Against all odds, it’s genuinely starting to look like spring here in the Pacific Northwest. And I mean the whole deal: everything is budding out (with the notable exception of the new fuscias I planted in the fall (looks like that vicious cold snap we had in early December took them out), the yarrow is starting to reveal its new front against the azaleas in the back bed, two of the hens are laying, the wild mint and bittercress are coming everywhere they’re not wanted, and it’s occasionally warm enough to send the girls out into the backyard to play without fear of drowning or hypothermia. And it’s still January.
There are a couple of ways to look at this. First of all, there’s the obvious question: what happened to our winter? Here in the PNW we should still be seeing a lot of rain and dark, miserable days, but word has it that that El Nino has driven our usual precipitation down into California, where its presence is abnormal. This is precisely the sort of weather volatility we’re expecting with climate change—short, cold, dry winters in the Pacific Northwest, the sudden crushing ice storm in the Midwest, unseasonable rain in California, broader temperature spreads everywhere, and so on. We can (and should) look at this as a harbinger of more strange meteorological behavior to come, and generally it’s going to play out poorly for humanity.
All that said, there’s nothing to be done about it on the ground. As I’ve noted elsewhere, the results of COP15 tell the story of humanity’s intentions on climate change. Although the debate continues, there will be no action. We’re stuck with this outcome, and energy spent on this line of thought is energy wasted.
So as a gardener I have to consider the full implications of the changing rules on my gardens. I can probably count on reduced rainfall during the winter, which might have a positive impact on nutrient leaching and fertility in the soil (always a problem in this part of the country). Earlier springs make for a longer summer growing season. That means that certain types of plants that are currently a challenge here—thinking tomatoes and their ilk—might be easier. In fact I’m thinking this might be another killer year for tomatoes, and I’m planning my gardens with that in mind.
On the negative side, shorter and colder winters will be hard on tender annuals that can’t handle sustained cold temperatures. My late, lamented fuscias are a good example of that, and there are some species of fruit trees that were marginal in this region before and that may be non-viable in years to come such as some varieties of banana. Also, late frosts mean that slugs and other pests will live longer into the year, creating problems for winter greens and making for larger slug populations in general. Of course, that might be good news for grazing chickens.
The takeaway? If you’re a gardener or someone who works in or around the natural environment, understand that changes are underway and more are in the queue. Accept that there’s nothing you can do about this, but also recognize that no matter how idyllic your growing conditions might have been a few years ago, there were still challenges; pests you had to control, plants that were reliably successful, plants that seemed to have been created for no better reason than to die, and that generally the new normal will be no less flawed, but may provide new opportunities. Some of the news will be bad, some of it dire, but some of it may be decidedly pleasant. Surviving change, as with any of life’s challenges, means cultivating a resilient attitude and a way of plucking advantages out of whatever confronts you.
There are a couple of ways to look at this. First of all, there’s the obvious question: what happened to our winter? Here in the PNW we should still be seeing a lot of rain and dark, miserable days, but word has it that that El Nino has driven our usual precipitation down into California, where its presence is abnormal. This is precisely the sort of weather volatility we’re expecting with climate change—short, cold, dry winters in the Pacific Northwest, the sudden crushing ice storm in the Midwest, unseasonable rain in California, broader temperature spreads everywhere, and so on. We can (and should) look at this as a harbinger of more strange meteorological behavior to come, and generally it’s going to play out poorly for humanity.
All that said, there’s nothing to be done about it on the ground. As I’ve noted elsewhere, the results of COP15 tell the story of humanity’s intentions on climate change. Although the debate continues, there will be no action. We’re stuck with this outcome, and energy spent on this line of thought is energy wasted.
So as a gardener I have to consider the full implications of the changing rules on my gardens. I can probably count on reduced rainfall during the winter, which might have a positive impact on nutrient leaching and fertility in the soil (always a problem in this part of the country). Earlier springs make for a longer summer growing season. That means that certain types of plants that are currently a challenge here—thinking tomatoes and their ilk—might be easier. In fact I’m thinking this might be another killer year for tomatoes, and I’m planning my gardens with that in mind.
On the negative side, shorter and colder winters will be hard on tender annuals that can’t handle sustained cold temperatures. My late, lamented fuscias are a good example of that, and there are some species of fruit trees that were marginal in this region before and that may be non-viable in years to come such as some varieties of banana. Also, late frosts mean that slugs and other pests will live longer into the year, creating problems for winter greens and making for larger slug populations in general. Of course, that might be good news for grazing chickens.
The takeaway? If you’re a gardener or someone who works in or around the natural environment, understand that changes are underway and more are in the queue. Accept that there’s nothing you can do about this, but also recognize that no matter how idyllic your growing conditions might have been a few years ago, there were still challenges; pests you had to control, plants that were reliably successful, plants that seemed to have been created for no better reason than to die, and that generally the new normal will be no less flawed, but may provide new opportunities. Some of the news will be bad, some of it dire, but some of it may be decidedly pleasant. Surviving change, as with any of life’s challenges, means cultivating a resilient attitude and a way of plucking advantages out of whatever confronts you.
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