SUMMERTIME
Those of us that live in Arizona wear the summertime like a mule does a loaded pack. But once we survive another one, we feel like we’ve earned braggin’ rights. We tell summertime stories like old men do fishin’ ones.
The problem is our memory loses clarity after eight months.
For me, there’s not a summertime that goes by and I don’t relive the ones from my childhood and rough and tumble years.
Sometimes it’s the scorching summer breeze that forces my eyes to squint that pulls me back down memory lane. Other times it can be an ice-cold drink of water I pour down my throat. Funny how good water tastes when you desperately need it.
The thing that causes me more past summertime reflection than anything else is seeing other people cope with the intense desert heat. I can spot a heat stroke like Sherlock Holmes does a clue.
Being in the construction industry has given me an up close look at people who toil in the kind of heat that can kill folks. I respect the toughness of people who not only survive, but thrive, despite the angry heat. It reminds me of my days in the desert.
I was pulling out of an auto parts store parking lot when I spotted the truck. I notice struggling and poor people. Once you’ve lived that life, you can almost smell it.
The old red Ford pickup was a beater. It had a busted out rear side window that was duct taped up with plastic. The body of the small-sized pickup was hammered. The hood was raised, the universal sign of mechanical problems, and the skinny kid with filthy hands, T-shirt and shorts, stood beside it. The work truck was loaded with landscape debris and a ladder.
I stopped as I was pulling out and watched. It was hot, about four o’clock past the middle of a nasty June. Sitting in my ice-cold air-conditioned car, I glanced at the digital thermometer dashboard read out. It was 117 and rising.
I watched the kid with the scruffy brown beard. I knew exactly how he felt in an instant. I’ve walked the miles in that kid’s dirty tennis shoes.
NOTE – his legs sticking out from underneath the truck
My heart went out to the young kid who was out working and trying to eek out a living.
Those are the kind of things that make or break people. You either decide to be okay with that lifestyle or you do something about it, despite the harsh environment.
I thank God it wasn’t me under that broken down truck in the summertime anymore… but I wouldn’t trade my days having done it. Some of the best things we ever get, are the things no one-handed us.
Sunday, July 9, 2017 @ 4:12 pm
Ace and I just returned from a few week in northern Minnasota where summer does not even begin to show itself till July 4th and then it’s more like a spring then summer. I was cold just about the whole time we were there, even took my insulated underwear which I wore on those colder nights. It’s so green there, but you pay for it because of so much rain that produces tons of mosquitoes. We started our trip back on a Wed. stopping the first night somewhere on the North Dakota / Montana line. Got up the next morning and it was warm at five a.m. Drove about 12 hours and was by then in Utah and I was beginning to thaw out, that 103 heat felt great. Hit the Mojava desert the next day, it was 111 our car was struggling so we turned the air off…rode a little while with those windows down and the only things that kept us from getting heat stroke was the wind . We passed probably that same young man or one just like him broke down on the side. He was under his car and I was so glad it was not us. I know they say its cooler in the shade but that does not count underneath a car on hot gravel. By the time we got to southern California where we live it was 103 and I was praying our home air con was working well. One does forget how extreme heat can sap a body’s strength. We have learned to never travel without water in our trunk and make pit stops often when it’s that hot. I tell the folks up in northern Mn. they have to be tough to live up there. Well I would say the same about anyone who lives in extreme heat. Extreme anything requires some wisdom to not succumb to it. I have learned to have a healthy fear of extreme anything…the vastness of the ocean, the desert, the cold snowy mountains, an angry person. The only extreme I love is the mercy and love God pours out on me and others. Blessings brother, blessings.
Sunday, July 9, 2017 @ 6:33 pm
Dick and I learned many valuable lessons during the years when our monthly income exceeded our bills by $4. “Making do” teaches us all just how inventive and enduring we are–especially under extreme conditions!
Sunday, July 9, 2017 @ 10:39 pm
Even tanned skin sears like meat on a grill. That’s a classic and so true!
Monday, July 10, 2017 @ 12:50 am
We use to say even fat looks good tanned…excuses for ruining our skin as young girls.
