This is not the kind of May gardeners had in mind. At least not this gardener. At least not thus far.
The growing season began in earnest and with great promise many weeks ago. Celery that had overwintered under a row cover suddenly bulked up. Onion sets, sown in raised beds rich in organics, shot up in record time.
And, of course, that fall lettuce that became winter lettuce that turned into spring lettuce (under a row cover, of course) kept passersby marveling and the neighborhood in greens. Some – the lettuce, not the passersby or the neighbors — even bolted in the spring’s burgeoning warmth, freeing up space for a new planting.
The other raised beds, appointed anew with plenty of mushroom manure and nicely aged compost, sat ready for sowing and planting. The long-range forecast looked so promising by the third week of April that sweet peppers were planted.
A few friends really pushed the envelope: in went their green beans (begun under grow lights indoors) and even big-box store tomatoes, planted with bravado if not braggadocio.
Oh, there were the normal vagaries in the early spring weather, cold snaps and an onion snow among them. But nothing was so severe, or out of the ordinary, that it could not be weathered, so to speak. A row cover here to preserve warmth or a bit more mulch there to sop up excessive moisture staved off harm.
Then the rains really came. The ground has become perpetually soggy. Even well-drained raised beds have turned soupy. And that burgeoning warmth turned to a dank dampness reminiscent of a May nearly 30 years.
Remember? It was in May 1989 that Pittsburgh received 6.5 inches of rain. Many a garden rotted ‘round these parts. Many a garden replanted in June either produced lower yields or not at all. It was, in a word, disgusting.
Nobody’s predicting that kind of rain this May. At least not yet. Still, those peppers have spent a lot of time under buckets the past week or so. Boasting early bean and tomato planters have fallen mute.
It will continue to be relatively cool and damp. And that could be an invitation for more disgust, especially for those who refuse to reset their plans and do the hardest thing a gardener can do – wait.
It once was written how blessed prudence is in a good disposition. As in disposition, as in gardening.
The rains will subside. Seasonal norms will return. The garden will grow. And, hopefully, the May of our gardening discontent will yield a June to remember more fondly.
Colin McNickle is a senior fellow and media specialist at the Allegheny Institute for Public Policy (cmcnickle@alleghenyinstitute.org).
