This morning dawned balmy, damp and oh, so bright across our garden!
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Brilliant autumn color finally appeared on our trees this past week, and we are loving this annual spectacle when trees appear as blazing torches in shades of yellow, gold, orange and scarlet. We have been watching and waiting for this pleasure since the first scarlet leaves appeared on Virginia creeper vines and the rare Sumac in early September. But summer’s living green cloaked our trees longer than ever before in our memories, this fall.
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I remember a particularly beautiful autumn in the late 1980s, the year my daughter was born. I went to the hospital in the second week of October to deliver, with the still summery trees barely showing a hint or shadow of their autumn finery. When we drove back home with her a couple of days later, I was amazed at the transformation in the landscape. The trees were bright and gorgeous, as if to celebrate her homecoming.
Once upon a time, I believed that first frost brought color to deciduous leaves. Our first frost date here in zone 7 is October 15. We haven’t always had a frost by then, but there is definitely a frosty chill in the evening air by late October here.
But not this year, or last….
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Bees remain busy in our garden, gathering nectar and pollen for the winter months ahead.
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The annual Begonias are still covered with blossoms in my parents’ garden, and our Begonia plants still sit outside in their pots, blooming with enthusiasm, waiting for us to decide to bring them back indoors. Our days are still balmy and soft; our evenings barely drop below the 50s or 60s. There is no frost in our forecast through Thanksgiving, at least.
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Our geraniums keep getting bigger and brighter in this gentle, fall weather.
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It is lovely, really. We are taking pleasure in these days where we need neither heat nor air conditioning. We are happily procrastinating on the fall round-up of tender potted plants, gleefully calculating how long we can let them remain in the garden and on the deck. I’m still harvesting herbs and admiring flowers in our fall garden.
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Of course, there are two sides to every coin, as well as its rim. You may be interested in a fascinating description of just how much our weather patterns have changed since 1980, published by the Associated Press just last week. Its title, “Climate Change is Shrinking Winter in the US, Scientists Say,” immediately makes me wonder why less winter is a bad thing. I am not a fan of winter, personally. Its saving grace is it lets me wear turtleneck sweaters and jeans nearly every day.
Just why is winter important, unless you are a fan of snowy sports? Well, anyone who has grown apple, pear or peach trees knows that these trees need a certain number of “chilling hours,” below freezing, to set good fruit.
Certain insects also multiply out of control when there aren’t enough freezing days to reduce their population over winter. Winter gives agricultural fields a chance to rest, knocks down weeds and helps clear the garden for a fresh beginning every spring.
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But there are other, more important benefits of winter, too. Slowly melting snow and ice replenish our water tables in a way summer rains, which rapidly run off, never can. Snow and ice reflect solar energy back into space. Bodies of water tend to absorb the sun’s energy, further warming the climate.
Methane locked into permafrost is released into the warming atmosphere when permafrost thaws. And too much warmth during the winter months coaxes shrubs and perennials into growth too early. Like our poor Hydrangeas last March, those leaves will freeze and die off on the occasional below-freezing night, often killing the entire shrub.
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By March 5, 2017, our Hydrangeas had leaves and our garden had awakened for spring. Freezes later in the month killed some of the newer shrubs, and killed most of the flower buds on older ones.
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The article states, ” The trend of ever later first freezes appears to have started around 1980, according to an analysis by The Associated Press of data from 700 weather stations across the U.S. going back to 1895 compiled by Ken Kunkel, a meteorologist at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s National Centers for Environmental Information.
” The average first freeze over the last 10 years, from 2007 to 2016, is a week later than the average from 1971 to 1980, which is before Kunkel said the trend became noticeable.
“This year, about 40 percent of the Lower 48 states have had a freeze as of Oct. 23, compared to 65 percent in a normal year, according to Jeff Masters, meteorology director of the private service Weather Underground.”
Not only has the first freeze of the season grown later and later with each passing year, but the last freeze of the season comes ever earlier. According to Meteorologist Ken Kunkel, winter 2016 was a full two months shorter than normal in the Pacific Northwest.
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Coastal Oregon, in mid-October 2017, had seen no frost yet. We enjoyed time playing on the beach and visiting the Connie Hansen garden while I was there. Very few leaves had begun to turn bright for fall, though many were already falling from the trees.
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I’ve noticed something similar with our daffodils and other spring flowers. Because I photograph them obsessively each year, I have a good record of what should bloom when. This past spring, the first daffodils opened around February 8 in our garden. In 2015, we had a February snow, and the first daffodil didn’t begin to open until February 17. In 2014, the first daffodils opened in our garden in the second week of March. Most years, we never saw daffodils opening until early to mid- March. We ran a little more than two weeks early on all of the spring flowers last spring, with roses in full bloom by mid-April.
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March 8, 2014
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Is this ‘shorter winter phenomena’ something we should care about? What do you think? Do you mind a shorter winter, an earlier spring?
As you’ve likely noticed, when we contemplate cause and effects, we rarely perceive all of the causes for something, or all of its effects. Our planet is an intricate and complex system of interactions, striving to keep itself in balance. We may simplistically celebrate the personal benefits we reap from a long, balmy fall like this one, without fully realizing its implications for our planet as a whole.
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February 9, 2017
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I’m guessing the folks in Ohio who had a tornado blow through their town this past weekend have an opinion. Ordinarily, they would already be enjoying winter weather by now.
We are just beginning to feel the unusual weather patterns predicted decades ago to come along with a warming planet. The seas are rising much faster than they were predicted to rise, and we are already seeing the extreme storms bringing catastrophic rain to communities all across our nation, and the world. The economic losses are staggering, to say nothing of how peoples’ lives have been effected when they live in the path of these monster storms.
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Magnolia stellata blooming in late February, 2016
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Yes, change is in the air. I’m not sure that there is anything any of us can do individually to change or ‘fix’ this unusual weather, but we certainly need to remain aware of what is happening, and have a plan for how to live with it.
My immediate plan is simple: Plant more plants! I reason that every plant we grow helps filter carbon and other pollutants from the air, trapping them in its leaves and stems. Every little bit helps, right? And if not, at least their roots are holding the soil on rainy days, and their beauty brings us joy.
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Newly planted Dianthus blooms in our autumn garden.
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Woodland Gnome 2017
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Forest Garden 