Post #1719: A brief note on the 1980s Savings and Loan Crisis, or why sometimes It’s (not) a Wonderful Life.

 

FSLIC.  Raise your hand if you are old enough to recall what that stands for.

Briefly, FDIC : Bank :: FSLIC : Savings and Loan

You have to interpret the second  “:” as “was to”, not “is to”.  The Congress formally declared the Federal Savings and Loan Insurance Corporation (FSLIC) dead in 1989, after a decade-long illness.  It was beyond bankrupt at the time.  Its functions were subsumed into the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC).

I mention this bit of economic history because of the recent failure of the Silicon Valley Bank.  That seems to have been driven by the same factor that drove the majority of S&Ls into bankruptcy in the 1980s.

Briefly, they borrowed short and lent long.  Short, as in short-term.   The money they took in — borrowed from their depositors — could be withdrawn at any time.  Long, as in long-term.  They apparently bought a lot of U.S. Treasury bonds. Which, although liquid enough at any given time, are still long-term loans to the U.S. Treasury.  (And a fundamentally odd thing for a bank to invest in, when you get right down to it.  It’s as if they couldn’t be bothered to find something with a better rate of return.)

In any case, as with any fixed-return asset, the price of those bonds drops as interest rates rise.  Owning a lot of fixed-return long-term securities, in an era of rising rates, is a recipe for bank failure.  (Or, as in the case of the 1980s, S&L failure.)  As I shall explain below.

And, after more than a decade of more-or-less zero inflation and below-zero real interest rates, I have to wonder how many more banks are now lurking out there, in our current environment of rising interest rates, waiting to fail from that same root cause.

If you just want to see a professional write-up of the S&L crisis — minus the dirt — this piece by the Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis is about as good as it gets.


Skipping the details, how does the FDIC operate?

U.S. banking regulation has a lot of generally-unrecognized quirks.  Many of these derive from the fact that States were in the business of chartering banks long before the Federal government got in on that.  States never relinquished that right.  As a consequence, what appears to consumers today as a more-or-less monolithic industry is actually a mix of a institutions following different rules and regulations.

The practical consequence of this is that almost anything you say about bank regulation and deposit insurance will have some exception, somewhere.  In Virginia, it appears that all state-chartered banks are in fact FDIC insured, meaning that they are subject to Federal regulation.   But you can find states that allow some commercial banks to have no deposit insurance (e.g., CT), to (typically) states that operate bank insurance funds secondary to the FDIC, insuring deposit amounts in excess of the $250,000 FDIC limit (e.g, MA).  You can also find entire categories of bank-like institutions that only exist under state charters (read the CT reference above to get the gist of that).

The FDIC insures most bank deposits in the U.S., so it’s worth a paragraph or two to explain the finances of that.  (The FDIC reference page is here, the corresponding Credit Union reference page is here.).

The FDIC gives every bank a risk rating (termed CAMELS), based on factors such as capital adequacy and the riskiness of their underlying assets.  This risk rating seems to be a pretty good predictor of which classes of banks are at higher risk of failure.

Source:  Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation, Staff Studies. Report No. 2020-01. A History of Risk-Based Premiums at the FDIC, January 2020.

The FDIC charges banks a quarterly insurance premium based on the amount of insured deposits and the riskiness of the bank. As you can see, a large and risky bank might easily pay 10 times the insurance premium of a small bank with low apparent default risk.

Source:  https://www.fdic.gov/deposit/insurance/assessments/proposed.html

In normal times, best I can tell, on average, covered institutions pay insurance premiums equal to about 0.12 cents per dollar of deposits.   Effectively, that’s what you pay, in order to have your deposits insured.  The bank just makes that transaction on your behalf.  But the FDIC can add a temporary surcharge if the amount in the insurance fund gets too low.

The target value for the deposit insurance fund is 2% of the value of all of the covered assets (Source:  FDIC).  Which doesn’t sound like a lot, but the FDIC is a “full faith and credit” entity, meaning that the Federal government has to step in and make good on those insured deposits even if the insurance fund itself has been depleted.

(Oddly enough, while banks and S&Ls are insured by the FDIC, Federally-chartered credit unions are not.  They are insured by a different “full faith and credit” entity, the National Credit Union Share Insurance Fund, and are supervised by the National Credit Union Administration.)

