Drought 2010

Cut weeds in June, they'll be back soon.
Cut weeds in July, and soon they'll die.

It's July and everything is dying: weeds, lawn, crops, garden—you name it. We haven't had substantial rain for weeks; the last little shower was June 28. Combine the drought with temperatures in the 90s—it hit 99 today here—and you have this:

This is my front lawn. The prickly pear cactus looks fine, but the lawn is brown and crispy. It crunches under my feet. I've never seen it this bad. 

Here's a closer look at the lawn:

My flower beds, that were so lush in April's rains, are now a lost cause.

Even my shade garden, which is close enough for me to water every other day, looks bad. The petunias died a couple of weeks ago. The impatiens look bad.  The hostas might not make it.

The flowers around the gazebo are still hanging on, but barely.

My Natchez white crape myrtles, which actually bloomed this spring, look as if they might not make it.

The Rose of Sharon bushes, which are so prolific in the yard and which the hummingbirds love so much, are withered. I've never seen them look so bad. The white one by the road looks especially bad.

Even the lavender one near the house is wilting.

The trees still look green, but they're feeling the stress.

My garden, which last year produced more squash than I could use, is a goner. Squash vines are dying. Any tomatoes that have ripened have blossom end rot. Last year, the garden stayed damp because it's planted in a low spot. This year, it dried out, and it's too far to easily carry water.

Pastures are equally bad, if not worse than my lawn. Many farmers are already feeding hay from their first cutting. Likely there won't be much—if any—second cutting.

Across the road—actually, all over the area—the corn crop has shriveled. If it doesn't grow, it'll be useless to cut for silage. The nitrogen content is too high and will poison the cows. What will the dairy farmers do?

Meanwhile, the cats seek shelter in the shade, where the white phlox I transplanted from Mama's yard over a decade ago still blooms.

Despite the drought, this rose that came from Mama's still blooms, too. 

Maybe there's still hope. . . . If only we'd get some rain.

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