 2003 started on October 10 — practically Christmas, by marketing standards.
The latest release date in the last decade was September 8 in 2015, the year the recipe changed to include real pumpkin. Most years since then it has darkened our door a little bit earlier. 2021 and 2023 have a tie for the earliest Starbucks debut, on August 24.
Starbucks no longer controls the start of pumpkin spice season, though. Competitor Dunkin’ launched its 2023 (pumpkin-less) pumpkin spice latte on August 16. 7-Eleven got an even bigger jump on autumn in 2023, making their take on the pumpkin spice latte available on August 1.