That “designated reserve ratio” was 1.25% of assets before the near-death of our banking system in 2008-2009.  I went over this years ago, in Post #341.  Since the demise of the FSLIC in the 1980s, we’ve only had one episode where, arguably, the FDIC’s Deposit Insurance Fund was subject to significant strain.

The graph below, courtesy of the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC), show the surge in bank failures that occurred in 2008 and 2009.  In 2008, despite significant intervention by the Federal Reserve to try to stabilize the financial system, banks with assets amounting to more than a third of a trillion dollars failed.

Accordingly, the balance in the FDIC’s Deposit Insurance Fund ran negative during that wave of bank failures.  Near as I can recall, this got absolutely no press coverage at the time.  Plausibly, the FDIC kept fairly quiet about it, and at the same time the FDIC avoided a cash-flow issue by requiring banks to make their next three years insurance premium payments, up front, to keep the money flowing.  (That, from detailed reporting in the Journal of Accountancy.)

Source:  FDIC

Unsurprisingly, after that, they upped the target from 1.25% to 2% of covered assets.

In short, the FDIC’s Deposit Insurance Fund was stress-tested in that episode, came up a bit short, and, accordingly, has been required to run a bit more conservatively ever since.  Acknowledging that if things really go south, the full faith and credit of the U.S. government stands behind them.

Unlike the S&Ls, discussed below, the proximate cause for those bank failures was the collapse of the sub-prime mortgage bubble, leading to a sharp downward adjustment in US housing prices, of a sort that had not been seen in the US for generations.  The blue line below (from the Saint Louis Federal Reserve) shows an index of U.S. housing prices.  The hump, peaking around 2006, is “the housing bubble”.  The  red line, for reference, is the US Consumer Price Index.  The graph runs from 1975 at the left, the 2019 at the right.  The gray bars are recessions.

Basically, a lot of banks made what in retrospect were a lot of really bad loans, based on ludicrously inflated real estate prices.  Based, in turn, on what in hindsight was clearly a speculative bubble in real estate, driven by exceptionally easy credit, even for high-risk properties.

Finally, the billion-dollar question:  How much does the FDIC lose when it shuts down a bank?  Obviously, that varies, but after staring at a few tables in various sources, a good guess is about 8% of the assets of the bank.  So if the Silicon Valley Bank is typical, and has $200B – $250B in assets, the Deposit Insurance Fund can expect to take a hit of about $20B.  Far below the current balance of around $120B in that fund.


The 1980s S&L crisis and the death of the FSLIC.

Source:  An Examination of the Banking Crises of the 1980s and Early 1990s,

The first thing to grasp is that S&Ls are not the same as banks.  Back in the day, they were a distinct class of depository institutions with their own separate regulators and insurance fund.  For purposes of this discussion, these were institutions that, by law, offered savings accounts to small depositors and used that money primarily to fund home mortgages. In their heyday, half the home mortgages in the U.S. were funded by S&Ls.

Note that I said “savings accounts” above.  Not checking accounts.  The radical notion of allowing S&Ls to offer checking accounts (NOW accounts) did not occur until 1980, with the Congress’s first attempt to quash the S&L crisis.

The interesting historical difference between a savings account and a checking account is that you couldn’t demand to withdraw your money held in a savings account.  These days, all vestiges of restrictions in withdrawal from savings accounts have disappeared (reference).  But there was a time when S&Ls could say, sure, you can have your money — sometime.

In fact, I have both a checking and a savings account at my local credit union.  If you bother to read the fine print in the account agreement, I find the following disclosure:

" The Credit Union reserves the right to delay the availability of funds deposited to accounts that are not transaction accounts for periods longer than those disclosed in this policy."

Translation:  If they are having a problem, they have the right to prevent me from withdrawing money from my savings account.  Even now.  Even in 2023.  These days, with both savings and checking paying close to zero interest, this hardly matters.  I might as well keep the entire balance in checking.  But this is a holdover from the days of bank runs and interest-bearing savings accounts.  You got paid interest for your deposit, but the quid pro quo is that in the event of a bank run, you were stuck.  For other specialized types of saving accounts — Holiday Club, Christmas Club — the restrictions are more explicit, and typically involve penalties for excessive or early withdrawals.

