Living with the mother of all frosts ~ June 25, 1992
David Heiller I knew there would be trouble when I saw my breath last Friday evening, June 19. I was hauling woodchips to the garden, working up a sweat and whoosh, I saw my breath. Just once, but I saw it. And I hadn’t been eating onions. “I’m seeing things,” I thought. So at bedtime, 10:15, I checked the thermometer just to be sure I WAS seeing things. I WASN’T seeing things. It read 37 degrees. I groaned and went to the garage for the “garden linens.” Old sheets, bedspreads, blankets, tarps, tablecloths. Not fit for human use, but just fine for chilly tomatoes, peppers, and celery. After I ran out of blankets, I covered the pumpkins, squash, and melons with every bucket and pan I could find. The rest could fend for themselves. The ground was white with frost the next morning. I scraped a thin layer of frost from the car windshield with my fingernail. 30 degrees on June 20. If that wasn’t enough, the temperature dipped to 30 the next night, June 21. Sad frost-bitten t...