Hot

The weather report read “96 degrees, feels like 107.”

What the hey? I do not have a triple digit metabolism. No one wants to see an old scarred bald head dripping sweat. It’s not a good look.

Even so, it wasn’t a bad day. I plugged away at a few outside tasks until doing so made me feel stupid, then I retreated to the air-conditioned house. I’d filled the little wading pool for the ducks, put fresh water in three different bird baths, and under my wife’s direction watered the garden and various flowerpots. You can’t just check out on a hot day, there are still responsibilities.

The old Newfoundland was panting like a steam engine, so she came in the house too and was soon lying in the kitchen with every plausible inch of her belly making contact with the cool granite tiles.

When you live on a farm, triple digit summer weather is a lot like sub-zero temperatures in the winter. You spend so much time just keeping things alive. No matter how hard you feel like you’re working, your productivity feels like it’s cut in half.

On days like this, you don’t find many people talking about the good old days. At least, not if they recall them.

I remember going into the barn when it was time to milk cows (and twice a day, every day, it was always time to milk cows no matter how hot or cold the weather). Thousands of pounds of living, breathing flesh in a damp, confined area created a moist heat that needed to be felt to be fully appreciated. The cows didn’t like it any better than we did. You could feel the heat and irritation radiating off their bodies.

There’s a lot I could say about what hog barns were like in hot weather, but you probably don’t want me to go there.

Heaven forbid a hot spell coincided with the need to bale hay, because I can’t remember baling ever being canceled. The biggest concession to hot weather was to allow the last couple of loads to wait until the next morning to be run up into the hay mow.

Just because you got to unload the loads in the morning didn’t mean you were approaching the task rested and rejuvenated. I can easily relive lying flat on my back on the second floor of the old farmhouse, with a tiny fan rattling a few inches from my ear, desperately wishing I could just fall unconscious. Some hardy souls would sleep outside in hot weather, but then you had the relentless mosquitoes.

I wanted to double check my memory, so I did a little research into air conditioning. It was invented in 1902, and a cheaper window unit was produced in 1947.

They may have been produced in 1947, but they didn’t make it to my neighborhood until a few decades later.

The same article said that 90% of American homes now have some form of air conditioning and on days like today I can only say, “Good.”

Even the Newfoundland agrees.

Copyright 2025 Brent Olson