And that’s by design.  With clauses such as that, the bank needs to keep fewer “reserves”, that is, less cash-on-hand and other liquid assets, to satisfy regulatory requirements.  This lets it put a higher fraction of deposits to work earning interest, and so (in theory) should lead to better economic performance.

In short, prior to 1970, say, S&Ls were a backwater of American banking.  They could only offer savings-type accounts, and they were highly restricted in the types of assets they could invest in.  The maximum interest they could pay on deposits was set by law.  By and large, they were community lending institutions that issued mortgages, and little else.

Then along came the economic turmoil of the 1970s and 1980s.  Let me summarize the situation — borrowed short and lent long — in one graph.

The key to understanding why the S&Ls were trapped by rising interest rates is to understand that as interest rates go up, the value of fixed-income securities goes down.  Among which are fixed-rate mortgages. When the prime rate is 4%, a mortgage paying 6% is an attractive investment.  When the prime rate hits 21.5%, not so much.  If you want to sell a 6% mortgage in that environment, you’re going to have to sell it at a deep, deep discount.

And so, as rates rose, two things happened.  The value of S&L’s existing mortgage fell, so that if they had to sell them, they’d take a loss.  And, separately, they began to lose deposits, and (once rates were deregulated) then had to pay higher interest to keep those deposits. Higher than what they were earning on their portfolios of mortgages.

They were trapped.  If they liquidated their mortgages to pay off depositors, they took a loss.  If they raised interest rates enough to keep their depositors, they took a loss.  There was no way out.

Congress then spent the better part of a decade trying to do anything other than liquidate the bankrupt S&Ls.  They loosened restrictions on S&Ls.  They loosened them some more.  They basically urged S&LS to take ever-more-risky bets in the hope that they would somehow earn themselves out of the hole they were in.

In short, the Congress turned what had been a backwater of American banking was turned into America’s biggest casino.  All in the hopes that the S&Ls could earn enough to make up from the losses incurred by borrowing short and lending long in an era of rising interest rates.

From the original chart, it looks like a lot of S&Ls lasted until the end of the 1980s, but that’s an illusion.  Regulators turned a blind eye to the fact that many of those S&Ls were technical bankrupt, because they didn’t have enough money in the FSLIC to liquidate them.  At the time, the term was “zombie” S&Ls. Technically, dead, yet still functioning.  Meanwhile, the industry kept falling deeper and deeper into the hole.

After a few well-publicized scandals, the Congress finally threw in the towel circa 1989.  About a third of S&Ls were declared insolvent and were liquidated.  The FSLIC was bailed out by abolishing it and transferring the liabilities to the FDIC.  I assume the taxpayers in general made up for those cumulative losses, but I haven’t bothered to look up the details of that final FSLIC transaction.

I’m sure there was plenty of malfeasance along the way.  And some pre-existing regulations got in the way.  But the basic story — the reason a third of the industry went bankrupt — is far more mundane.  A combination of

  • Lending long (e.g., 30-year fixed mortgages).
  • Borrowing short (e.g., checking deposits, savings deposits, CDs).
  • Rising interest rates.

That’s just bad news, no matter who the actors are.  Maybe they have adequate capital and current earnings to keep going.  Maybe not.


And now?  Of toilet paper and bank runs, or bank runs were the original flash mobs.

Much like the 1970s/1980s, we’re now in an era of rising interest rates, following a prolonged period of low interest rates and low inflation.

Public information about of the failure of the Silicon Valley Bank sounded like the S&L crisis all over again.  Sure, if you look hard enough, you can find some combination of malfeasance and incompetence.  But from what I’ve read, the main problem is that they tied up much of their capital in long-term Treasuries.  Borrowed short, lent long.  Which, in the era of stable and low interest rates that existed from 2008 to circa 2022, was just fine.  But in an era of rising rates, was a form of economic suicide.

As long as their depositor base remained stable, that wasn’t necessarily a problem.  As long as they could earn enough to stay in business, they didn’t have to realize the losses on those long-term bonds.

