I just came inside from using our infrared thermometer to check the temperature of the soil in my backyard.
A year ago, I would’ve been very confused by that sentence because past-Irene had no idea that current-Irene would become a home gardener. But here I am, one year later, holding a kitchen gadget over the ground and wondering when I’ll finally be able to plant the 250+ bulbs I’ve been dreaming about since August.
For months, I’ve had a plan: clear weekends, a rough bulb layout, and the hopeful image of tulips, daffodils, crocuses, and nearly a dozen types of alliums greeting me next spring. But now it’s mid-October, weeks later than I expected, and I’m still waiting for the soil to cool enough to plant.
Working in the climate space, I know the science. I know what the data says about shifting seasons. But sometimes, it hits differently when you experience it yourself, when your well-laid plans are upended not by procrastination, but by a warming planet.
As someone who’s lived in Iowa for seven years, I’ve heard people say every single year, “The weather isn’t usually like this.” And it’s true, I’ve seen Christmases warm enough to skip a winter coat, snow on Easter, and record highs and lows that rewrite what “normal” means.
This year, we’re close to another record: the latest first frost.
Since buying my first round of bulbs, I’ve been checking the Des Moines forecast like a hawk, trying to decide when to plant. The two weekends I had earmarked have already come and gone; it’s simply been too warm. And now that the soil is finally under 60 degrees, perfect planting conditions, I, of course, have plans this weekend.
There are perks to a longer warm season. I’ve been able to plant discounted perennials like coneflowers, asters, and hydrangeas that will have a head start to root in before winter. But there are real downsides, too. As Climate Central notes:
“Fall warming can delay the first freeze of the season, disrupting important ecological cues in forests, farms, and gardens. A later freeze can worsen fall allergies, lengthen pest seasons, and reduce summer fruit yields.”
Across the country, the first freeze now arrives 12 days later on average than it did in the early 1970s. In fact, 88% of U.S. cities have seen their first freeze come later each year.
Those shifts ripple through our ecosystems and our lives:
- Longer allergy seasons. Ragweed pollen lingers longer, making fall harder for allergy sufferers.
- Less vibrant fall color. Cool nights help create brilliant autumn leaves, but warmer nights mean duller hues and shorter color windows.
- Pests and diseases that stick around. Mosquitoes and crop pests thrive later into the fall.
- Crop and orchard challenges. Later freezes and shorter chill periods threaten fruit and nut harvests, a $27 billion industry in the U.S.
Climate change isn’t just an abstract global phenomenon; it’s in our backyards, in our gardens, and even in the timing of when we dig in the dirt.
For me, that means a delayed bulb-planting weekend and from the temperature from my dirt today, the wait is over. For you, it might mean your allergy meds stretch another month, or your favorite fall stroll looks a little less golden than you remember.
Whether you’re watching the soil, the trees, or the sky, these seasonal shifts remind us just how connected our daily lives are with the health of our planet.
And for people of diverse faith and spirituality, that interconnection is sacred. We are called to notice the signs of the beauty that surrounds us, to care for the earth as both a gift and a responsibility. When the ground doesn’t cool, when the seasons shift, when Mother Earth groans, we are called to respond with hope, courage, and action.
So plant your bulbs. Watch the changing leaves. Take time to marvel at the beauty that remains. But also let it stir you to speak, to organize, and to act for a climate where all can flourish.
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