Tales of woe from the rain belt of Maine

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I do believe it is raining.

I haven’t the courage to look.

When last we spoke, I predicted my best-laid plans would go awry because I was so far ahead in my gardening schemes that anyone could see a derailment looming.

It began with my vacation. It was not conducive to gardening.

Even with an entire week off, I only managed to cobble together a mere three days’ worth of work in the great outdoors. The annuals went into all of the barrels and pots while the perennials went into the ground; I got the fertilizer and compost spread so the vegetable garden could be plowed by the intrepid tractor guy who managed to squeeze into a small, dry window of opportunity and not sink up to the axles; and in between showers I somehow got the plastic mulch laid.

In a final show of stamina, I managed to plant 126 seedlings in two hours.

Shortly thereafter, monsoon season arrived.

It poured for two days straight. And on the morning of the third day it was still a steady drizzle.

When the deluge eased, I started darting into the garden for an hour or two. Maybe I should say I lurched into the garden, as my feet developed a nifty trick of being sucked into sinkholes that grew apace with the rainfall.

Nevertheless, I was able to get in the peas, the beans, the squash, the tomatoes, the cucumbers … Did I mention the potatoes?

Ah, the spuds.

Do you know what it’s like to lift a shovel of dirt moistened by about 5 inches of rain?

Do you know how many shovels full of dirt it takes to dig about 75 feet of trench 10 or so inches deep? And all of them holding those 5 inches of rain.

Every few feet I had to stop to clean off the shovel, which became caked with mud. The first time it happened I thought I was having some kind of a spell because I barely had the strength to lift the thing. Then I realized I was no longer wielding a shovel, but a giant mudsicle.

About halfway through this Herculean task last Sunday, the sky blackened, the wind picked up and it started to rain.

I kept shoveling.

The rain finished before I did.

I emerged triumphant but muddy, thinking I would let the trenches dry out a bit before I planted the potatoes.

And it is raining again.

I have no desire to go see how heavy it is. The rain gauge will show the damage in the morning.

Meanwhile, I get to ponder how I am going to sift soil for the carrot bed. The greens still need to be planted and the soil is too mucky for that fine seed so I will have to improvise.

How one improvises light, fluffy soil is, perhaps, beyond me at the moment, but I daresay I shall find a way.

Later that same week …

I managed to sift the carrot soil successfully – using the largest grid on the sifter – although by the time I finished planting that seed and the herbs, it started to rain again.

The next morning I hadn’t even made it out of the house when the heavens opened. By noon, the sun was beating down. Just as I came to the end of planting the greens, it started to sprinkle. By the time I had gathered my tools and seed packets, it was a downpour again. So much for getting in the flower seeds and those dratted potatoes.

Maybe I’ll have better luck Wednesday. Oh, look, the forecast says something about – gasp! – a shower.

On the bright side …

There are advantages to all this rain.

(Let us pause to ponder that “every cloud has a silver lining” optimism … and let us move on.)

I visited and revisited greenhouses in the rain. Of course, I always came away with more plants to plant, which was difficult to do in a downpour.

I’ve spent almost no time watering. Of course, some of the plants have so much water in the pots with them, the plants have nearly ejected themselves out of their pots. I’ve taken to apologizing every time I smoosh them back in.

The rain barrels are full. Of course, I don’t have much need for the water now, except to wash off my boots.

I’ll likely rue the waste if an August dry spell hits. And then I’ll wonder why I didn’t tighten my rain belt.

Janine Pineo’s e-mail address is jpineo@bangordailynews.net.