Below, in full, is a piece that was in the December 22, 1923 edition of the Town Crier:

The Winter Solstice

Last night was the longest night of the year, and yesterday the shortest day. The seven days preceding and the seven days following the winter solstice are said to be halcyon days, deriving from the ancient tale of a fabled bird, the halcyon, that bred in floating nest on the sea at the winter solstice, charming the winds and waves into calm for the purpose.

Halcyon days are the rule so far as out own inland sea is concerned, and surely no one can deny that our autumn has been of unsurpassed loveliness. Gentle rains, soft grey skies, or skies of blue with the horizon rimmed with snowy mountain tops shining in the sun – that has been our portion so far. The stripped branches of the trees are etched against the grey sky like grey lace. Gardeners are busy with their fall planting and designs for next summer’s blossoming; coming events casting their shadows before.

Building goes on apace undeterred by unfavorable weather. Christmas is running on a six-weeks’ schedule, to the joy of merchants and children, though adding seriously to the perplexity of parents. A pretty good old world it is – if one’s lines are cast in the pleasant places like the Northwest: just cold enough to enjoy hot cakes and sausage in the morning, and just warm enough for ice-cream with hot caramel over it in the evening.

A delectable spot, Seattle.

Happy holidays, friends.