But as soon as somebody suggested that withdrawing your money might be prudent, it was game over.  That rapid withdrawal of funds forces them to sell off assets to pay back their depositors.  And if the bulk of your assets are now far under water — well, you’re bankrupt in short order.

Are there more of these in the pipeline?  Now way for the public to know.  But I wouldn’t be surprised. And, I wouldn’t be worried either.  If you look at the numbers, banks fail all the time.

The problem here isn’t with the regulators.  Having learned some hard lessons from the foot-dragging of the S&L crisis, our regulatory authorities don’t screw around when a bank is in deep trouble.  They come down like a ton of bricks.  That’s not because they’ll somehow salvage more value out of the bank if they do that.

The problem is that — let’s face it — people are idiots.  Bank regulators act decisively to quash any general run on the banks.  The same mentality that gave us months of toilet paper shortages during the pandemic will give us bank runs. 

Now, deposit insurance should have put an end to that.  But in the era of constant internet disinformation, you know there’s somebody out there, right now, trying to start a bank run just to see if they can do it.  Maybe a foreign government.  Maybe just a home-grown jerk.  It doesn’t really matter.  Not to mention that you don’t even have to get up out of your chair to move your money out of a bank.

My take on it is that for the Feds to come out and say, hey, you’re covered, no matter what the size of the deposit?  I don’t necessarily think that was good policy.  I don’t think it was bad policy.  I think it was probably the only policy that would work, in this circumstance.

Because now deposit insurance isn’t just facing traditional human stupidity.  It’s facing stupidity, as amplified by social media and the internet.  Bank runs were the flash mobs of their day.  My guess is that bank regulators have to work faster and harder now, to stop those, than they have for the past half-century.  So far, they seem up to the task.  Let’s hope it stays that way.

 

Post #1718: Final COVID update, approaching normal.

 

The U.S. is now down to about 8 newly reported COVID-19 cases per 100K population per day, based on the latest figures as reported by the New York Times.  That’s down from about 10, two weeks ago, continuing the long, slow decline that began right around Christmas 2022.

That’s still not quite down to the lows that occurred in the summer of 2021.  But we seem to be getting there.  Fairfax County (where I live) currently reports about 4 cases per 100K, compared to fewer than 2 in June 2021 (Post #1163).  Along with that, you’d probably have to figure in less complete reporting now, due to the widespread availability of over-the-counter COVID tests.

The US CDC reports a corresponding continuing decline in COVID-related hospitalizations and COVID as cause-of-death.  Again, taking Virginia as an example, we seem to have between one and three COVID-19 deaths per day (reference).  That’s in a population of about of about 8.7 million.

For me, I think that the U.S. 2022 mortality rate is the last major statistic I’d like to see.  Unfortunately, we won’t see the official U.S. deaths data for 2022 for another month and a half yet.  Arguably the biggest surprise of the pandemic is that the U.S. COVID-19 mortality rate didn’t fall in 2021, but was kept high first by the deadliness of the Delta variant, then by the huge number of cases in the initial ramp-up of the Omicron wave.

Source:  underlying data from the Government of Michigan.

Omicron actually peaked at the end of January 2022, so we can expect the 2022 mortality rate to remain somewhat above the historical average.  The interesting question will be, by how much?  And did the U.S. mortality rate finally return to the long-term average by the end of 2022?  Based on the preliminary data through September 30, 2022, the answer is no.  Mortality rates appear to be coming down, compared to 2020.  But even at that point, the crude mortality rate of 9.2/1000 remained well above the prior long-term average of around 8.2/1000.

Source:  CDC, annotations in red are mine.

As of Q2 2022, COVID-19 accounted for an average of about 3000 deaths per week.  Doing the math, those COVID deaths, by themselves, if they were all “additional” deaths (people who would not have died at that time, absent COVID) would have raised the U.S. mortality rate by five percent, or (on the chart above) by about 0.5.  Thus, the COVID deaths themselves account for only about half the excess mortality that appears to remain, relative to historical trend, as of Q3 2022.

I don’t think this will be worth revisiting once the full-year 2022 mortality data are released.   Thanks in part to the peak of the Omicron wave occurring in 2022, it’s a given that the 2022 mortality rate will exceed the prior historical average of about 8.2/1000.  And it will be another six months before we have any information at all on 2023.

