Chickadee Jane

I’m a late adopter. I’m stubborn and fight against new ideas and change, much to my own detriment – I recognize this. I took a degree program that used the Mac computer as opposed to PC, in an industry where Macs were THE operating system of choice … and bought my first Mac after I graduated. And while you wouldn’t think this mentality would apply to science, fact, or that which is taking place right in front of your eyes … this summer I once again fell victim to my own stubbornness, and refused to recognize or acknowledge the very idea that we’re in the middle of a drought. Even as our area has shown a 78% decrease in rainfall over last year (and I can say that on days that nearby towns received some rainfall, the skies would mist for mere minutes over our little village), it actually took several weeks of little-to-no garden growth for me to catch on to the disastrous side of the amazing, rain‑free cottage weekends we were experiencing.

Things started out in late spring really well. I was excited by the overnight rain and the sunny days that would follow (ideal for gardening, trickier for actual farming). But as the weeks began to pass, the night skies became clearer, and the dirt in my raised beds became so compacted that it pulled away from the edges of the wood, I began to wonder what the heck to do. While we live in a rural neighbourhood, our lot is very narrow and deep, and we built our garden at the very back of the property (Feng Shui and whatnot), away from a water supply. I started having deep regrets about our lack of actual initiative regarding the shed/rainwater catchment system we had intended to build.

And as someone who has pridefully boasted that I could build gardens that would withstand a no‑water system, and be stronger for it … well, my ego took a steep nosedive. With only a single skill – gardening- I began having some fear about my usefulness in a drought‑based apocalypse. Even the wildflower beds and mature bushes were nearly dead or showing significant wilt. The nail in my coffin was a Facebook memory reminding me that in early summer 2022 we had a lovely and robust early harvest that at the time I attributed to significant early summer rainfall. The comparison of nary an inch of growth, to bringing in full salads … I realized that even our supply of tomato sauce was really at risk. I began lugging jug after jug of (paid) town water to the back garden every other night, knowing I was a tad too late to achieve any feed‑my‑family‑through‑the‑winter glory. We’re talking four watering cans per raised bed … with ten beds and counting. At least I could count it as an arm day. 

One weekend, after another stint of burying my head (in the literal sand) at the cottage, I came home to find that my partner had quietly purchased two more lengths of hose. Now his great pleasure appears to be stepping outside like the great Bruce Almighty, gathering all the wrist strength he can, and turning on the sprinkler for 20 minutes to save the garden – if not my dignity.

So now that my humble pie has been swallowed for this year, and I’m bracing for the water bill, the dilemma remains – how can we protect our gardens from drought? Halfway into the season, and still learning after 20 years, my recourse plan this year consists of two things:

1. Save seeds from survivors

Anything that survived this year is likely the toughest, most drought‑resilient strain of the lot. I plan to collect seeds from these as a way to build drought‑hardiness in future crops.

2. “Chop and drop” mulch

This method involves cutting weeds and old plant material and leaving it around plants to decompose where it lies. The weeds themselves are no longer competing for water resources, and they form a natural mulch that improves soil structure as it decomposes, and retains moisture. And honestly, it appeals to my lazy gardening regime. Real benefits include better organic matter, protection from evaporation, cooling of the soil, and worm activity, all while suppressing weeds. While some warn that this could encourage disease, the evidence suggests that when done with healthy materials and good spacing, mulching enhances soil resilience more than it spreads pathogens. Learn more from one of my fav gardeners, Huw Richards: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6q2HYrMvIlk

Is there a way to further reduce risk? Yes! Not as lazy and not as inexpensively, a thick layer of other types of mulch—whether bark chips, straw, or even sheep wool—helps reduce evaporation, stabilize soil temperature, and improve water holding capacity. Learn more: https://edenscapeslh.com/how-to-create-a-drought-tolerant-garden/

Ideally your solution is some variant of a multi-prong strategy that involves efficiently utilizing rainfall, creating better, drought tolerant plants and soil, and keeping water from evaporating.

What are other gardeners doing? 

As always, my message is to jump in and learn as you go. The followig are niche methods that solve specific problems, so don’t let the technicalities scare you. Throw some dirt on the ground and drop a seed. If you have problems, there’s lots of wisdom to help (which we can all use, even twenty years in)! Gardening is a world of sharing – passing down traditions, sharing seeds and cuttings, trading tips. Here’s some garden wisdom from others around the web that will help me:

1. Wicking Beds: DIY, low-cost, water-efficient beds

Wicking beds are raised containers with an underground water reservoir that “wick” moisture upward into the soil. While more of a small scale, or start-from-scratch method (ie I would have to construct my beds again), they reduce water usage by up to 50% or more, keep surface soil relatively dry, and help prevent fungal issues and pests. Roots grow deeper, drawing moisture, and nutrients recycle through the reservoir. Downsides – in some cases, microplastics. But definitely worth checking out:

• On The Greening of Gavin blog, Gavin describes building wicking beds on his patio using recycled materials. He praises their simplicity and how they transform wasted space into productive gardens: https://www.greeningofgavin.com/2014/04/building-a-wicking-bed-on-concrete.html
  
• Natasha Morgan says her wicking beds have produced over 100 kg of vegetables in just 50 days with minimal water. She calls it a total game‑changer and has written an e-book if you want to learn more: Natasha Morgan
  
• It seems that Australia is a great source for wicking bed information. And it makes sense that, as our climate changes from what we know, looking to other climates can provide the wisdom that we’re looking for. Here’s a final example from Gardening Australia:
  

2. Keyhole Gardens: Community‑driven, drought-smart systems

Originating in Lesotho, keyhole gardens originally caught my attention as a way of extending the gardening season by generating heat through composting. Keyhole gardens are circular raised beds with a “keyhole” cut‑in compost basket in the center. Garden scraps and greywater go into the central basket; moisture and nutrients radiate outwards.

• Anna’s Musings documents keyhole gardens developed in Lesotho to combat drought and soil erosion, showing how these beds can be made with simple materials and still deliver food in challenging conditions. annasmusings.com
  
• On Backwoods Home Magazine, a gardener recounts building a ~6‑ft diameter keyhole garden, using compost in the center to feed outer beds, crowding plants to naturally mulch and shade soil, and using as little as a gallon of water per day. backwoodshome.com
  
• And finally, Dirt Patch Heaven describes how to build a keyhole garden in this video:
  

Takeaway

Once again, gardening has shown me that there are still a multitude of things to learn. If my stubbornness and delayed epiphany taught me anything besides humility, it’s this: the best defense against a drought doesn’t have to be just watering harder—it’s planning smarter. Next year I’m still going to stick to principles of less watering, which creates stronger and more resilient root structures. But a combination of selecting tough plants, building rich, living soil, using strategic mulch, and harvesting every raindrop—and yes, possibly buying hoses your partner slips in while you’re burying your head—can give my garden a fighting chance in next summer’s apocalypse.

Here’s to greener days (and smarter gardens) ahead—just not too soon, because I’m still hauling hoses around.