Monday, July 10, 2017 @ 5:20 am
I don’t live in or near the desert. I live in Indiana. We don’t have the heat but we do have the humidity. It get near 80-90 and the humidity feels left out so it makes itself known. Talked to a cyclist friend who lives in Gilbert (is that close to you?) and he said it was 115 the other day. it may be dry but it is still hot.
Monday, July 10, 2017 @ 6:28 am
I loved reading this, Floyd…and several of the comments that followed, Betty’s in particular.
I’m new to the hot, humid Virginian south after most of my life, and our family’s lives, in Maine and New Hampshire. You cite the toughness of the desert survivor through yet another June, July, and August, and you retroactively admire yourself for surviving that last burning Arizona summer. That precisely equates to the after-action satisfaction of the Mainer, who remembers and is pleased by his own toughness at surviving (in fact THRIVING) during December, January, and February.
One morning when I was about 12, in northern New Hampshire, I woke up to discover that the outside temperature was 39 below zero. I rushed downstairs and, without a shirt, I pelted outside and ran part way down the lane we lived on. Then I strolled back home. My mother was aghast. “What are you doing, you idiot?” “I’m doing this so I can always say I was outside without a shirt at 39 below!”
Well, here I am. I’m 70, and I just said it!
Monday, July 10, 2017 @ 9:49 am
Last Wednesday in our midweek Life Group, I sat next to a guy who works construction. He had a dark, dark tan! I had to leave quickly afterwards to make sure I was not in his way of pulling out because he had to get home fast and get up early, very early to go to work the next morning. That’s how we learn to survive here in the desert. We wake up super early, get things done by early afternoon and if it’s a scorcher, I give myself grace to do the quiet things like read. I respect the heat too. We must be wise; it can kill us.
Monday, July 10, 2017 @ 10:29 am
Seventeen years of Arizona summers . . . I burnt my hands more than few times getting in and out of the parked car. Can’t say I miss the heat. But I do miss Arizona 🙂 Stay cool, my friend!
Monday, July 10, 2017 @ 12:43 pm
You have one of the kindest, most caring hearts. Most people would have passed that kid by, without a second thought or glance. Because you have walked more than a mile in the shoes of those who are hurting and in need, you have a great capacity for compassion, and you don’t stop with just compassion. You put actions behind your words. I’d say the number of people like him that you have helped throughout life is countless. God bless you, brother.
Monday, July 10, 2017 @ 5:06 pm
Once again, another beautiful piece of writing, Floyd. I hear your words, but more importantly, I hear your heart. I often notice guys working on roofs and other outside jobs and wonder how in the world they survive the heat. It produces a character in them that most of us wimpier folk haven’t been tried with. I know I haven’t. And our Alabama heat at its worst doesn’t compare to your Arizona heat.
Tuesday, July 11, 2017 @ 4:33 pm
I believe there is more to this story than you dared to tell – but I do understand the heat. I was born in the San Joaquin Valley where summer is hot. Your bare feet stay on the grass and off the sidewalk or pavement. Oakland was milder in climate where from age 5 the heat never did get real hot. Now in the Oak Woods we are having extremely hot weather – and would you know it – three forest fires close by. In fact, our neighborhood has been evacuated for 3 days, and some still can’t come back it due to the smoldering fires near by. I was released to return home today (Tuesday) and my dogs are glad to be home. Floyd, those days of being poor and making do, were good times. It teaches one to spend your money wisely and to thank God for each day he gives us. I pray the young man will be blessed with many clients and that his landscaping business will thrive.
Wednesday, July 12, 2017 @ 6:59 pm
Reminds me of my summers painting houses and driving around in a sometimes unreliable old Chevy Astro with a bunch of ladders strapped to the top. Right now we are glad to be up in WA where the heat, if you could call it that doesn’t last for more than a day or two and most every morning is a good morning for a sweatshirt and a hot cup of coffee!
Friday, July 14, 2017 @ 8:52 am
Oklahoma is hot enough and we hover around upper 90’s in the summer (of course, humidity does make it feel hotter). You mentioned things that bring back summer memories, but when we lived in Alaska, I remember the first time it got hot enough to really heat the inside of our car. I opened the door and that rush of stale air and heat brought back so many memories! I used to hate it or at least tolerate it, but in that moment, it was like an old friend and I smiled. Funny how things change in different stages of life. Thanks Floyd.