Accordingly, until something changes materially, this will be my last post on COVID-19.

Finally, here’s my “COVID-19 odds” table, updated for the low rates of incidence that we are seeing at present.  Even with that few cases in circulation, if you regularly attend any sort of large group meeting, the odds are that you’re going to be sharing a room with an actively infectious person at some point over the course of a year.

If you come across someone who is still masking up in public, be kind.  They’re not crazy.  Risk of infection is low, but it’s not zero.  They just have a different level of risk aversion from the average.

Post G23-009: New garden beds. Working harder, not smarter.

 

At the start of the pandemic, I recycled some political yard signs and bamboo into a set of raised garden beds (Post G05).   After three years of intensive use, a) those are now in disrepair, and b) I know a whole lot more about gardening.

My plan is to replace those beds with something better.  With St. Patrick’s day just one week away — the traditional day for planting potatoes — I can’t procrastinate much longer.   Time to finish pondering and start shoveling.

This post documents the final design.  The next post will show the construction.

Continue reading Post G23-009: New garden beds. Working harder, not smarter.

Post #1717: An unremarked silence

 

I just want to interrupt your day for 60 seconds to point out something that you’re not seeing in the news.

Recently, a prominent elderly politician fell down in a hotel room and suffered a concussion.   That’s the second serious fall he’s taken in the past couple of years.  He broke his shoulder in that prior fall.

Currently, we observe the media/social media doing which of the following:

  1. Claiming that this politician is senile.
  2. Clamoring for this politician’s resignation, due to poor health.
  3. Creating and circulating deepfaked videos that exaggerate the issue,to mock the politician.
  4. Assert that the politician has permanent traumatic brain injury.
  5. Reporting on the fall and concussion.

Hint:  The politician is a Republican.

Answer:  5.

Sometimes, what doesn’t get reported tells more of a story than what does.

Post G23-008: Simple geometry of sun and shade, or, keep your gnomon pointing north.

 

This post is about making sure my new garden beds don’t end up in the shadow of my back porch, during the summer.  Based on the length of the shadows today, in late winter.  And, ultimately, based simply on the height of the porch roof.

To cut to the chase:  If you use Excel, and the NOAA sun-angle calculator, you can accurately predict the length of a shadow, for any date and time, anywhere on earth, via this formula:

Shadow length = obstruction height * cotangent (solar elevation angle in degrees * π / 180)

The π / 180 is there because Excel wants to see angles expressed in radians.  If you’re using a calculator that accepts angles in degrees, omit that.

 

Continue reading Post G23-008: Simple geometry of sun and shade, or, keep your gnomon pointing north.

Post #1716: COP out. Does it ever get cold enough, in Virginia, to make gas heat cheaper to run than a modern heat pump?

 

Edit 1/5/2025:  Since I wrote this, I had a new heat pump installed.  It’s an air-source, two-headed mini-split heat pump.  See Post #2060 for the reasoning. 

The “which fuel is cheaper” analysis below needs to be modified a bit, because the “regular” unit I bought only works down to 5F outdoor air temperature.  At which, it still runs at COP 2.1 (see below).  But below which, it (presumably) does not run.  So, where I talk about temperatures of zero, below, assume a better unit than what I actually bought, that actually runs down to zero F.

Original post follows:

In Post #1706, I determined that, for heating my home here in Virginia, it was far cheaper to run my heat pumps than to run my natural gas furnace.  That’s based on costs of $1.70 per therm of natural gas, and $0.12 per kilowatt-hour (KWH) of electricity.  Like so: Continue reading Post #1716: COP out. Does it ever get cold enough, in Virginia, to make gas heat cheaper to run than a modern heat pump?

G23-006: The sunniest spot in a shady yard? Part 1, geometry.

 

This is the first of two posts on finding the sunniest spot in a yard that has shade trees on either side.  This one uses geometry.  The next one will use time-lapse photography on a sunny day.

With any luck, both approaches will tell me the same thing.

If your yard is bordered by shade trees, locate the beds so that due south (180 degrees) splits the compass bearing from your bed to each line of trees.  This gives a surprising-looking result for my back yard.  It’s not at all what you’d naively think, just looking at the trees and the yard.

