When Jack Frost Overstayed His Welcome: The Summer of 1816
This botanical history post was featured on The Daily Gardener podcast:
June 6, 1816
On this day, dear readers, we find ourselves transported to a most peculiar and chilling time in horticultural history.
Picture, if you will, the verdant landscapes of New England, typically abloom with the promise of summer's bounty.
Yet, in this fateful year of 1816, nature seemed to have quite forgotten her seasonal duties.
Imagine, if you dare, six inches of snow gracing the ground in June!
Every month of this extraordinary year saw Jack Frost's icy fingers touch the land, with temperatures plummeting to a mere 40 degrees Fahrenheit in July and August, even in the southern reaches of Connecticut.
This, my gardening companions, was the year that would come to be known as 'The Year Without a Summer' in New England.
But what, pray tell, could cause such a dramatic shift in our dear Mother Nature's temperament?
The answer, it seems, lies not in our own green plots, but in the fiery depths of Mount Tambora.
This volcanic beast, having erupted the previous year with a fury unmatched in recorded history, spewed forth a veil of particles so fine they spread across our globe, casting a pall over the sun's warm embrace.
The impact on our world's climate was profound indeed. The earth's temperature dropped an average of three degrees Celsius across the globe, a change that would send shivers down the spine of even the hardiest of gardeners.
Yet, in this seemingly bleak tale, we find a silver lining as delicate as the first spring blossom.
For you see, this terrible summer of 1816 served as a most unusual muse to many a writer.
In the misty shores of Lake Geneva, Switzerland, young Mary Shelley penned her gothic masterpiece, Frankenstein. Trapped indoors by relentless rain and gloomy skies, she found herself in the company of her husband, the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, and the ever-dramatic Lord Byron.
It was during this same dreary sojourn that Lord Byron crafted his haunting poem, Darkness.
Allow me to share with you the opening lines, which seem to capture the very essence of that sunless summer:
I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguished.
As we tend to our gardens today, let us take a moment to reflect on the resilience of nature and the human spirit.
For even in the darkest of times, creativity can bloom like the most stubborn of perennials, pushing through the frost to reach for the light.
