Nothing puts me in a more mindful headspace than climate change. 

Last month I saw an Onion headline that said “Report: Every Place On Earth Has Wrong Amount Of Water.” Here in my little corner of the Carolina Piedmont, we’ve been struggling with drought. For weeks we saw barely any rain while also experiencing sweltering, near triple-digit temps. Yet somehow it was also miserably humid? The air becomes your enemy in that scenario. It feels filthy, just saturated with that mugginess that comes from all plant life emitting their last gasps of moisture in the sizzling heat. The grass turned so scrawny and brown. I found it quite deflating.

Naturally this was the year I decided to start gardening. I don’t regret putting in the yard work, though the weather wound up throwing us a curveball. When I was tearing up the lawn in early April, creating a bed between two retired clothesline posts, I wasn’t thinking how this pesky red clay soil would feel when parched. The soil itself posed enough of a challenge. I quickly learned why so many people use raised beds instead of growing anything in the ground here. Still I planted my seeds, bulbs, and a few starters, then waited to see what would happen. May brought many delightful sprouts. And then in June, just when my chard and sunflowers were beginning their abundance, it stopped raining. So frustrating.

The upside to this is that tending my humble garden in these conditions has kept me very present. It’s provided a useful lesson in figuring out when to water the stuff in the ground vs the stuff in pots – how heavily and how often. It’s taken a lot of trial, error, and observation. My potted basil plant has vacillated between bulbous and withered so many times that I’ve lost count. All I know is that nothing makes it so happy as rainwater. The stuff from the spigot has performed crucial life support, but the plants thrive best when fed by clouds.

And so it went for June and most of July — me just trying to keep my small crop alive. I’m now pleased to report that we turned a corner and are finally getting rain again! Last week the heat broke (or at least descended to the upper 80s) as clouds rolled in. We’ve had several heavy showers and much drizzle since. From where I’m sitting on my bed, I can see the tree trunk next door has broken out in gorgeous, pistachio green patches of lichens, a sign of a much healthier humidity that I love to savor. Now I get to be present for the glorious regreening.

It’s hard knowing there’s so much drought and flood in our future, isn’t it? The unpredictability of climate change can foster a lot of fear. And yet there’s some solace in knowing the future remains unwritten. I’m gradually learning that being present for whatever’s happening right now really is the key to surviving and thriving in difficult times — whether that means gently responding to the needs of my withered plants or taking a moment to inhale the glorious perfume of rain after a long dry spell. There’s grief, love, and beauty in all of it.