HEAT WAVE –Day Three–

Well, we did it. We were just barely over 90 for a third straight day, which made our hot spell an actual “heat wave.” They are quite rare in our cool hills. I can’t recall the last time it happened; perhaps in the 1990’s. What I mostly recall is times we “almost” got over ninety on the third day, but couldn’t quite do it.

I have been disappointed so many times that I was expecting to be disappointed again, and was surprised when the sun came up bright and hot. The temperature at sunrise on the longest day of the year (5:09 AM here) was seventy, and the dew-point was roughly the same, and with humidity at 100% my computerized weather station reported fog, but there was no fog to be seen. There wasn’t even any haze. It was one of those rare summer mornings of pure heat.

All the same, I expected there must be fog down in the river bottoms, which would have to be burned off before temperature’s rose, but I didn’t see any, and temperatures began to soar up through the seventies almost immediately. I had my coffee cool, and didn’t bother wear slippers. Wrote a sonnet, and then gathered my things to go open the Childcare at 6:45. It was a gorgeous morning, with the birds going berserk with their rhapsody of birdsong. Heat obviously doesn’t trouble them at all, but I could already feel the power of the humidity. The dew-point rose nearly as fast as the temperature did.

As I am in some ways “retired” I have a short shift, with a nineteen-year-old college student arriving at 8:00 and a seventeen-year-old high-school student arriving at 8:30. However the eight small children arrive in a rush and my short shift requires a lot of attention. Each child has to undergo the daily quasi-traumatic separation from their parent, and I have to employ childcare diplomacy. Then, within a minute of agonizing over their parent’s departing vehicle, the child is embroiled in conflict with another child of some sort. I’ll spare you the details. Basically I just want to get them outside where they can run free, but have to remain indoors to welcome the next child and fill out the foolish attendance paperwork the state demands. So the hour can be a long hour, especially when it is hot and humid. I am ever so glad to see my first employee walk through the door, for she brightly and cheerfully embraces all the indoor stuff, as I take the unruly boys out to go feed the chickens.

I also must bring water to the chickens, for they go through a lot of water in hot weather. (Think of how much water is in an egg.) Eleven chickens can drink well over a gallon a day, and some days it is nearly two gallons. And simply walking out to the coop, carrying a gallon jug, (eight pounds), makes me realize what a pathetic, old weakling I am becoming, with all my huffing and puffing.

I also thought I should bring water to Lydia, my last surviving goat. Water was important back when I milked her; (think of how much water is in a half gallon of milk); but, after I stopped milking, she ignored her water bucket. (It is amazing how much water cows and goats get from the lush vegetation they eat). But the day before I noticed that, when taking Lydia out to graze, she paused to sip at some rainwater in a child’s wagon, so I thought I likely should attend to her water bucket, in the heatwave. I did so, and lugged the five gallon bucket to her pen (40 pounds), and she came to the bucket and took a long drink. She even gave me a glance, which is about as close as a goat ever gets to saying, “thank you.”

Of course, as I trudge about attending to these chores I have to keep my eyes on the little boys rocketing about testing their limits. Mostly I let them learn the hard way; skinned knees are part of boyhood, and band-aids are a business expense; but occasionally they need advice: “Whoe! Whoe! Whoe! Before you do that, let’s think about what the consequences might be.” (Kids learn the big word “consiquences” early, at my childcare.)

By 8:30 I have a staff of two to watch eight children, and can head home for breakfast. Usually I am surprisingly exhausted. Before breakfast I tend to collapse on the couch, fall asleep in ten seconds, and sleep like a log for between five and fifteen minutes. It’s a bit pathetic, I’ll admit. After all, I’ve only worked ninety minutes.

Before I konked out I jotted in my notebook that at 8:48 the temperature was up to 77 and the dewpoint was 74.7. That is the humidity of Atlanta or Houston, and not normal for our hills. To me the air seemed so thick it was like walking through clear custard.

Over breakfast I chatted with my wife about what she wanted for her birthday. (It has always made sense to me that she was born on the longest day of the year, as in my eyes she is so filled with light.) She mostly wanted to sit in the shade for her birthday. We discussed inviting the grandkids over for ice-cream. Then I had to head back to the childcare to serve as a lifeguard at 10:30.

At 10:30 we hit 84 degrees, and there seemed little doubt we’d hit 90 for a third straight day. The children were wilting in the heat at the childcare, and we’ve learned the solution is water. After all, water is a solution. We have all sorts of small kiddie pools, and tarps to wet with hoses and slide over, and a small above-ground pool where children can romp about in water which is either chest deep or neck deep, depending on their age. However, (where I romped unsupervised as a child), bureaucracy has stipulated that Childcare Professionals watch horror movies, in the name of “water safety”, which demonstrate how children have died in six inches of water, in five gallon buckets, and how a drowning child makes no noise as they go down. Very scary, very impressive, and it does make sure we are watchful, especially by the chest-deep pool. So I spent 10:30-11:45 in oppressive heat, splashing water on myself and admiring the amazing energy of children playing in water. Where I huff and puff over next to nothing they go at full tilt for over an hour. Only towards lunchtime did they slow slightly. Then I got them out for lunch, removed the ladder to make the pool safe, and was done for the day. I noticed the temperature had only risen to 86.

