The Year Without a Summer

The weather lately has everyone talking—though in 1816, folks didn’t just talk, they shivered and complained with a purpose. That year has gone down in history as “the year without a summer,” but the old-timers in New England, never ones to sugarcoat, just called it “1800 and starved to death.” January and February were suspiciously mild, like the weather was lulling everyone into a false sense of security. Then came March, which decided to make up for lost time by being as cold and blustery.

May arrived with reasonable warmth, but by the end, it was giving everyone the cold shoulder—literally. Buds and blossoms froze mid-bloom, ice a half-inch thick formed overnight, and corn all but waved a white flag. June didn’t want to be left out, so it brought a blizzard to the garden party: snow fell three inches deep in New York and Massachusetts, and a whopping ten inches in Maine (where, presumably, people just shrugged and reached for a second scarf). Frost in July? Of course! Ice on the 5th, just thick enough to keep your lemonade cool—if you could find any lemons. Corn and crops everywhere surrendered, and August iced the cake with—you guessed it—more ice. Corn was so traumatized, it gave up on being food and was cut down for fodder instead.

With nothing ripening in New England or the Middle States, farmers had to fork over $4 or $5 a bushel for corn seed. September started off trying to be pleasant, but by the end, it was back to its frosty tricks. October, November, and December all seemed to have missed the memo on how seasons were supposed to work—October got lost, November brought the sleighs out, and December was suspiciously mild as if to say, “Just kidding!” All in all, 1816 was a year that kept everyone guessing—and freezing.