A Cold Front in July?

A cold front hitting Georgia in late July is highly unusual, we've had record lows tied, and it was only 80 degrees yesterday, allowing me to work outside all afternoon long, never even breaking a sweat after having to re-adjust from a frigid cold sanctuary back into the afternoon heat. I'm utterly convinced that the South's over-dependency on AC is ruining everyone's ability to survive outside at all in the heat, folks stay indoors, utterly reliant on artificial comfort, unable to even function any more when breaking a sweat. Call me old-fashioned honey, but I don't think folks can even have any fun without sweating.

Gardening would continue to be a delightful endeavor in an 80 degree, no humidity environment, rather than our usual 90 something degrees with 100% humidity often making it uber-swelteringly, blast-furnace unbearable to normal human beings...but I'm slowly learning I'm off the charts in contrast to so-called normal folks. I've learned to live with it, feeling like a freak sometimes, but probably happier overall than other frustrated and unchallenged women...or am I simply rationalizing an odd existence? I wish my mind would leave me alone sometimes.

I'd been finding more spring onions under Moon & Stars watermelon vines, debating if I should plant a total other crop, likely we have time to start from seed, and harvest all the more. This is the time of year when the heat, the bugs, snakes, and other critters usually make people abandon gardens in the South and retreat to their TVs in their air-conditioned, dark womb-like environments that would smother me within seconds. Outside all alone hollering to no one in particular, "Hey, y'all! We can harvest a couple more tons ya know." Good thing my mind is so active, it needs someone to listen to it, and that's what I'm there for.


Swimming, as usual, until dark, I'd gotten a pogo stick at a yard sale for a buck, Jack's becoming super good at balancing himself, able to hop for 300 plus times in one fell swoop, I'd remarked my usual grammatically incorrect phrasing, "I ain't fixing to have to drag anyone to St Mary's," as that's my usual ER of choice, but it turned out that a pointy elbow became a dangerous weapon instead. "Jump in the garage," I'd stressed, as the constant pounding in the kitchen was nerve-wracking.


A football in the pool, large rowdy boys, plus Paloma and Mayra, two mean girls, yelling and splashing, having a wonderful time, until CW very accidentally slammed Mayra's throat with his sharp elbow joint. She went down crying, which is unusual in and of itself, Motrin didn't do the trick, Yolie googled "elbow in throat" as we were debating a ER trip.

"DUH! Let's call Georgeanne," I finally suggested, as Preston's sister is a nurse.

After a look-over by an RN, we were satisfied she'd survive, armed with the knowledge then to apply heat, knowing she's gonna be sore, and very likely bruised this morning, another crisis averted.

I threw another gallon bag of tomatoes into the freezer out in the garage, cleaned up the kitchen where the boys had acted as if they'd never had supper two hours previously, glanced at the calendar, wondering if the last 17 days before school resumes, will my kitchen just cave in upon itself from overuse?

August will be as hot as Hell, that's not cussing, honestly it IS that hot in Georgia, and my kids will be glad for the AC school environment, while I'll rejoice in being alone, out in the gardens that still look good thanks to a heavy mulch and a 12 months of the year contemplation plus action equals results mentality that is deeply inbred in me.

Tabby was outside with me, collecting seeds from the four o'clocks that I'd cut back hard, desiring to move all flowers to the front and out of The Big Back garden. Likely the only six year old in her class who even knows how to do this, it's simple if someone shows a kid. Ms Carr once remarked that my kids are learning all sorts of outside talents that other children in subdivisons will never be exposed to, valuable homestead life experiences. Her thought has stayed with me as I ponder what all to teach them while they still live at home. I've been concentrating hard on the 'if you break a law, you'll go to jail' refrain, knowing how my children do not understand the law of natural consequences, budgeting is another massive mind-block arena for them...so much to learn, so little time.

She and Nando burrow everywhere, searching out the last of the blackberries, feeding me like I'm their pet goat or something.

Abe Lincoln stated, "that the greatest art of the future would be making the most of a small plot of land." Anyone here remember the astonishing popularity of the Foxfire books from north Georgia? These arts, these skills need to be not lost upon our next generation.

Walls need repainting, furniture needs repairing, I need the rejuvenation that being alone allows me, our schedule is slammed for the next two and a half weeks, I can do this with my eyes closed and still come out ahead.

Sarah and I'd been discussing a vegan diet, kind of hard to put into place since we both adore cheeses of all kinds, but breakfast for both of us are always vegan thanks to soy milk preferences, and we're checking out some options. Especially for me, at my age, to still be this annoyingly hyper and energetic, the fuel I put into my body is nearly all plant-based, as I'm stonily convinced that animal products weigh one down too heavily. We're both such nerds, Sarah and I, books on nutrition are high on our lists of enjoyable reads, and a fall crop of greens, onions, and other cole crops is a must.