Not the heat
I've lived up and down SW Ontario's peninsula my entire life, so I'm no stranger to humidity. In these parts hot, soupy days at the end of July are the norm; if they don't happen each year people start grumbling things about us not having had a "proper Summer," myself included. Do not, however, mistake me for a fan of this sort of thing. Sun and heat are one thing - air one can swim in? That's another matter entirely.My friend Matt recently returned from a trip to the Southwestern United States - somewhere I've never been. He described the dry heat of the desert as being almost sneaky - perspiration wicks away from one's body so quickly that one doesn't even realize that they've been sweating - until it's too late. Dangerous if one's not used to it or ill-prepared for it, or both. "I almost missed the humidity," he said.Well, that makes one of us - though I don't hear the garden complaining. Humidity means happy plants and happy plants mean lots of happy bugs. And I know all too well that lots of happy bugs means lots of plump feathery birds which means lots of sleek happy raptors - all of which makes me happy, so I suppose I should, in the words of Joy Turner, just "quit my bitchin'."