For most of my life, I have lived in places where the average last frost came in mid-May, which made planting the garden risky. If I planted too early, I might have been forced to cover plants that disliked the cold. If I planted too late, I might not have had enough time to get a good crop—or any at all, some years.
BLANKETS ON PLANTS
When I returned home to Western Washington, though, I moved to a place very close to the ocean. After a while, I noticed few things startlingly different things. First, I realized that things lived through the winter that never had before. One year, I had huge, sprawling nasturtiums, because the plants had survived the winter and started the spring at an advantage. Lobelia, Swiss chard, calendula, and even a few gone-to-seed radishes also clung to life. I began to wonder whether I needed to change my gardening habits.
I decided to investigate local growing seasons by checking hardiness zone maps. I was cautious, because I knew the average date of last frost only meant that half of the time, there would not be a later frost. Even when a “safe” date was given, there was a 10% chance of a later frost. Because of that, I had always waited until Memorial Day to plant, just as my mother and grandmother had done. If I had the chance to plant earlier safely, though, I wanted to take it. There was only one problem: The tiny, narrow peninsula I lived on did not show on the maps.
I found lists showing the last frost dates for individual cities, but my tiny town was not shown. Coastal towns to the north of me all had earlier last frost dates than I expected, but I wasn’t sure if I could rely on those dates. The county extension agent was no help, because her office was an hour inland from my home. She didn’t know what to tell me, other than to consult the hardiness zone charts.
With so little information specific to my small town, I had only one remaining option. I decided to consider my property’s micro-climates That was was just a fancy name for small area with conditions that differed from other nearby areas. Understanding micro-climates had helped me before, in deciding what to plant where, and when.
Observation was my best tool in understanding micro-climates I knew that my coastal area had milder winters, and cooler summers, than more inland areas, and I was ready to work with that. I had also noticed that things like spring bulbs and flowering perennial shrubs bloomed two weeks earlier in town and along the main highway than they did at my house. I was most concerned, though, with figuring out what would work on my own property.
At first, I worked by trial and error. A rhododendron that was not doing well was easily moved to an area where trees did not block the sun and rain. I had not thought about trees blocking rain, but when I checked the soil beneath them, it was quite dry. Another area on my property was a paradise for mosquitoes, but was too damp and shady to grow anything else, so I didn’t try.
There were some specific issues to watch for when evaluating micro-climates, so I made a chart of my own. I knew I needed to watch for pH, soil texture and composition, nutrients, drainage, sun exposure and shade, wind, water table and competing plants (like trees!) that might hog the available water and nutrients, and block the sun.
I knew that my soil was acidic, because it was in almost any area with heavy rains. The blackberries and evergreen trees were also good clues. However, in evaluating micro-climates, I noted that the areas closest to evergreen trees were slightly more acidic than other areas, because of the addition of the evergreen needles to the soil. If I planted alkaline-loving plants in those areas, I would have had to add vast quantities of wood ash or lime. Instead, I used those acidic areas for acid-lovers like blueberries and rhododendrons.
Overall, my soil was very sandy, but in one back corner, a few long-standing deciduous trees had thoughtfully provided composting leaves, making the top 12 to 15 inches rich and fertile. I knew I could plant things there that preferred rich soil—but tolerated the shade those same trees provided. Hosta and lily of the valley were good choices for that spot.
Another area, a raised, terraced flower bed, was more sandy than anywhere else. Adding compost there helped with the soil composition, so I kept that in mind. I also needed to focus on plants that did not need constant moisture, because in sandy soil, water drained away very quickly. Sedums did well in sandy soil, and I had a lot of those. Even in other areas of my property, I knew that to produce garden vegetables, or impressive flowers, I would have to be careful to put enough water on the garden. An inch of water a week was the basic requirement, but in sandy soil, watering several times a week provided the ongoing moisture my plants needed. I also mulched heavily to conserve the moisture in the soil.
At the same time, I knew that our water table was very high, which was why no one in the area had a basement. It would have turned into a swimming pool at the first heavy rains. That meant that over-watering, especially in lower areas of my property, was something to be careful of, even with sandy soil.
One of the biggest issues I had to consider was light, because my property was surrounded by tall trees. Since a lot of them were evergreens, the ground was shaded all year—though it got even shadier when the deciduous trees leafed out in the spring. To succeed with lower-growing evergreen shrubs, I had to watch where the sun actually got through the trees to provide sunny spots. I marked those spots with brightly painted stakes, and began to fill them with flowering shrubs.
As I learned about my property’s specific micro climate, I made adjustments. I watched the patterns of sun and shade, and made notes about how much light each area got. My garden, which was located in the only place where I had room for a garden, was in shade for part of the day. The beds on the left got quite a bit more sun than those on the right, so as much as possible, I kept those for things that needed lots of sun. Planting my vegetable garden in raised beds lifted them enough to increase the amount of sun they got. It sounded silly, and it wasn’t until I checked my notes that I realized how much difference that made.
I also made notes about where frost was visible, when, and for how long. I had a few areas that never seemed to freeze. I also had some low-lying areas that seemed to collect cold air and hang onto it. Those areas froze first, and stayed frozen longer, and even though it rarely froze in my new home, I paid attention, planting frost-sensitive perennials in other spots.
I learned years ago that when a property had variations in elevation, the lower areas were colder, and more prone to frost. If I had a fruit tree that did not bloom, I looked at elevation. The best place to plant fruit trees, or flowering ones, was at the higher elevation, or even the edge of the drop-off. The cold acted like water, flowing down the hill. If I planted trees at the top of the hill—especially an east-facing hill, which would get the morning sun—they bloomed and fruited more successfully. The worst place to plant trees and shrubs was alongside a building. The warmth of reflected sun encouraged the tree to produce leaves and blooms, but at night the temperatures dropped, and blossoms froze.
The best example I ever saw of that was in North Dakota. Because my house was on the downhill side of the road, there was a ten-foot drop to my yard. At the bottom of that drop off, I had a row of lilacs that the previous owner had planted. They were lovely, and I enjoyed the color and scent—except that in the fourteen years I lived in that house, they only bloomed twice. Late frosts took the blossoms, and because they were at the bottom of even a small hill, they felt the frost more than anything else around.
I began to keep a chart of what I planted, when, and where. After all of my worry, and after consulting all the maps and charts I could find as well as observing details about conditions on my property, I decided to take a risk. I set out my tomato plants earlier than I ever had, and even planted squash in my raised beds. I was nervous, but I made sure I had enough seeds to start over if I needed to. The tomatoes seemed to thrive, and everything I planted came up quickly and grew well.
I hope I never have to move, and learn the idiosyncrasies of a new garden, and how to manage a new set of micro-climates My plan is to live here until I die—or until my children put me in a home somewhere. If I do move to a new location, though, I’m glad I have learned how to observe and record the details of micro-climates to make the most of a piece of property. It’s a very good feeling.
Half-Baked Home Projects 