When it’s too hot to hum,
there’s nothing to do
but sit on a zinnia
and wish for a brew.
Every so often, dear reader, I have the urge to add “Burma Shave!”
Tag Archives: heat
Disconnections: July 2.18
Dear reader,
It is 5:30 in the morning. The humidity is 92%. My house temp is set at 79 and the air conditioner is working hard to keep it there.
My Uncle George’s attic was the hottest place I’d ever known. Now my upstairs feels like that. It’s a dusty, dry, old-house hot. My house isn’t nearly as old as Uncle George’s, and not half as magical, but my upstairs sure bakes me just the way his attic did.
The retention pond is just what you’d expect, supporting a layer of foaming goo, exuding plague, at the very least. Yesterday it looked as though someone had spilled a tanker of WD-40, and I felt a real pang of sympathy for the poor frogs.
The flowers are doing their brave best, bless their little stamens, but this extended wet heat is good for nothing except that pond goo. Everything droops. Mold and mildew are dancing with joy.
Twenty minutes outside is the maximum. If that. All gardeners know that twenty minutes is nothing, so, when that is all the time you have, it’s triage watering. Deadheading and weeding are luxuries you can’t afford to indulge in. Forget standing back and regarding the whole with your head to one side, deciding what to do different next year. No time for gardener’s neuroses!
Everyone I hear from says ditto, ditto. The wilt is universal. So do be careful, dear reader. Water yourself first!
Maureen
Connections: August 28
The rational being within us
when heat and humidity combine
demands we take proper action:
get out and stand in line
because
the muggier the air
the longer the queue
the better the vanilla
the caramel
the goo.
(That’s me on the left. I think the photographer got my good side.)
And yet more thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.
Connections: August 11
My white lobelia is singin’ the blues
can’t make up its mind
which hues
to use
August’s too hot
the temp’s one-and-ought-ought
the song of the garden chanteuse.
Connections: September 8
Der Dunne, “the thin one,” Dusseldorf.
I say bring it here
rename it
Der Droop.
All of humid, hot, mildewy Indiana would recognize the look.
Another offering from the S.W. Berg Archives. Thanks, Bill!
And awe to the sculptor, Karl Henning Seeman.
August 16
August in Indiana. Airless, oppressive, steamy sticky hot.
A picture is worth a thousand ice cubes, yes?
August countdown.
