Last year, after receiving in the mail wall calendars from several organizations that I esteem, and several more from organizations that I esteem a little less, I thought the National Association of Scholars (NAS) ought to try its hand at this celebration of Earth’s annual swing around Sol.

Almost every other organization tied its 2026 calendar to the semi-sesquicentennial of the Declaration of Independence. Those not on the favored list of advocacy organizations perhaps went out and purchased colorful wall calendars. They had choices ranging from Literary Classics (illustrations from Treasure Island, Black Beauty, Beowulf, The Scarlet Letter, etc.), to “Classical Portraits of Twelve Composers,” to the artworks of Tate, Turner, and Constable. There are, of course, numerous cat calendars, several motorcycle-themed offerings, Sports Illustrated pin-ups, cinema celebrations, wildlife, national parks, and dogs, too.

No one needs to be without a convenient way to remember the month or the week. Which raised the question: what in the world could NAS do to reckon the cycle of seasons? I wanted something that would entertain our readers and supporters in the distinctive voice of an organization that revels in the oddments and byways of history.

Thus, we filled the individual days with facts you may not readily recall. Thomas Jefferson’s secret message to Congress to fund the Lewis and Clark expedition is here (January 18, 1803), but so is Carol Rutherford’s patent for a machine to roll ice cream cones (January 29, 1924). Elsewhere, you will find the date on which the Socialist Revolutionary Council passed its death sentence on Yevno Azef, who had faithfully served as head of their assassination bureau but was also a double agent for the Russian Secret Police (January 5, 2026). Here’s the discovery of Pluto. Here’s the debut of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. Here’s Blondin crossing Niagara Falls on a tightrope.

Such an abundance for those who, like us, find a cornucopia of delight in human history.

But what could possibly serve to illustrate such a calendar of curiosities? We eventually hit on a variant of the children’s game “I spy with my little eye.” Our illustrations feature collections of not-quite-random objects, some of which are keyed to that month’s dates. A child can follow the clues (“a metal hat, a musket, Jupiter…”); an adult can search for the matching date.

We sent our calendar out to NAS members, but we have enough left over to send to anyone else who is still dateless or who is simply open to eccentric pedantry. Let us know if you would like one at [email protected].

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