Garden bed location 1:  Wrong.

I started gardening seriously during the pandemic.  Temporary raised beds were made from recycled campaign yard signs and bamboo.  I placed those in seemingly-reasonable locations in my back yard. In part, they were filling in low spots on the lawn.  But it seemed like they were located so as to get the best sun.

I’m now getting around to putting in something more permanent.  This time, I’m not going to wing it, but instead want to know what spot in my back yard gets the most sunlight.

It’s not obvious.  I have tall trees on either edge of my yard.  And, interestingly enough, what appears to be the obvious solution — locate the garden beds in the middle of the yard, away from both tree lines — isn’t even close to being right.

So, eyeball a couple of birds’-eye views of my back yard, and see if you think I put the beds in roughly the right place:

Looks pretty good, doesn’t it?  You might even say that the location doesn’t much matter, because you’re going to get the same number of hours of sunlight almost anywhere in that back yard, regardless.  What’s shaded in the morning will be sunny in the afternoon, and vice-versa.

Problem is, an hour of sun is not an hour of sun.  Sunlight is much stronger around solar noon, and is weaker the farther you are from noon.  And, because the sun is due south at noon (in the Northern hemisphere), you have to know which direction is south, in order to judge what part of the yard gets the most solar energy.

Source:  Curtonics.com

You need to figure out the locations in your yard that place due south directly between those lines of trees.  Those locations get the greatest amount of high-intensity, near-noon sunlight.

To cut to the chase, you need to calculate where your potential garden site is, relative to the obstructing trees, and to due south.  The sunniest locations in the yard will have these two properties.

  • Due south (180 degrees) bisects the angle from your location to each side of obstructing trees.  E.g., find a spot where the bearing to one set of trees is 150 degrees (180 – 30), and the bearing to the other set of trees is 210 degrees (180 + 30).  That is, you get equal hours of morning and afternoon sun.
  • The angle from your location, to the obstructing trees, is as wide as possible.  For example, the location with a 60 degree spread above will get more total sunlight than a location with a 40 degree spread.   That is, you get as many total hours of sun as possible.

So now, take a look at my back yard, oriented so that south is directly down.  Do you want to change your prior answer?  By the look of the shadows, this is about 11 AM solar time.  Note that the left edge of the yard is already in sunlight.

 


Skirting a couple of pitfalls.

Let me take a brief break to mention a couple of pitfalls that can mess up your attempts to locate your garden in the sunniest spot on the yard.

Daylight savings time.  Man I hate having to get up at 2 AM to turn all the clocks forward, as required by law.  But the upshot is that solar noon occurs around 1 PM during daylight savings time.  For example, on the hourly insolation graph above, peak insolation occurs around 13:00, or 1 PM.  That’s not a mistake, that’s just daylight savings time.  So if it’s summer, and you look to see where the shadows fall at noon, you’re screwing up.  Because noon, daylight savings time, is actually 11 AM solar time.

Above:  Compass set up for 10 degrees west magnetic declination

Magnetic declination.  Declination is the extent to which magnetic north — where the compass needle points — deviates from true north.  Because of magnetic declination, you can’t simply use the raw readings from a standard magnetic compass in order to locate your garden in the right spot.

If you have a compass made for use on land, and it’s anything but the most basic compass, chances are you can adjust the compass to account for declination.

You can find the magnetic declination for your locality at the US Geological Survey, among other places. Currently, magnetic declination at Vienna VA is about 10 degrees west.  That means that the compass needle actually points to a heading of about 350 degrees, not 360 degrees (true north).  That’s about 2.5 degrees further west than when I was a kid in the 1970s.

Magnetic declination is one of those incredibly simple topics that always manages to get an incredibly opaque explanation.  But as long as you have a compass that can be set to account for your local declination, it’s really simple.  The picture above shows a compass set up for 10 degrees west declination.  Despite the fuzziness of the photo, I think it’s obvious that the compass body has been offset 10 degrees relative to the degree ring.  When the needle points to 350 degrees (10 degrees west of true north), 360 or 0 on the degree ring shows you true north.


The sunniest spots in my back yard are directly next to the trees.

