The dog days of August

There’s an inevitability to August. From the beginning of the gardening season until mid-August, it’s all about growth. Then in mid-August there is a subtle but noticeable change. This year it happened on August 13. That was the first day when the sun set here in Morristown before 8:00 p.m. To be precise, it set at 7:59. Today, August 17, the sun set at 7:53. We’ve lost 6 minutes of daylight in just 5 days. Conversely, the nights have become longer and that seems to be the trigger. While the days may still be hot as blazes, plants seem to feel the darkness and cool more. One manifestation of this change is the dew that forms on the plants overnight. As the night hours lengthen, dew stays on the leaves longer. This sets up the conditions for a host of garden problems. One of the most common is powdery mildew. This common fungal disease can affect a wide variety of plants. In my garden, zucchini are the first to fall victim. Now some people might be happy about this by mid-August. I’m not one of them. While certain organic treatments provide a modicum of relief, my experience has taught me that this is the beginning of the end for my zucchini. It’s not just the zucchini, though. The arrival of powdery mildew always signals the end of the relentless movement upwards in the garden. Despite the bounty arriving every day, I know inside that the days are numbered.

Most people I know in the Northeast find February the most difficult month. But for me, it has always been August that stirred me to melancholy. I think there is an interplay of both physical and psychological factors at work. There is something about the unrelenting heat and humidity that characterizes late summer, which puts me in a funk. In the days before we had AC, some of that was caused by night after night of sleeping badly on soggy sheets.  I recall being perpetually cranky as a result. I can’t use that as an excuse any more. 

I have noticed though that, as I age, the accumulated effects of several months’ worth of physical work begin to take their toll on me. When summer begins, I don’t care how much I have to sweat to get the job done. By mid-August, though, I’m just thinking whether I really need to do that task at all. I find myself feeling lazy and apathetic. The chores that animated me in June, now just seem mechanical and tedious. The psychological factors of this malaise are a little more difficult to pinpoint. In the garden, part of the ennui come from knowing that even one’s best efforts cannot counteract the forces of nature at work. The ineluctable ticking downward of the celestial clock marks the days now. The long shadow of winter seems to be just over the horizon. Additionally, when I was teaching, I would experience a kind of mourning for the imminent loss of freedom from a schedule that awaited me. I’d find myself being angry and resentful about having to give up even the work, which, at the moment, seemed so uninteresting. Sometimes the anticipation of returning to the classroom would provide temporary relief, but not much. It was only when the first cold front of late August would push through that I would find real relief. The same air that swept away the haze and humidity of the dog days of August would freshen my thoughts and emotions too.