What had happened was that the sky had filled with “junk”, which is a rather unscientific term for what is left of a thunderstorm after it has rained itself out. Basically the lower cumulous falls as rains and its cloud evaporates and vanishes, but the anvil top (the “wings” of the “thunderbird”) persist as a deck of cirrus on high. All these wisps of cloud get in the way of the sun, and the heating slows and can even reverse.

I shrugged. Maybe we wouldn’t hit ninety after all. Wouldn’t be our first failure. In fact, as I checked radar, it seemed all the more likely we’d never make it. West of Keene the moisture of the Connecticut River was creating a thunderstorm which stayed over the river, but the top of the thunderstorm drifted downwind, shown on radar as virga, and this was adding to the “junk” in our sky. But there was nothing I could do about it. I forced myself to eat and drink water, though in hot weather I don’t feel like eating or drinking. Then I briefly dealt with the rebellion of my children, who felt their mother should not have to plan her own birthday. Instead we should go to a beach by a lake. This sounded too much like work to me, but I shrugged. As long as I don’t have to carry the hampers to the beach, or lug a canoe, they can do whatever they want. I lay down in the heat and dozed off.

When I awoke the sky was cloudless and the temperature was 91. Just guessing, I think was that the updrafts of a big thunderstorm complex approaching from the northwest created a downdraft ahead of it, which dried up all the clouds. The storm was associated with a front which was forecast to eventually cool us, but too late to keep us from achieving the distinction of experiencing an official “heat wave.”

I can’t say I felt like celebrating. The heat and humidity made my mouth taste brassy, and despite my nap I didn’t feel rested. I supposed I was feeling the “accumulated stress” that officials in air conditioned offices warm the public about. “Especially the elderly”. However I’m stubborn, and wanted to see if my old body could “acclimatize” the way it used to do. I figured I could make old age more interesting if I made it into an experiment.

Also I’m cheap. Summer was always a time when electricity and propane bills shrank to their lowest, because for years I wouldn’t break down and buy an air conditioner. I didn’t like fans because they disturbed the peace of a summer night and I couldn’t hear the owls. Finally I broke down and bought a air conditioner, as a concession to my wife, even though we only use it ten days a year. But it was still sitting up in the attic. The heat wave had caught me off guard by hitting so early in June. I considered huffing and puffing up stairs to get it, but my wife vetoed that. Why bother? We were going to a beach.

At the beach all I had to lug from the car was a couple folding chairs. They fit in a couple bags you can sling over your shoulder, and are amazing, for they unfold into surprisingly sturdy recliners with an ottoman which can swivel around and be a table beside the chair: (“Transformers” of the furniture world, apparently invented by Professor Gadget). That was about all I could take, for rather than cooler the beach was a wall of heat. The sinking sun was bouncing off the water and doubling its intensity. I slumped on my recliner and watched my oldest son, now an old man over forty, labor to lug coolers and canoes with my older grandchildren. They were in a hurry to wade out into the water, but immediately walked in a strange and slightly spastic manner.

The problem was the water was too clean. The lake is fed at one end by the pristine headwaters of the Soughegan River, and constantly drained at the lower end, which keeps all problems of stagnation far away, and makes the lake one of the cleanest in New Hampshire. And what does this do? It nourishes a great population of freshwater clams, which are very uncomfortable to walk upon with bare feet. So everyone had to devise water shoes. Then everyone could wade in deeper as I watched the sun vanish in the sky beyond them, and purple arise. The distant growls of thunder were no longer young men on motorcycles across town.

The clouds advanced very rapidly, and were obviously associated with a downburst from a collapsing storm. You could tell because the purple clouds were very distinct and not blurred by the fussiness associated with rain. To the northwest and southwest silver-lined cumulus soared up to start thundering in the sunset, but the scud advancing towards our picnic looked dry. Soon all eyes watched it come barrreling up.

And then the blast of wind hit. Cool, so wonderfully cool and delightful. Everyone just stood and drank the coolness in, even as the trees roared. The temperature dropped in a twinkling from 90 to 69, and it was wonderful.

Lightning was flashing closer, and clouds looked more fuzzy beyond the downburst, so abruptly it was decided to evacuate the beach. I packed up my two chairs, as younger and stronger men hustled about with coolers and hampers, and moved canoes up from the beach. Fat raindrops began pelting, and the far side of the lake vanished, and everyone ran for their cars, to drive to my elder son’s, where we could enjoy desert (strawberry shortcake) indoors and watch the lightning ply in the sky from a porch.

