Volatile weather? #phenology

[UPDATE: Happy Birthday, Mr. Dylan! Many happy returns!]

The picture below is what the deck and yard looked like on tax day (April 15) this year. Today the temperature is reaching the upper 80's and, for Memorial Day weekend the North Country has 90's in the forecast. Thunderstorms are a possibility this afternoon, evening and tomorrow. In about six weeks we've gone from Winter to Summer.

purple finch on snow-covered railing, mid April

Photo by J. Harrington

Although there are no doubt scientific papers covering the topic, we haven't yet come across a description for us lay folks about how the rate of change, not only year to year, but week to week, affects seasonal events. As we recall, many (all?) of the old farmer's rules of thumb about when to plant what came about during a period when the weather was, in general, less volatile than it is these days. Here's a sample: “It’s time to plant corn when the oak leaves are the size of a squirrel’s ear.”

hoary puccoon in bloom, late May

Photo by J. Harrington

We've seen a wide range in corn planting dates this year, not counting the fields that still needed harvesting come Spring. No doubt planting scenarios have become even more complicated than we can readily observe. If, as seems to be the case, basic weather patterns are changing, e.g., fewer more intense storms, has anyone modeled when, if ever, we may reach a new plateau of stability. We suppose that depends on when, if ever, we reach a new level of stability, followed by gradual decline, in the level of greenhouse gases in our atmosphere. Recent reports indicate the situation is even more complicated than worst case scenarios already portrayed. Meanwhile, some folks recently helped elect a noted science and climate denier to serve as "president" for four critical years.

We humans seem to have regressed from rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic to arguing about what colors the chairs should be painted and should lap blankets match or contrast. We wish Pete Seeger hadn't been quite so prescient with the refrain to his wonderful contemporary folk song "Where have all the flowers gone?" You must remember the lines:

"Oh, when will they ever learn?

"Oh, when will they ever learn?"

Planting Peas

By Linda M. Hasselstrom

It’s not spring yet, but I can’t 

wait anymore. I get the hoe, 

pull back the snow from the old 

furrows, expose the rich dark earth. 

I bare my hand and dole out shriveled peas, 

one by one.

I see my grandmother’s hand, 

doing just this, dropping peas 

into gray gumbo that clings like clay. 

This moist earth is rich and dark 

as chocolate cake.

Her hands cradle 

baby chicks; she finds kittens in the loft 

and hands them down to me, safe beside 

the ladder leading up to darkness.

I miss 

her smile, her blue eyes, her biscuits and gravy, 

but mostly her hands. 

I push a pea into the earth, 

feel her hands pushing me back. She’ll come in May, 

she says, in long straight rows, 

dancing in light green dresses.

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