Micro-climates on Orcas Island

by Janice Richardson

2004 after one of the first"Saturday Sunrise Talks in the Garden". The people left to right are: Janice Richardson, Joleen Kelleher, Betty Barats, Nancy Southern, Kamala Harrison, Kiko Harrison In front: Fredricka Kundig Photo by Anthony Richardson

Understanding weather patterns is an essential tool for successful gardening. In the mid-1990’s, when I moved from Oregon to northwestern Washington, I felt surprisingly unsure of myself when I began my first gardens. I no longer had the inner knowing that I had relied upon to make some of the most basic choices for plant placement. It took awhile to accept that my physical “uprooting” had a psychological component to it–and that it would take time and experience to find my way of knowing again.

Many people who fall in love with these islands, do so in the summer months. When they move here, they find a big surprise when the weather changes. We arrived in the early fall and before long, we started to notice a significant decrease in daylight. Mornings and late afternoons were becoming dark as night. Each day, the sun descended on the horizon until it finally disappeared behind an unobtrusive hill to the south of us.

The cedar forest surrounding our house seemed to loom larger and enclose us. I could see plant life shifting and preparing for winter, but I, this “human plant”, who was born and raised in Oregon, hadn’t adapted yet. Rather, the change in light had signaled symptoms of light deprivation and a clear message to my psyche that I was not home.

Winter came, bringing bitterly cold arctic winds. These “Nor-easters”, come down through the Fraser River Valley in British Columbia, Canada, and blow particularly hard on the northern side of the island where we were living. That December, a record 100 year snow storm covered us with about four feet of snow. The roads could not be cleared and we were house-bound for more than a week.

The quiet of the island and the gentle snowfall on the cedar trees, made time slow down. I relaxed and watched as birds foraged on seed heads from plants that I had neglected to prune. Seeing their value under these severe conditions, gave me an inner resolve to be more inclusive in my gardening practices.

When the island thawed, grocery store conversations were filled with stories of storms from years past. I gathered bits of information here and there and without consciously knowing its importance for me, began weaving together the pieces of the “weather puzzle”.

When spring arrived, I noticed that our neighborhood was a lot colder than the nearby village, where flowers were already blooming and people had cast off their winter hats and scarves. My green thumb was eager to start planting but my ground was still frozen. I had not realized that our part of the island had a distinct micro-climate. In fact, the combination of rolling hills, forest lands, small valleys, and inlet bays, creates a variety of microclimates such that no place is really like another.

Experiencing the island’s abundance and diversity started to break up a “knowing” within me that was rooted in a more “homogenized” landscape where the “wild” is no longer alive. The mystery of how nature works was gradually unfolding, teaching me to make the deep inner connections necessary for me to integrate and ground myself.

Learning About Our Climate

Over the next three years, I experimented with a small scale vegetable garden and remodeled the flower beds around our house. At the same time, I actively learned as much as I could about the geography of our area and how it effected our weather patterns. Workshops on island stewardship, training as a marine naturalist, native plant and geology field trips, and garden club meetings all strengthened my foundation.

I learned that Orcas Island is one of over 200 islands (depending on the tide), that makes up the San Juan Islands, an archipelago that stretches across the Salish Inland Sea. This inland waterway sits in the heart of the convergence of three huge basins carved out by the Vashon Glaciation, 10,000 years ago. To the north is Canada’s Georgia Straight in British Columbia, to the south is Washington’s Puget Sound, and to the southwest is the Strait of Juan de Fuca, which is divided by both countries.

The Cascade mountain range, which extends from British Columbia into southern Oregon, creates a boundary between the continental weather systems on its eastern side and the winds from the Pacific Ocean, which bring cool, moist air inland. The interaction of these weather systems results in the characteristic weather patterns of our “Maritime Northwest Climate”. These dynamics of weather and geography also define our aptly named, Cascadia Bioregion.

Mt. Baker and the Cascade Mountain RangeIn 1998-1999, Mt. Baker, the highest Cascade mountain peak near us, recorded the highest level of snowfall in the world. It broke the record held by Mt. Rainier, another peak in the Cascades, 150 miles to the south. Our island temperatures, however, are usually above freezing, so snow seldom stays on the ground for more than a few days. (Except in 100 year snow storms!)

There are seven climate zones in the “Maritime Northwest”. We live in the Olympic Rainshadow Zone, or “Banana Belt”. This crescent shaped area is protected from rainstorms by mountain ranges on Vancouver Island, the Cascade mountains, and the Olympic Mountains on Washington’s Olympic Peninsula. These surrounding mountains give us less than 30 inches per year. Most places west of the Cascades receive more than 30 inches of rain a year, while some westward slopes of the Olympic and Cascade mountain ranges receive more than 200 inches a year.

Our climate is mild throughout the year which allows for an extended growing season, so winter gardening is a definite possibility for cold-hardy crops. Springs are wet and the soil temperature does not warm up until the middle of May or early June. Our summers are dry and often drought-like. However, they may also be cool and foggy, as cold air moves in from the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Our very cool evenings and the low heat accumulation over the summer makes it hard to grow heat loving plants like tomatoes and melons.

The Dragonfly Garden Micro-climate

After living on the northern side of the island for three years, I felt ready to exercise my “island awareness”, and find a sunnier location to live and garden. We made a list of what we really wanted and before long we were introduced to three acres of forested land with a large open meadow that extended down to a nearby harbor. We knew an open meadow with full exposure to sunlight was a rarity on the island, so there was no question that we had found the ideal place for our dream garden. The acreage was located in the warmest area of the island, or the “Mediterranean” as islanders call it.

We began landscaping around the house, and I started a little vegetable garden in a small wooded clearing. Once again, there were valuable things to learn about the weather in our new location. We were located on a small peninsula, which adds to the amount of sea salt we receive from rainfall. I began to understand the importance of sweetening the acidic soil with a yearly application of lime. I got to know the winds, the drainage of the land, the path of the sun, the native plants, the migration of birds, and the community of living creatures. Three years later we were ready to till the big meadow and begin the Dragonfly Garden.

Today, we live with concerns about scarcity of water and summer droughts. No one is sure about the source of our water supply. Some think it is Mt. Baker. Our geology is so complex that finding water for a well is challenging. We are lucky to have a good well and good tasting water. We water conscientiously.

Rainwater catchment is a project in the future for the garden. With the advent of Global Warming, we are continually educating ourselves in order to best adapt to the possible changes. Recent analysis has shown that spring is arriving earlier in the western United States, particularly in the Pacific Northwest.

We are blessed with an abundance of topsoil, which is a foot and a half deep in one corner of the garden. The last glaciation scraped off most of the topsoil on the island and people struggle to garden in rocky ground. When people come to visit the garden, they often comment on our ideal conditions, as if surprised to see a spot like this on the island. We agree, knowing how fortunate we are to be able to garden and make our home here.

To find out more about Janice Richardson and Dragonfly Garden, go to www.dragonfly-garden.com.