I found it interesting that this complex wasn’t the actual front. After the complex roared east over Boston and out to sea…

…the temperatures actually rose back to 72 in the darkness, and the dew points stayed high, around 70. The front was still north of us. However the heat wave was over. The dreaded “heat dome,” which the media so loves to freak out about, had been shoved south, and we were now in the northern “ring of fire”, and could expect days of thunder, as Canada battles the Tropics.

HEAT WAVE –Day Two–

To be an official “heat wave” we must reach temperatures of ninety or above for three straight days, and that is actually rare in these verdant hills. It is far more common in the Connecticut River Valley to our west, and, in the Merrimack River Valley to our east, the cities of Lowell, Lawrence, Nashua, Manchester and even Concord often swelter, breaking ninety as we enjoy more reasonable eighties. Back in the days of horse drawn carriages, our population swelled in the summer as people fled the “flatlands”, and we had some hotels which were, for those times, impressive. But those people would have been complaining today, as we hit ninety before noon. But worst was the soaring dew point, which hit 76.5 at one point. That may be normal for Atlanta or Houston, but around here such intense humidity knocks people for a loop.

The problem is that northern flesh hasn’t acclimatized to such heat and humidity. If you expose yourself to such extremes, it is somewhat amazing how the physical body adapts. I know this for I conducted experiments on my own northern flesh. Back in my wandering days I spent a summer delivering furniture in South Carolina, and also later I worked in a nail factory where the room I worked was often over a hundred degrees, in the summer. I discovered my flesh adapted.

The problem is that southern flesh also will adapt, and lose its inherent toughness, if exposed to the delightful summer coolness of the north. And this is exactly what they have done, by air conditioning everything in sight. It may be a hundred in Dallas, but everyone looks as cool as a cucumber, except for the brief moments they dash from air conditioned homes to air conditioned cars, or from cars to air conditioned workplaces, taking lunch breaks at air conditioned restaurants. Likely parks have air conditioned Porto-potties. In any case, they aren’t as tough as they used to be, and if the grid crashes due to the idiotic insanity of the Green New Deal, a day of reckoning will arrive. The new South will have to be as tough as the old South.

I got a taste of how they will feel this morning, as my old and northern body hit the brick wall of heat and humidity, which can kill elderly men. (The problem is we can’t sweat; towards the end of his career as a champion Mohamed Ali complained, ” I just can’t break the sweat I used to break.” I suspect it has something to do with testosterone levels.)

However I didn’t hide from the heat under my bed. I exposed myself to it so that what is left of me could acclimatize. I worked in the garden, but made sure to quit when the temperatures soared through the eighties. Also I worked a much smaller garden than I once did. All I did was prepare soil and plant three pepper plants, two brocolli plants, and two cauliflower plants. My garden will not feed the family, and is basically an old man’s toy.

That did get me outside, where I could sniff the wind and scan the sky and take note of things few care about. (For example, Cardinals keep singing even as temperatures soar.)

Then I went indoors and repaired a bathroom door the children at my Childcare had warped by making it into a swing. Then I watched over the kids as they napped, struggling to stay awake in the soporific heat. They konked out, and I nearly did, the evidence being I was starting to drool. To keep myself awake I watched the radar and lightning maps. A storm popped up with amazing speed up on the western side of Concord, but after shooting impressive lightning the storm rained itself out and vanished from the radar in less than thirty minutes.

While the repression of storms is one attribute of a “Heat Dome”, the very fact such a storm could pop is indicative of the fact the “dome” is not atop us, but south of us. Then, as I had a late lunch, I saw storms starting to pop on radar to our west, and even could hear faint thunder. This is indicative we are actually in the “ring of fire” on the northern edge of the “heat dome.” For a time the radar grew impressive, and some growls of thunder were half-way loud.

I sit and type in “New Ipswich” in the above map, and usually such robust storms would mean we would get clobbered, but they were suppressed in a most amazing manner, which seems indicative of the power of the “Heat Dome”. Distant thunder has growled all afternoon and evening, but never drawn close. We did get a smattering of fat raindrops, the sort that raises puffs of dust as they hit without truly wetting the dust.

However it will be a close call, tomorrow, as to whether we can reach ninety for the third straight day. The core of the “Heat Dome” is further south than expected, and the northern side is eroding. If the thunder starts too early tomorrow, we may well only reach 89 degrees, in which case we have failed and our “heat wave” will not be official.

But I did notice an odd thing, as I poked about past history.

I am trying to understand the dynamics of a “Heat Dome,” and still remain mystified, but of course I looked at the most catastrophic “Heat Dome” to ever hit the USA, which occurred in 1936. And I notices an odd thing. It began in the northeast. In June. Then it retrograded west and burned all the crops in the center of the nation, but it first was noticed in the Northeast, even in New Hampshire by bumpkins like me.

(This is my chance to be an Alarmist, without involving CO2.)