I can now take Google Earth, and start drawing in the angles between various backyard locations, and the ends of the lines of shading trees at the sides of the yard.  It’s a little crude, but the conclusion is inescapable.  I put the temporary beds too close to the middle of the yard.  For the most solar energy possible, they ought to be almost under the trees at the side of the yard.  Like so:

Which, to be honest, I would not have guessed, just eyeballing it.

Over the coming weekend, I’ll set up a stop-motion camera to film my back yard for one sunny day.  With that, I should be able to validate that the area that gets the most solar energy is the one outlined.  And I should be able to determine just how much energy I lose if I move away from that optimum spot.

Post G23-005: Wacky weather? No, just seems that way.

 

With last night’s frost, and this afternoon’s snowstorm, I’m trying to think back to the last time we had an 80 degree (F) day. 

Oh, yeah — day before yesterday.

Which got me to asking whether this most-recent temperature swing was unusual.  At Dulles Airport, they went from a high of 80F on Thursday afternoon, to a low of 27F on Friday night.   Or just over 50F swing over the course of two days.

As it turns out, that’s perfectly normal.  Below I’ve plotted the biggest two-day temperature swing, by year, at Dulles, through 2022.

Source:  Analysis of NOAA data, downloaded via https://www.ncdc.noaa.gov/cdo-web/

As you can plainly see, at least one event of this size seems to happen more-or-less every year.  The upshot is that in this part of the country, going from shorts one day to winter coat the next (or vice-versa) does not count as a particularly unusual weather event.

Post G23-004: Garden plan, 2023, step 2: When you come to a fork in the road, take it.

 

People say the ancients constructed their calendars to keep track of religious holidays, based on astronomical events.  Possibly true.  But a nice side benefit of their religion is that it gave them a clear idea of when to plant their crops in the spring.

In the modern world, of course, we eschew such religion-based planting rituals.  Thus my potatoes will go in the ground on St. Patrick’s day, and no sooner.  Because that’s Science.

If left to my own devices, I would undoubtedly plant too early.  Hence the need for my quasi-religious planting ritual.  Here in Vienna VA, today’s high is expected to be near 80.  Which definitely gets me in a gardening frame of mind.  But tomorrow’s low is well below freezing.  We’re still six weeks from our likely last-frost date.

Without getting into whys and wherefores of our ever-wackier weather, this post  presents my vegetable garden plan for the year.  It takes the form of three questions:

  • Why?
  • What?
  • How?

A brief recap

I started my current round of gardening in order to have something to do during the pit of the COVID-19 pandemic.  If nothing else, shoveling around a few tons of dirt to create raised beds provided much-needed exercise (Post G05).

Many people did the same, leading to shortages of everything gardening-related in 2020.  Starting with empty seed racks at my local hardware stores (Post #G02, April 21, 2020) and ending with a long-lasting shortage of canning jar lids (Post #G21, August 2020).

Gardening was a much nicer experience then than now.  The cessation of much local and long-distance travel meant that the air was cleaner, the skies were blue-er (Post #614, Post #618) , and neighborhoods were a lot quieter.  So quiet I could hear the hum of the bees at work in the garden (Post #G11), a sound I have not heard since.  A big bed of sunflowers, just outside my bedroom window, provided much-needed cheer during what was otherwise a fairly dark time.

But now, the air once again stinks of diesel exhaust, the Northern Virginia summer sky has returned to its traditional smog-white, the constant noise of traffic and construction smothers sound of the bees, and gyms are open for business.

In other words, things are back to normal.


1:  Why?  It’s now my hobby.

When I distill it down, I’m going to continue to garden for four reasons.

One, it gives me a physical activity that actually has a purpose.  Sure, I can go to the gym, and get exercise for exercise’s sake.  I can walk around the neighborhood, for the sake of walking around the neighborhood.  Gardening is a way to get non-pointless exercise.

Two, I really like growing plants.  I guess I can come out and say that.  Mostly food.  But flowers are OK, in moderation.

Third, I’m cheap.  As hobbies go, annual costs don’t get much cheaper than a few pounds of potatoes and a few packets of seeds.  I’m not convinced that my gardening pays for itself in the value of produce.  But the fact that I get anything at all useful out of a hobby is a bonus in and of itself.

