Climate change right here has *generally* made winters less severe, warmer, but has also shifted the dates of first and last freeze, and first and last 100F days of summer. When we moved here, just over 40 years ago, the first cool break came in late August–not much cooler by day, but “crisper,” with a distinct temperature drop at night for a couple of nights before summer heat returned. By mid-September we were into pleasanter “fall” temps (for us), and October was warm (not hot) days and cooler nights. Might even get a light frost in late October–the first real freeze would come by the second week of November. Thanksgiving (4th Thursday of November) was just past peak of color change in the oaks, and cedar elms, with leaves falling by the end of the month, and several freezes past. That last week of November might see the first snow, and sleet, freezing rain, and snow could happen from then on through mid-February, even occasionally to near March. We had light snows (barely covering the dormant short grass) multiple times, and a “big snow” one or twice a year, usually in December or January. I remember a big snow in Austin when we lived there, one year, deep enough to put one of our Folbots on the snowy street and slide down a short hill, but never snow in San Antonio that stayed on the ground (where we lived after Austin.) We had seven inches here one year, and while I was in the local EMS, we had to put chains on the ambulance multiple times a winter.
Now there’s no cool-night spell in August, September is just as hot all through, we’ve had 100F days into October two different years, the first-freeze date may occur in December, trees may turn brown, or lose their leaves from heat and drought, and the oaks don’t come into full color until December . There were few trees in San Antonio that actually changed color, but one old red oak on San Pedro used to turn deep red around the middle of December, by which time the oaks here were already leafless. Not everything reacts to the change at exactly the same time. Elbow-bush, an early bloomer, reacts to both day-length and temperatures, and live oaks appear to be more day-length activated. And the shortening and overall shift of “winter” temperatures has shifted at the fall end more than the spring end–which led to last year’s dire effect on local trees, when cold more severe than recent winters had produced arrived *after* trees and shrubs had broken their buds and even (for some) opened their first leaves. Trees in the fall are not as damaged by an early freeze-up, or a more severe freeze, as by a late one.
Last year’s long, severe (for us) freeze hit at the worst time.
So we know that a week-long freeze, by far the worst of last winter, can hit that late, and be that bad. Historical spring here had the winter, cool-season grasses and forbs sprouting in the fall (they still do, but a little later) , growing slowly through the winter, and then bursting into full growth in February and March, with the earliest sometimes putting out flowers in January if there’s a warm spell. These plants can handle a freeze a little early or a little late, and they die back in summer, when the supply of water usually dries up and the heat is too much for them. Some bloom for as little as two weeks, especially in a drought year. But the last freeze used to come in late January or by the third week of February, and usually not the worst freeze, or sustained. The longer freezes (2-5 days below freezing) were in December and January. With the possibility of severe, sustained freezing through February, the growth period for the cool-season plants to attain full size and reproduce is shortened, because the summer-level heat is coming sooner, and the spring rains (for all historical periods, most of it in May) have also shifted.
Last year’s big winter storm was worse than this for plant and animal life (not counting the human cost, even) and came later than this one. We’re now looking at a week’s forecast of sunny days and cool night, with a frost tonight and a no other freezing temps. But…will it last? The trees have swollen buds…were those buds damaged? Can’t tell yet. Will there be rain to sustain any growth? Really don’t know that one.
Meanwhile it’s a lovely day outside, the horses are fine, the ground is slowly drying, and I sure hope Rags doesn’t cover himself in mud again. I worked on his coat yesterday but didn’t get him clean. If I had a warm water source and a way to tie him up while bathing him, a bath would really help, but those aren’t available, so it’s all elbow-grease and I can’t find the metal curry. I don’t like to use metal curry-combs–except that with hardened clay mud, nothing else will get a crust of it off the critter. Can’t consider riding a horse that has lumps of hardened mud where any part of the tack goes. Yesterday I got all the ice behind the old minivan in the carport at the other house broken up and swept off the concrete, meaning I can now move the shavings and horse feed in that car (bought just before the freeze-up) into the barn without risking a fall on the ice. I’d gotten a little of it done before and cleared the sidewalk from the house to the carport. The kitchen step is free of ice and dry now, so it’s safe to walk to the barn that short way instead of out the front and around the end of the house. I hauled two pecan branches (fallen from a tree in that yard) off to a brushpile by the Old Ditch. Lots more outside work to do today.
I hope that is the last frost for you. Also that Rags stays mud free, I would wish the same for Jake, but it’s pointless, the field is so muddy. Our house dust actually changes colour in autumn, because it doesn’t matter how carefully you clean him, and we have a downstairs shower to make that easy, some mud always escapes to dry and waft off his fur onto any nearby flat surface.
I find the change to the seasons quite hard to deal with. From a purely practical point of view it makes growing vegetables more difficult, we’ve had prolonged dry spells in spring, six weeks with no rain to speak of last year. That covered April and the beginning of May, when it really should be wet, hence the saying “April showers bring May flowers”. It plays havoc with the onions and other alliums despite our best efforts to water them, they simply don’t put on enough leaf – you probably know, but onions put leaf on until midsummer, then bulk up until they die back in the autumn.
