We are lucky to have rain

Jill Severn

Photo by Anna Schlecht

It’s been a difficult spring in the garden. It’s been so wet, plants that usually get powdery mildew in mid-August were afflicted in May. Ditto rust, and apparently every other fungus too.

The unwary gardener (me), noticed in mid-May that summer-flowering phlox were overwhelmed by some kind of fungus-y awfulness. They looked so horrible I cut them to the ground, hoping they will have time to regrow and bloom in better weather. So far, that seems to be a promising strategy, but we’ll see.

A copper-based fungicide spray has so far warded off reinfection and benefited other plants too. A scientifically literate friend says it’s OK to use as long as it’s not near any stream, river or other water body. But it’s been a struggle to find times to spray when it won’t be rained off an hour later.

So I have certainly done my share of whining about the rain – and more than my share about the lack of sun.

But my two older sisters, who have a lifetime habit of bossing me around, have told me to stop complaining.

One lives in Fresno, California, which is in yet another year of a historic drought.

Last year, Fresno County Farm Bureau CEO Ryan Jacobsen said “We are at a time or a crossroads where it looks like we're going to see a significant reduction in the amount of food that we grow here in the valley.”

This spring, 56.9 percent of the county is in “exceptional drought.” Here is what federal agencies say that means:

• Fields are left fallow; orchards are removed; vegetable yields are low; the honey harvest is small
• Fire season is very costly; the number of fires and area burned are extensive
• Fish rescue and relocation begins; pine beetle infestation occurs; forest mortality is high; wetlands dry up; survival of native plants and animals is low; fewer wildflowers bloom; wildlife death is widespread; algae blooms appear

My other sister lives in Arizona, where fire danger requires her to be prepared to evacuate herself and her four dogs on short notice.

Both sisters live in areas where smoke from wildfires is a very likely summer and fall health hazard. At least they hope it’s only in the summer and fall.

Huge swaths of the western United States are drought-stricken. And across the Southwest, people are bracing for possible record heat. The Washington Post reports that “Temperatures are soaring as we head into the weekend beneath an intense and sprawling heat dome that will bring triple-digit heat to 45 million Americans in the coming week. Heat advisories and excessive heat watches and warnings blanket the map in the Desert Southwest and California, with the heat set to expand into the central United States this weekend.”

So yes, we are lucky to have abundant rain. We are lucky to have a secure supply of water. And we are luckier yet to live in a place where the climate change forecast over the next decades is for wetter winters and warmer, drier summers – not for catastrophic drought and unbearable heat.

If powdery mildew is our worst problem, we still live in a gardeners’ paradise – a paradise of grass kept green by the sky above us, fresh air that smells like heaven, and flowers that catch shining drops of rain in their upturned petals.

We don’t know what lies ahead this summer. Maybe we’ll get another brief and brutal heat wave like the one we had last year. Maybe we’ll have wildfire smoke from the parched areas of Eastern Washington or British Columbia where drought is also taking a heavy toll. But even those possibilities pale in comparison to the slow, grinding disasters – or the violent hurricanes – that other Americans will face.

So let it rain. Let it drop a flower-smashing downpour, a day-long drizzle, or a run of showery, cloudy days. All of that means flowers open more slowly and their flowers last longer. Cooler weather means lettuce is less inclined to bolt and go to seed. Peas love it. And tomatoes will bide their time, stretch their roots, and wait patiently for warmth and sun.

We should let our plants be our teachers. And those of us lucky enough to have older sisters should heed their advice.

Jill Severn writes from her home in Olympia, where she grows vegetables, flowers and a small flock of chickens. She loves conversation among gardeners. Start one by emailing her at  jill@theJOLTnews.com