I slap at a mosquito and take another sip of iced tea, looking out at the flat surface of Lac des Mille Lac. The sky is a pale blue. The sun beats down unmercifully. It is early afternoon, and I’m lounging on the deck overlooking the still waters. This morning’s Thunder Bay radio announcer predicted a high of 31 C meaning temps of mid-eighties more or less.
It feels like it.
No air conditioning. That’s the problem with my primitive cabin, but I’m not alone. As far as I know cabins deep in the wilderness aren’t equipped for hot weather. We are, however, always ready for cold weather. We all have the latest in wood-burning fireplaces. The walls of our cottages hold thick layers of insulation for those frigid winter temps. But hot weather preparations? Hot weather isn’t something we think much about. Except for the few times it gets hot.
The dogs loll on the deck beside me, panting and looking for cool spots. Mr. Magoo, the pug, leaves the shade to take an occasional foray into the woods to sniff for red squirrels, but he soon returns to sit under my lawn chair and rest. Abby, whose thick black fur soaks up the sun, stays sedentary, moving only to find fresh shade.
By sunset, the cabin interior will be a hot box, and if Mother Nature doesn’t provide a cooling breeze or a refreshing rain, sleeping tonight will be difficult.
This heat reminds me of childhood summers in south Minneapolis. Only commercial buildings and wealthy people boasted of air conditioning. My parent’s house certainly didn’t have it. As I sit here and sweat, I wonder how we managed.
I think back to the old days. What did we do to cope with extreme heat?
People found ways.
During heat waves, my sister and I hardly slept at night until Dad hit on a great idea. The upstairs bedroom we shared sweltered when it was hot, but he placed an enormous fan in the stairway window and turned it on full blast. The fan sucked out hot air and somehow brought about a refreshing coolness.
People slept in their basements, and one particularly hot summer, I recall seeing neighbors sleeping out on front lawns. Electric fans hummed everywhere in houses, moving air around, bringing some relief.
We youngsters went swimming at local public pools, cooling ourselves down unlike the poor adults who had to provide rides to the pool. Swimming in Lake Nokomis would have been great except that by late July the lake was filled with green goop everyone called “dog days” and labeled as unfit for swimming.
We ate a lot of watermelons, which in my memory, tasted better than any I’ve had since. And people constantly fanned themselves with anything available… newspapers… magazines… and genuine store-bought fans.
Somehow we survived the heat until the cooler winds of September brought relief. So too, I’ll manage and somehow get through tonight.
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