plants

It’s with great difficulty I come to terms this summer is less than a week old. My plants

are dying from the heat. That’s the bad news. The good news is the water from the previous two

years is finally drying up. The pond is going with it. That would be the body of water that for the

last twenty-five years has been a body of weeds.

All over America the heat is rising. Roads are buckling under the heat, and Interstates are

closing due. They’ll have to do the repairs at night I imagine. I spent twenty-seven years doing

bridge and highway work, and it’s brutal in this sort of weather to try to work.

In 1997, we hit a spell where it was brutally hot but this was in August. They sent a

nineteen-year-old new hire out to learn a few things from me, and the first thing he learned was

we were not going to sit in the truck. We had shit to do.

This guy had poked fun at me for a while for being “old.”

He bragged he could put up with the heat much longer than I could, and when I got out of

the truck, and took the keys with me, he wasn’t daunted. After about an hour he had drank all the

water he brought with him. He was sweating, but still not giving in. About an hour later, he

wanted to sit in the truck and cool off. I told him he had to do ten pushups for every minute he

spent sitting in the AC. I did fifty. I told him I was going to check on a few things and I would be

back soon. I walked away. He freaked out.

An hour later he was in full panic mode. Three hours in direct sunlight next to an asphalt

operation and he was wilting. He wanted to call someone in the office to come get him but cell

phones hadn’t taken over the world yet. He tried to get the contractor to let him sit in his truck

and no.

Red faced and not sweating anymore, I was getting worried about him. He told me he

quit and wanted me to take him in. I dropped him off at a pay phone and waited until I was sure

someone was on the way. He looked bad.

When I got back the asphalt crew had quit. Not finished for the day, but mutinied. Out of

twelve men, ten of them had gotten into the work van and left. It was three in the afternoon. I

stopped by a bridge project and got into the water with my work clothes on. Spring Creek is cold

and clear and I soaked for a while.

The young man went back to the office and told them I was horrible and had tortured

him. When I got back, clothes already drying, I told them he had quit, and refused to work. They

didn’t so much as slap his wrist. Later, I found out the actual temperature was over 100 degrees

and the heat index over 110.

They don’t make teenagers like they used to. But the heat is getting worse every summer.

Take Care,

Mike