Socked In and Smoked Out

Photo by Pixabay

The lack of rain wasn’t all that worrisome…

As this past summer moved toward fall, things were pretty dry. We’d had a good rainstorm in mid-July, and another one in early August.  By the second week of September, though, we had gone 5 ½ weeks without more than a brief shower.

I hesitate to use the word “drought,” when I know there are many parts of the U.S. that haven’t had a good rain in years. But around here, our 10 months of abundant rain each year and resulting lush growth guarantees an enormous amount of wildfire fuel.

Although all these dry weeks was a concern, it was September, after all. The fall rains were due any day now.

And not a moment too soon. On the eastern side of our state, the wildfires were already out of control. Yet in our county, with the westerly summertime breezes, you never smelled a puff of smoke.

Then came the first big summer northeaster, September 10. Dry hot winds blew, and brought heavy clouds of smoke into our county from the fires east and northeast.

The smoky air in our neighborhood looked a lot like what’s in the photo above.

Around here, the smoke was bad enough that residents were advised to stay indoors. But that afternoon, there came a reprieve—the wind changed direction and the smoke drifted eastward again.

Still, traces of smoke lingered. For weeks, you could see s light blue haze around the foothills. A slightly acrid smell was everywhere. And it was warm and sunny day after day after day.

I generally keep the windows open day and night during the warm months—I want to enjoy all the fresh air I can before the cold months. This fall, however, there was very little fresh air to be had.

Now and then, a breeze from the west would pretty much clear the air, and I’d joyfully open the windows again. When I was outside, I’d take deep breaths of the clear air. But those spells would last only a day or two.

Then the smoke would drift back. Sometimes by nightfall, the fallen dew would clear the air enough so I could crack the windows. Still, after an hour or two, you could smell the smoke again. John and I would have to close the windows before we turned in, so we wouldn’t wake up to a smok-filled house. 

By the time September gave way to October, our region had gone over two months without rain. The grass and weeds were burnt yellow. There was no real October color: the vine maples that always wore a reddish-orange glow went straight from green to dark brown; the same goes for the usual golden clouds of big leaf maple foliage. The leaves had simply turned dark and fallen.

The woodlands’ understory just looked crispy.

The lack of rainfall was starting to seem like a real drought. (For west of the Cascade mountains.) As the light, hazy smoke made the dry landscape seem even drier, my anxiety about running out of water began in earnest.

Our well had gone dry our first year here, on October 6^th. The date, you can imagine, is burned in my memory.

This year, each day, I did my garden watering rotation, but only the most vulnerable crops got a drink: root crops, the late summer spinach seedlings, the tomatoes, and without fail, the blueberries and caneberries. And my baby strawberry crowns, set into little pots, needed daily water.

If I’d known how dry it would be, I sure would have planted them in much larger containers!

The asparagus have very deep roots, so I could water every two weeks instead of weekly. I could see the orchard trees were getting stressed, but I just had to let them tough it out.

Spending all my outdoor time watering, I didn’t have time to weed. Or prep any beds. No opportunities to enjoy the usual early fall pleasures of crisp sunny days or autumn showers, of chilly nights and cozy sweaters, of foggy mornings, watching the wispy fog fingers drift around the foothills.

In the garden, I would have loved a break from watering, but was hot for October: in the 70s and 80s. And still dry as a bone.

Then came a fresh twist. The Smell...

There's more to the story...so Part  2 of "Smoked Out" will appear next week!