All I know is that it’s hot…
I don’t know about all this global warming and climate change stuff. All I know is that it is hot, the lakes are drying up, the corn plants are stunted, the water melons are small, the creeks are low, and my dog smells from all the sweating. It’s simply depressing.
We were visiting my wife’s parents the other day and while sitting outside under the pear tree, her mother made an observation. I hate sitting under that pear tree, by the way. This time of the year, the pears are getting big and judging by all the pears on the ground, it is only a matter of time before one will strategically fall and knock somebody out. But, I never say a word. I just sit in the shade and listen while playing Russian roulette with a fruit tree.
“Have y’all seen any mockingbirds since we’ve been sittin’ here?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I can’t say that I have.”
“Well, I have seen three and none of them are singing. You know why?”
None of us answered because we knew she would tell us anyway and besides, it probably wasn’t going to be anything logical. I check logic at the door when I visit my mother-in-law.
She paused for effect then said, “It’s too hot and mockingbirds don’t sing during dog days.”
Enriched with this information, I turned to look for mockingbirds but there were none to be seen. Must be in their bird houses under the fan, I impishly thought. I will not, however, second guess her.
She knows everything there is to know about superstitions, astrology, and old time sayings. Even if she has never met you before, she can look you in the eye and tell you what astrological sign you were born under. It is uncanny, really. She knew I was an Aquarius the first moment she met me. She looked me over, sized me up, and told me without hesitation, “You’re an Aquarius, same sign as me,” which explains why she has never fully trusted me.
“A Leo looks like a cat,” she once told me. Now, every time I meet someone born under the sign of Leo, I study their eyes to see if the pupils are vertical.
My father-in-law, well into his eighties, framed a sentence very oddly the other day while I was taking him to the VA clinic for a check up. We were discussing the finer points of plowing with a team of mules when he started a sentence this way:
“Back when it rained regular,” then went on to talk about cultivating peanuts and corn with a two mule rig.
Back when it rained regular. I pondered that opening line a minute and thought long and hard about why he chose to string his words together is such a fashion. It was if he had drawn a conclusion that something is over, gone, will never be the same. Times have changed.
My father-in-law doesn’t engage in politics and I am positive he hasn’t debated the controversial points of global warming versus a liberal conspiracy. He could care less about the amount of carbon dioxide spewed out by coal burning power plants and paper mills. He doesn’t engage in debates over fossil fuels and energy dependence. He hasn’t seen Al Gore’s movie and has no clue that 141 countries signed the Kyoto Protocol; and that the United States, under George Bush, backed out. He just knows the truth. It’s hotter than ever and it doesn’t rain much, anymore; at least, not on his peas, okra, and cantaloupes. It didn’t take a bunch of scientist to figure it out, either. A man learns a lot in eighty years of living.
These are strange times: hurricanes, droughts, tsunamis, wildfires, earthquakes, terrorism, and war. We were discussing many of the natural, unnatural, and man made catastrophes several months ago when a reporter quipped:
“This is all too horrible! It’s the worst period in our history!”
“Ever hear of the Civil War or the Great Depression?” I answered.
Wars come and go and so do Great Depressions. But Global warming could be forever. We simply don’t know and that is what makes it so scary. It is too much to think about and too much to comprehend.
Tonight, when I leave work, I will get in my big truck with its big tank of smelly diesel and take my long drive home. I’ll sit on my porch overlooking my dried up pond while the fried chicken cooks on my electric stove. I’ll complain about how hot it is then crank up the air conditioner till fog forms on my breath. And as I lay in bed waiting for sleep, I will ponder why somebody doesn’t do something about all this global warming stuff.
Comments (3)
About Me
The life of any News Director is stressful most days... so, when the weekend rolls around I find myself on the back roads of our bountiful and beautiful part of the state looking for bluegrass music, interesting things to do, and, of course, fried chicken. I will try to share some of these "finds" with you. There are a thousand stories left to be told or simply remembered. Don't expect to find them all here; maybe just a little stroll down memory lane or maybe a little skewed insight into topical issues.
Larche Hardy,
News Director
All My Entries:
- Nashville Bluegrass at IBMA
- Marty Raybon and Georgia Bluegrass
- Curse of the Acoustic Guitar
- A Millville Hero
- Bluegrass at BAMA JAM a hit!
- Bird watching not a bore
- No Poet Laureate
- Let the Bluegrass begin
- Hurry Spring
- Alabama’s Highway 52
- Cell Phone Interuptus
- Bellying up to the bar
- Resolutions are Doomed to Failure
- Bah-dad-gum-Humbug
- A hunting we will go!
- Hot Stuff!
- My new camo hat… A bargain at $34
- The Road Trip
- “If you don’t want to make the news, just don’t do it.”
- Hostage
- Not a Cat Person
- Hollywood - Here I don’t come…
- Found: a cure for the blues…
- It won’t be long…
- Not Enough Historical Markers, I say…
- Evolution takes many forms
- Revisiting Vernon
- All I know is that it’s hot…
- I Love Slocomb
- The Not-So-Casual Traveler
- The Casual Historian
Other News13 Blogs:
- The Casual Historian - Larche Hardy
- Derby Girl - Enocha Van Lierop
- The Newby - Jessi Chapin
- Gainesville, Georgia's All American Girl - Tuquyen Mach
