A few rainy days in June can strike fear in the hearts of Mainers. We have waited so long for summer. Suppose the weather never clears up?
There’s no doubt that we needed rain, and continue to need it. My husband, Paul, and I learned our lesson about watering last summer. We’ve been gardening a long time, but just weren’t thinking that our potato plants needed more moisture than they were getting. Our crop was much smaller than normal.
We have a long, narrow backyard. The water source is at the house and the bed where we plant potatoes and garlic is a good 80 feet or more from the hose faucet. So watering them is a problem.
This year we aren’t taking any chances. Paul bought an extra hose to extend our old one and has been leaving it uncoiled in mid-yard. He had to use it daily until we finally got a good soaking.
This is not a perfect system, as the water has to be turned on at the house first, but it beats dragging the long hose out and then back again. (Although I must admit Paul does just about all of the watering, so I have no cause for complaint.)
It seemed unusual to see plants looking so dry so early in the season. It always takes me awhile to get my gardens in, because the beginning of the growing season coincides with the end of the school year. I’m a school librarian, so this is one of my busiest periods. Sometimes I only get out to the garden on the weekends, so I definitely notice changes in the plants. It was rather disconcerting to see my swiss chard already looking a little brown around the edges.
Although gardeners always have to come down on the side of rain—without it, nothing would grow—we do have a love/hate relationship with the wet stuff. After all, it’s not pleasant to garden in the rain. I personally avoid it at all costs.
The Scandinavians have a saying: “There’s no bad weather, only bad clothing.” I have tried to embrace this philosophy. This past winter was cold and snowy, but I bundled myself up, slapped on some ice grippers and sallied forth. For short periods of time, at least.
I do have a slicker I keep for outdoor work, and cheerful red rain boots, but I usually just wear them when I go out to take care of the chickens in the rain. I seem to have lost my tolerance for working outside when it’s pouring (although, truth be told, I never had much to begin with). I’m much more willing to walk in the rain than dig in it.
Late spring rainfall is tricky. June 1st was an unbearably hot and humid day. The stickiness lasted into the next day. So even though I knew it was going to rain a couple of days later, I figured it wouldn’t feel all that cold. I could get away with an umbrella.
I had seen that the temperature was supposed to drop some, so I dressed a bit warmer for work than I had been doing over the last few weeks. But when I stepped outside in the late morning—going from one school to another—I was freezing. It was raining and it was cold. Since I had to travel across town, I texted Paul and asked him to bring out my raincoat as I swung by the house. I would have asked for a sweater, too, except I didn’t want to put him through the trouble of finding one. The jacket was hanging in plain sight on a coat rack.
I’ve experienced other warm weather rainstorms when it’s been too hot and humid to tolerate a slicker. That’s when an umbrella—and maybe a cap—comes in handy.
In the summer, isn’t it wonderful when it rains regularly at night? That is the best of both worlds, and it has happened in my lifetime.
I’ve also known summers when it has rained and rained. My birthday is the first day of summer, June 21st, and I usually like to get out and do something fun on that day. One year, maybe 15 years ago, it had been pouring for several days. It began to clear up midday on my special day, but everything was soaked.
Then there was the year, sometime in the 1990s, that we really didn’t seem to have a summer. Paul and I were with his parents on the Fourth of July, visiting Old Sturbridge Village in Massachusetts, which was near where they lived. We were wearing light jackets. The sky was overcast. We were lucky to get in some outdoor time between rain storms.
And I distinctly remember the time I got together with teacher friends after the school year let out; this would have been in late June. We wanted to try a new restaurant that had a deck overlooking the river. We met at one friend’s house and walked down to the cafe in a fine drizzle. Then we sat on the covered deck, shivering, as the rain pounded on the roof.
Hopefully, we will have a better summer this year. The “Old Farmer’s Almanac” predicts an inch of rain above average in June, and one inch below average in both July and August.
Hmm. I don’t want to complain, but that might not be good for the garden . . . .
This is not a perfect system, as the water has to be turned on at the house first, but it beats dragging the long hose out and then back again. (Although I must admit Paul does just about all of the watering, so I have no cause for complaint.)
It seemed unusual to see plants looking so dry so early in the season. It always takes me awhile to get my gardens in, because the beginning of the growing season coincides with the end of the school year. I’m a school librarian, so this is one of my busiest periods. Sometimes I only get out to the garden on the weekends, so I definitely notice changes in the plants. It was rather disconcerting to see my swiss chard already looking a little brown around the edges.
Although gardeners always have to come down on the side of rain—without it, nothing would grow—we do have a love/hate relationship with the wet stuff. After all, it’s not pleasant to garden in the rain. I personally avoid it at all costs.
The Scandinavians have a saying: “There’s no bad weather, only bad clothing.” I have tried to embrace this philosophy. This past winter was cold and snowy, but I bundled myself up, slapped on some ice grippers and sallied forth. For short periods of time, at least.
I do have a slicker I keep for outdoor work, and cheerful red rain boots, but I usually just wear them when I go out to take care of the chickens in the rain. I seem to have lost my tolerance for working outside when it’s pouring (although, truth be told, I never had much to begin with). I’m much more willing to walk in the rain than dig in it.
Late spring rainfall is tricky. June 1st was an unbearably hot and humid day. The stickiness lasted into the next day. So even though I knew it was going to rain a couple of days later, I figured it wouldn’t feel all that cold. I could get away with an umbrella.
I had seen that the temperature was supposed to drop some, so I dressed a bit warmer for work than I had been doing over the last few weeks. But when I stepped outside in the late morning—going from one school to another—I was freezing. It was raining and it was cold. Since I had to travel across town, I texted Paul and asked him to bring out my raincoat as I swung by the house. I would have asked for a sweater, too, except I didn’t want to put him through the trouble of finding one. The jacket was hanging in plain sight on a coat rack.
I’ve experienced other warm weather rainstorms when it’s been too hot and humid to tolerate a slicker. That’s when an umbrella—and maybe a cap—comes in handy.
In the summer, isn’t it wonderful when it rains regularly at night? That is the best of both worlds, and it has happened in my lifetime.
I’ve also known summers when it has rained and rained. My birthday is the first day of summer, June 21st, and I usually like to get out and do something fun on that day. One year, maybe 15 years ago, it had been pouring for several days. It began to clear up midday on my special day, but everything was soaked.
Then there was the year, sometime in the 1990s, that we really didn’t seem to have a summer. Paul and I were with his parents on the Fourth of July, visiting Old Sturbridge Village in Massachusetts, which was near where they lived. We were wearing light jackets. The sky was overcast. We were lucky to get in some outdoor time between rain storms.
And I distinctly remember the time I got together with teacher friends after the school year let out; this would have been in late June. We wanted to try a new restaurant that had a deck overlooking the river. We met at one friend’s house and walked down to the cafe in a fine drizzle. Then we sat on the covered deck, shivering, as the rain pounded on the roof.
Hopefully, we will have a better summer this year. The “Old Farmer’s Almanac” predicts an inch of rain above average in June, and one inch below average in both July and August.
Hmm. I don’t want to complain, but that might not be good for the garden . . . .
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