Champing at the Bit

A week yet to go in April, and this place has begun the preview of July, my measure of when summer should be done. Yet by then we will have just hit the dog days of summer. Spring, those—what—two, three weeks in Texas when we pretend that we live in a world of seasons is barely one month old today, but I’m already heading into the refrigerated air starting at mid-day. Presidio, usually the hot spot in Texas, already has temps forecasted in the low to high 90s for this week. Abilene will hit the 90s in another week. Weather on the Gulf Coast, which practically speaking extends way north of the coast, has climbed into the high 80s—when you factor in the heat index, how it feels to the human body. If you live anywhere near the coast, you know weather-speak and relative humidity. According to my good friend Wikipedia, the human body works to cool itself by sweat, which evaporates and carries heat away from the body. When the relative humidity is high, the evaporation occurs at a slower rate, causing the body to retain more heat than it would in dry air. We're into the days when it doesn't really cool down at night. I can smell the mountains.

So there you have it. My body knows it wants to be cooler. “How do you stand this humidity,” a friend who’s lived in northern New Mexico for 30 years asks during a fall trip to the antiques markets held here in central Texas. “Do you ever get used to it?” No. Usually, so-called spring is a little easier on us. The climb has begun, though, and I’m ready to head west and north, say howdy as I roll through Muleshoe, and know that 7500 elevation and dry air are only a few hours away. Damn, I hate anticipating my life away. 

 So what do I learn from a truth that blesses me, at least for now? I am by nature an impatient human being. When I get hot and sweaty, my threshold for tolerating aggravation plummets. By the same measure, I have no patience with bugs that plague the high desert open spaces, like those pesky, biting flies that gnawed my legs on the Carson, New Mexico mesa last summer, sending me wounded to the local version of Whole Foods for homeopathic ointment promising to sooth the itch. Cranky, cranky, I became.

Come summer I’m happiest in khaki shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, but I love it when the nights ask for a little extra cover. This will be my first summer living in a space that I own in Santa Fe, and it will be my first time to find out “just how does a swamp cooler work?” Last year my evaporative cooling was a box fan that sat in the window and used a pan of water that I filled regularly to do its work. Now that I am a homeowner, my swamp cooler is built into my structure. To be comfortable, a little luxurious, however relatively I need to define such earthly kindness, that’s what I’m wanting, as an older guy.

If I get to choose, and it seems so for right now, I’ll take a spot on the bench under that portico. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not planning on sitting out the summer. I want to climb, ramble, and stroll as well, but I sure like anticipating the feel of basking in that high desert air. I might even grab a shovel and help out in the gardens at the Audubon Center, even though, as you know, I’m not a joiner by nature.

Champing at the Bit—Normangee, Texas (April 23, 2008)

R. Harold Hollis