Cats and Dogs Falling Through Rotting Thatched Roofs

That's right, just another 4 inches for the month of June. I wonder if the region broke the record for the "dimmest month" since 1903, as a Boston Globe article posited earlier? Once again, it's pouring outside, raining cats and dogs. My spirits were intact until Monday of this week. Something on that day switched within me, and the past few days I've been feeling glum.

Maybe it's the fact that all my garden-worthy shoes are sitting wet and smelly by the front door. The evil smells and the overpowering dampness may have finally affected my brain. Even my galoshes are wetand uninviting. I've taken to simply working barefoot for the majority of the days (especially since any activity that warrants shoes--shoveling soil, manure etc, driving the tractor--can't be done on account of the super-saturated state of the soil.) Hisssssss.

Maybe it's the fact that, while the garden certainly needs water, this is just rediculous. Plants are being pushed to the limits of their ability to cope and manage huge amounts of moisture. Our knowlege of plants have shown us that there are three groups of plants: hydrophytes, mesophytes, and xerophytes. The Acres Primer states that "hydrophytes are either water plants or water loving plants...Rice is the prime hydrophyte in American agriculture". With arid-loving plants not really a consideration here it follows, then, that all of the plants I tend in the garden are mesophytes. "The mesophyte plant needs water, but it also needs air around the root system". Hmm, problem here. Right now, I doubt there is much in the way of air down there. Ack!

The result of that water-logged state is that the plants can't take in needed nutrients and such, don't do much in the way of growing, and are put into a weakened state. I'm seeing the manifestation of such troubles in a few ways now, one month into the "dim". My cut flowers are all sitting rather stunted, not much bigger or vigorous than they were a few weeks ago. Last year at this time I was starting to harvest considerable amounts of cuts for my bouquets; not so this time around. Also disappointing is the state of my raspberry patch. I think that they have either anthracnose, a viral disease that infects and kills entire canes, or simply root rot. I fear that the raspberry harvest won't be very robust this year, and I hope that the rapsberries can survive.

The rains also means the pollinators can't get out and about as much as they --and the plants-- would like. I have a plethora of male and female flowers on my squash varieties, but will they get pollinated? Can I hand-pollinate in such wetness? Tomato blooms also sit and wait for the sun.

Is there a silver lining to the monotony of a grey, sunless month? Most recently, I've been spending bits of time reading in various gardening sources, when I've exhausted all outdoor activities (or my tolerance for being soaked and mildly chilled).

For my bees, I've been reading from Ross Conrad's Natural Beekeeping.

For my sense of place, I've been perusing the two main tomes of Andover, NH history. In 1901 There were 294 horses and 488 cows inventoried, for instance. In the book that chronicles the years 1751-1906, "weather" as a topic comes on page 43 of the 450-page volume, a clear nod to the role that weather played in the citizens' lives. On July of 1916 there was said to be a heavy frost that killed much of the corn crop. September 9th of 1821 saw a tornado sweeping across the area. Most notably, "a feather bed fell near the house of Gershom Durgin in Andover and a lady's muff, blown from a house in Sutton, was found in a tree on the land of Ephraim Eastman on Beech Hill"! The records go on to tell of drought and earthquakes, cheap farm produce and good winter sleighing, summer frosts in June, July and August, "freshets," and solar eclipses. Unfortunatley, the year of 1903 goes undocumented, so I don't know if the dimmest June was notable for Andover residents.
Bright spots in the garden are the Lilies in the hoophouse nearing harvest time. The way the buds elongate and take on color is a magical thing to bear witness to. It's also nice to slow down and appreciate the layers of beauty water can lend to a landscape or an object.

A final reason that I can be thankful is that while it may be raining cats and dogs, it's not raining my dog. He prefers to have little to do with the rain, and sleeps alot, and throws me disgusted looks when he is awake. Here is his, "ugh, would you just open this stupid door so I don't have to get any wetter than I am" look.

Do you know how the phrase "It's raining cats and dogs" came to be? I'm not sure, but this UK site on word origin has some interesting perspectives. If you can add any possibilities or conjectures, make sure to share them!