However I am clearly attuned in some way to what I think or feel the seasons ought to be, what they were when I was a child fifty some years ago, and I find the changes discombobulating. Difficult to pin exactly what it is that is so wrong down, but stretches of historically odd weather leave me unsettled. Which is essentially saying the same thing twice, but I can’t explain any more clearly.
Same here. I have, after all, a solid feel for the weather of 50, 60, 70 years ago–esp where I grew up, S. Texas. I had 3 years’ experience in northern Virginia, and now 40+ in central Texas, which is hundreds of miles north of my home town, and picks up more Pacific air masses and their effects. It was weird living in Virginia…I would have sudden “intrusions” of the weather I knew my mother was having back home, and the local weather confused me anyway (didn’t have TV and space-based weather forecasting and discussion was still in its infancy.) But climate change…I’ve watched the plants that used to exist where I grew up move northward, decade by decade…changes in what we could grow here, and when to plant it…strangeness.
Here in Winnipeg it’s been miserably cold (-40°) for the last several weeks. Mixed into the bleeping cold has been two separate days of having the temperature reach 35°. Anyone telling me global climate change is not real will be getting a blast of frigid air up their backside.
That–does not sound like fun. In fact it sounds awful. Sudden extreme changes are harder to deal with. With you on the attitude towards climate change denials (including the “Well, it’s happening but it’s happened before and anyway it’s not human-related.” You give ’em the blast of frigid air up their backsides, and I’ll roast their faces with a blast of 40C in the face and then we can take turns with the locations.
So…Wednesday dawned clear. I woke up at around 6 (a little before, actually) hearing a horse snort outside. Just outside. The end of the house away from the barn, and the way that Mac escaped several times to go graze on lawns at night (we found out) and then sneaked back in just before daybreak. It was dark outside, the sky just beginning to change. I woke all the way up FAST, dressed, put on my headlamp, put on boots and jacket and cap and gloves and hurried out to the barn. Where the relevant gates were all shut and latched securely and two horses came up from the field, into the barn, to greet me with the whinny-whuffle that means “Oh, you’re here: BREAKFAST!NOW!” So they got hay.
Farrier’s been and gone, and they’re both trimmed up snug and round, and they’re eating lunch hay.
In between I had a brief but intense illness of the kind Miss Manners says should never be mentioned, fortunately over by the time the farrier called. I think it was migraine related because I had a migraine last night, thought I’d fixed it, and it was back again this morning. It’s a gorgeous day, but considering the nature of my problem and the fact that their feet are freshly trimmed, I will ride tomorrow instead, unless I feel stronger and more energetic by late afternoon with zero…um…indications of something.
I’m concerned, not much we can do, but hope for rain here. We are much warmer than we used to be this time of year. We often have some warm weather in February then it cools off again in March, but usually we get rain in January or February. This year, no a drop and very little last summer and fall. We are on well water and I’m beginning to wonder what we will do as the drought continues as all predictions say it will. Weather calendar for the next 10 days says “Sunny & Windy” I am really sorry that you have ice, because here in western Arizona at 3:30 p.m. on Thursday it’s 75 degrees.
We’re up in the 70s now, and it’s a gorgeous day. Walked out on the land, saw some grasses about to take off, lots of bluebonnets putting out little leaves–not really taking off yet. Black vultures are in their nesting area: one on a post and two in a bare snag, watching us walk along. We stayed what we considered a polite distance from their nest but boy, were they keeping an eye on the bad guys (us) walking in their neighborhood.
Rain’s an issue for all of us in the SW. Small town, limited well capacity, esp. since the asphalt plant moved in less than a mile from town and got a permit from Texas Water Quality Board to extract a godawful amount of water from the same aquifer the town uses. We buy reservoir water from a much larger city that’s paid for the right to pipe from that reservoir, but the reservoir depends on rainfall. If droughts get too bad, we’re all screwed.
I really don’t know what weather we should be wishing for with climate change looming. As a child in NJ, I never went to school on my birthday because their was always bad weather. Lately, 50-60 degree days occur on that most hallowed of snow days.
Western North Carolina has suffered terribly with floods last year. Those worst victimized by the floods were heard to cite God as their protector, seemingly incapable of connected cause and effect on climate change. On a dry year, it’s forest fires. I migrate north when the smoke reduces air quality.
This fall, the deer were fat and glossy, a good mast year. Yesterday, my path was darkened by the shadow of a huge hawk, moving too quickly for identification. We expect warm years, cold years, wet years and dry years. What we shouldn’t have to expect is years of erratic weather, the classic precursor to a major climate shift.
In my imagination, I see a future for my region, a current temperate rain forest with hills, transformed to bare rock, with meager greenery only in the basins. The local’s ancestors clear cut the forests. Feet of topsoil were lost. One of my wealthy, powerful neighbors reprised the clear cut, bringing down the wrath of the EPA and threats of criminal charges.
Houses are planted on unstable hillsides where the trees bend to label the slow slide zones and often speak of more rapid ground movement. Even along side the roads the trees quietly predict that a reckoning is due.
It will be a big shock to my county when secondary roads close permanently because they have become too expensive to maintain or repair. Even worse, some of the federal highways have been sited in ill-conceived paths just to satisfy minor political concerns.
Even here, where water woes have centered around floods for many years, legal challenges to aquifers and river water are soon expected. Drinkable water will be a challenge world-wide. The southwest will experience it first, but it is coming everywhere.