Finally, it leaves nothing permanent.  What isn’t eaten turns to compost.  So, unlike (say) woodworking, this doesn’t produce yet-more-clutter, during a period of my life when I’m doing my best to get rid of stuff


2:  What? Only stuff we like to eat.

In an intellectual breakthrough this year, I’ve decided on the following guidelines:

  1. Only plant stuff that we actually like to eat.
  2. Don’t plant stuff that the deer like to eat
  3. Don’t  plant stuff that the bugs like to eat.
  4. Don’t plant stuff susceptible to diseases common in my garden.

Being the kind of guy I am, I of course formalized that with a spreadsheet.  But it doesn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.

Yellow:  Certain herbs and herb-like plants rank highly here because they are extremely easy to grow, take up little room and cost an arm and a leg at the store.  So, dill and rosemary, which I already grow, and ginger and turmeric, which are apparently easy to grow from grocery-store-purchased product.

Light blue:  Potatoes, sweet potatoes, and winter squash. These all provide a lot of calories per square foot and (so far) have been both extremely easy to grow and highly productive in my garden.  Plus, we like to eat them.

Red:  Tomatoes and sweet peppers.  Easy to grow, we like to eat them.  Say no more.

Dark blue:  The entire garlic and onion clan.  I’ve had such spotty luck with these over the years, I’m going to skip them this year.  Plus, my yields have been lousy.

Green:  Peas, beans, lettuce, okra.  We like to eat them just fine, but all require significant fuss.  And, except for green beans, in a good year, yields are modest at best.  But peas and lettuce can go in when it’s cold, and my wife likes green beans.  So these are definitely going to get planted.  Some.  Not a lot.

Purple:  Cucumbers and summer squash.  I’ve had such a bad time with insect pests that I’m skipping those this year.


3:  How?  When you come to a fork in the road, take it.

After three years in the Virginia climate, my temporary raised beds are “showing their age”.  Which is a nice way of saying “falling apart”.  I put up a set of temporary raised beds during the pandemic, recycling some yard signs, bamboo, and other materials around the yard.  Their temporary nature is now showing pretty badly.

I did that to minimize my investment.  I figured that if gardening didn’t work out, I could just tear them apart, spread the dirt on the low spots on the lawn, and plant grass.  Nothing wasted.  Nothing headed for the landfill that wasn’t already headed there before I tried gardening.

So I’ve reached a fork in the road.  Either I do what I had planned on originally, take the beds down, use the dirt to even out the lawn, and be done with gardening.  Or kick it up a notch.

Separately, things snowballed beyond the mere construction of the beds.  In addition to the beds, I now have irrigation line, various types of row cover and insect netting, trellising material, tomato cages, deer deterrent devices, and so on.  Not a huge dollar investment, as these things go.  But it’s a lot of stuff that serves no purpose outside of gardening.

The upshot is that I’m now going to go back and do this right.   But only as a last resort.  The patchwork of temporary beds of varying depths, oriented along the low spots of the lawn, will be replaced by a single long bed oriented east-west, with a permanent trellis along the back.  This will simplify everything from irrigation to protection against deer, and dovetail with the remaining in-ground beds that are now devoted to cane fruits.

I quite like the coroplast (yard sign) sides, and as I have several long sheets of that around, the new bed is going to be coroplast-and-post as well.  I see no reason to import materials if I have durable materials on hand that would otherwise be trash.

As an extra added bonus, this allows me to re-shovel the multiple tons of dirt that I ordered in the first place.  Much better than wasting my time at the gym.  And see how my hugelculture experiment turned out.  There are trash pieces of wood at the bottoms of all these beds, and I’ll get to see what happened to them after three years in the soil.

The goal is to have a single, well-constructed bed of uniform depth, with trellising, deer protection, and irrigation built in.  We’ll see how close I come to that ideal.


 Conclusion

After three years of seat-of-the-pants gardening in temporary raised beds, I have reached a fork in the road.  I’m going to take what I learned in the past three years, and move forward with a single permanent bed incorporating everything I think I need to grow a bit of vegetables and flowers in my back yard.  And at that point, I’ll focus on a few things that we really like to eat fresh out of the garden and that seem to grow well in this climate.  And hope for the best.