Summer Heat

The leaves of the pole beans shrivel and wrinkle close together, looking like little old ladies whispering in a gossip circle. The bugs that feed upon the plants have sought shelter beneath them, and hesitate to devour their only shade. The golden straw mulch keeps the soil cool and damp below; on the surface the heat radiates from it in a cling wrap distorted shimmer. The herbs give off fragrant individual scents, as Ole Sol bears down relentlessly upon them. It's 95 degrees in the garden, and summertime is in full swing here at the Chicken Ranch.


Squash and zucchini hide beneath their elephant ear leaves. Cucumbers hesitatingly poke their bumpy heads from the viney foliage. The peppers hang red, yellow, and green from their stems like ornaments on a tree. Tomatoes are yet green in their immaturity; except for their little salad tomato cousins, who proudly glow orange and red in the baskets. All the plants look a bit withered and ill just now in this midday sun; but a nighttime escape from solar oppression will have them looking fresh, as they glisten in the shiny wetness of the mornings dew.

The chickens are spending more time in the yard since the heat has sent most of the gnats packing. Big brown egg production is on the rise again, and I joke that today the eggs will be hard boiled when I gather them. In reality, the hen house is well shaded and ventilated in the summer, and offers some respite from the hot yard. The hens spend a good deal of time today clucking and gossiping around the waterer.

The nearby horses graze a while in the tall green grass, their tails swishing the flies away, then seek the shade of oak and hackberry trees, and rest awhile in the shadows. Cows and calves do the same; although, the calves seem to have more energy to spend than mom does.

As for me I've sought the cool shelter of the back porch (imagine that) . I lift the straw cowboy hat from my head, and drink deep from my Mason jar of iced sweet tea. The drink cools my hands and my throat and, well, just plain makes me happy.

 

I'll not complain about the days temperature. I know many of us would wish to bottle this heat, and pop the top when winter drags into March, and as frigid air and heaps of snow keep us bound up indoors in a warm fires glow.

 

No, it is proper and fitting, this sweat upon my brow, and the dark water spots on my shirt. It is July after all, and what is July without a burning sun, singing birds and insects, and a jar full of southern-strong, honey-sweet, cold iced tea.
 Ahhh...  yes, bring on the summer heat, I'm ready for it.