Tuesday, September 10, 2013

A Matter of Perspective

I know I said several weeks ago that I wasn't going to whine and whinge anymore about the damned miserable weather that has overwhelmed the Northwest this Summer. 

Sorry, but I can't help myself. 

Yesterday it was 105* and today it's already over 103* and climbing.  Normal for this time of year is the low 80s.  It's now September.  I have been hot, sweaty and tormented since May.  I would still be chanting this too shall pass but my lips have cracked and my tongue is swollen...and I think I see dead people.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I had to go to the store yesterday to replenish my Band-Aid supply.  I was going to get my flu shot but chickened out at the last minute.  I have to work up to it.  Needles, you see.  Just the thought and my stomach roils.  Ewww...like right now.

Anyway.  After I get the Band-Aids, flake on the shot and decide to buy wine instead, I'm walking through produce and see these beautiful, glossy gems:

Honeycrisp Apples

I think I may have spent too many years living abroad because I've never heard of Honeycrisp apples.  Still, the display was so incredibly...enticing...I had to buy some.  Last night I ate one and wow, what a deliciously tart and crispy fruit!  I expected it to be a bit sweeter (Honeycrisp), but the tartness was just right and each bite had a snap to it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

So, after lunch this afternoon, I notice the birdbath is bone dry.  I'd filled it this morning, but with the frigging bloody damned heat, the birds are drinking and cooling off in droves.  Against my better judgment--it's 103.8* at this point--I go out back, drag the hose up the slope and fill the bath.  As I'm standing there feeling all sorry for myself as the sweat drips, I see, far down in the valley, what I think is a dust devil.  Bath filled, I put away the hose and get my camera.

From the back deck I have a wonderfully clear shot across the valley, the vineyards, the few remaining farms, the mountains.   I telephoto through the heat waves to see what's causing the spiraling dust.

Holy crap.  

Once I realize it's a farmer, working in blistering heat--and enclosed inside the cab of his tractor--I suddenly feel crybaby-ish and stupid.  Because I can go in the house any time I want, get a nice glass of iced tea, sit in front of my fan.  I'm not down in a dust bowl, at the precipice of Hell, plowing a field for my livelihood.

A reality bite in the butt, for sure...

No comments:

Post a Comment