The Year Without Summer by William K. Klingaman, Nicholas P. Klingaman
Authors: William K. Klingaman, Nicholas P. Klingaman
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fared
no better; the frosts of June 6–10 left them nearly barren of fruit. “We saw neither
peaches nor apples till we approached this [Little Miami] river; and, indeed even
here, these fruits are scarce. Dead leaves, in tufts, are hanging on the papaw, and
on most other trees—the first growth of this spring having been entirely destroyed.
This remark will apply to much of the state where we travelled.”
When warmer weather finally returned late on June 11 (following another frost in the
morning), farmers took stock of the cold wave’s cost. “The trees on the sides of the
hills, whose young leaves were killed by the frost, presented for miles the appearance
of having been burned or scorched,” wrote Chester Dewey. “The same appearance was
visible through the country—in parts, at least, of Connecticut—and also, on many parts
of Long Island, as I was told by a gentleman of undoubted veracity, who had visited
the island.” From Dutchess County in the Hudson Valley came a warning that “the crops
of wheat and rye, in this county, which are usually so abundant are almost entirely
destroyed.” In Albany, the editor of the Daily Advertiser feared that “great damage has been done by the frosts, which have been so severe
as to make ice of considerable thickness.… The prospect to the farmer, as far as we
have heard in the country, is, at present, very gloomy.”
Maine farmers reported corn crops “totally destroyed … and even of the sheep that
had been shorn, many perished,” even though they had been sheltered in barns. In Portland,
the Eastern Argus reported that “a check is given to all vegetation, and we fear the frost has been
so powerful as to destroy a great portion of the young fruit that is put forth.” Central
Maine suffered significant damage to fruit blossoms, and “in some instances the corn
is totally destroyed, the plant being frozen to the seed; in most places it has been
cut off to the surface of the ground,” although residents hoped it could still sprout
again.
“What is to become of this country, it is impossible to divine—distressing beyond
description,” wrote a correspondent from Jackson. “Farms that usually cut from Thirty
to Forty tons of Hay, by their present appearance will not cut Five, and to all appearance,
this part of the Union is going to suffer for bread and everything else.” In Worcester,
Massachusetts, “expectations have in a measure been blasted … and the frost has cut
down and destroyed many very valuable fruits of the earth.… A destruction of the crops
of grain as also of every species of fruit is fearfully anticipated.” The Brattleboro Reporter agreed that “the most gloomy apprehensions of scarcity are entertained by those who
witnessed the phenomena.”
To emphasize the unprecedented nature of the cold spell, news reports repeatedly asserted
that the oldest living residents in their community could not remember such violent
winter storms in the month of June. The Albany Argus , for instance, declared that “the weather, during the last week, has exhibited an
intensity of cold, not recollected to have been experienced here before in the month
of June.” In Rutland, Vermont, “the oldest inhabitants in this part of the country
do not recollect to have witnessed so cold and unfavorable a season as the present,”
and in Middlebury, “never before, we are informed, was such an instance known, by
even the oldest inhabitants now living amongst us.”
In the absence of reliable weather statistics, individual human memory—and the collective
recollections of a community—were the only means of comparison to previous seasons.
But this method clearly had its limitations; as the editor of the Albany Daily Advertiser pointed out, “we are very apt to misrecollect the state of the weather from time
to time. Memory is certainly not safely to be relied on relative to this
no better; the frosts of June 6–10 left them nearly barren of fruit. “We saw neither
peaches nor apples till we approached this [Little Miami] river; and, indeed even
here, these fruits are scarce. Dead leaves, in tufts, are hanging on the papaw, and
on most other trees—the first growth of this spring having been entirely destroyed.
This remark will apply to much of the state where we travelled.”
When warmer weather finally returned late on June 11 (following another frost in the
morning), farmers took stock of the cold wave’s cost. “The trees on the sides of the
hills, whose young leaves were killed by the frost, presented for miles the appearance
of having been burned or scorched,” wrote Chester Dewey. “The same appearance was
visible through the country—in parts, at least, of Connecticut—and also, on many parts
of Long Island, as I was told by a gentleman of undoubted veracity, who had visited
the island.” From Dutchess County in the Hudson Valley came a warning that “the crops
of wheat and rye, in this county, which are usually so abundant are almost entirely
destroyed.” In Albany, the editor of the Daily Advertiser feared that “great damage has been done by the frosts, which have been so severe
as to make ice of considerable thickness.… The prospect to the farmer, as far as we
have heard in the country, is, at present, very gloomy.”
Maine farmers reported corn crops “totally destroyed … and even of the sheep that
had been shorn, many perished,” even though they had been sheltered in barns. In Portland,
the Eastern Argus reported that “a check is given to all vegetation, and we fear the frost has been
so powerful as to destroy a great portion of the young fruit that is put forth.” Central
Maine suffered significant damage to fruit blossoms, and “in some instances the corn
is totally destroyed, the plant being frozen to the seed; in most places it has been
cut off to the surface of the ground,” although residents hoped it could still sprout
again.
“What is to become of this country, it is impossible to divine—distressing beyond
description,” wrote a correspondent from Jackson. “Farms that usually cut from Thirty
to Forty tons of Hay, by their present appearance will not cut Five, and to all appearance,
this part of the Union is going to suffer for bread and everything else.” In Worcester,
Massachusetts, “expectations have in a measure been blasted … and the frost has cut
down and destroyed many very valuable fruits of the earth.… A destruction of the crops
of grain as also of every species of fruit is fearfully anticipated.” The Brattleboro Reporter agreed that “the most gloomy apprehensions of scarcity are entertained by those who
witnessed the phenomena.”
To emphasize the unprecedented nature of the cold spell, news reports repeatedly asserted
that the oldest living residents in their community could not remember such violent
winter storms in the month of June. The Albany Argus , for instance, declared that “the weather, during the last week, has exhibited an
intensity of cold, not recollected to have been experienced here before in the month
of June.” In Rutland, Vermont, “the oldest inhabitants in this part of the country
do not recollect to have witnessed so cold and unfavorable a season as the present,”
and in Middlebury, “never before, we are informed, was such an instance known, by
even the oldest inhabitants now living amongst us.”
In the absence of reliable weather statistics, individual human memory—and the collective
recollections of a community—were the only means of comparison to previous seasons.
But this method clearly had its limitations; as the editor of the Albany Daily Advertiser pointed out, “we are very apt to misrecollect the state of the weather from time
to time. Memory is certainly not safely to be relied on relative to this
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