Hot Summer Nights

There's no good way to cool down when summer temperatures reach over 90 degrees. At least not when you can't drive, legally. Oh, I drive down the lane to get the mail, or on the farm to move cars around. But I'm only ten. Can't drive into town to go to the public pool. And sure as shootin’ nobody is gonna stop their work to take me there, sit around and wait for me to frolic in the pool until I’m cooled off. Mom and Dad won’t let me go to the river to cool off. Something about falling in never to be seen again blah, blah, blah nonsense. So, running through the sprinkler is my only option.

The sprinkler does the job in the late afternoon by rinsing off the sweat of the day. But the house turns into a sweat box from the day's heat. The windows in the living room have a lot to do with that. Part of the living room used to be a front porch. So it’s all windows which makes for heat in the summer and seriously cold in the winter. Mom cooks dinner which further heats up the house. Ugh. Rarely do we barbecue outside, so there’s no other way to cook dinner but on the stove. We all sit around and watch tv for a bit before heading to bed. I lay down on top of the covers and catch a small amount of breeze from the two fans running in the house. It’s unbearable. All that accomplishes is blowing the hot air around.

Most nights I grab my sleeping bag and head outside. Out the back door, down the step, and around the corner, is the perfect spot. It blocks the flood light Dad keeps on at night. It’s the darkest spot so I can see the stars. Dingo is with me, of course, and he sits patiently, tongue hanging out and panting, until I get my bed all put together. I lay out the sleeping bag and pillow and settle down on it. The cool night air is perfect and we lay there for a good long time. After a while, I drape the afghan over my legs that I snagged from the living room. I know it’s going to get chilly later, but for now the afghan and Dingo keep me at just the right temperature. Dingo found his favorite spot at my side and we go about the serious business of star gazing. Well, I do at least. Dingo is content to have my hand on him and continuously stroke his head.

It seems like hours and hours that I’m staring up at the sky watching for a shooting star. Not every night, but one or twice a week, I am rewarded for my efforts. I fantasize it’s an alien ship coming to take me to a far off planet. Or maybe a super advanced airplane on a secret mission to save the world. I listen to the

night sounds of frogs having lengthy conversations with each other. A couple of the

cows are staying up late and enjoying the night breeze. One of our many cats struts on by and gives me a soft "Mew." Dingo raises his head and gives her a "go away" grunt. She scampers off the find better company.

Pretty soon my eyes start drooping and I cover up completely with the afghan. Somewhere in the wee hours of the night I crawl into the sleeping bag and throw the afghan over the top cause it is gettin’ chiillllllly. I snuggle down with just my nose stickin’ out for fresh air. Dingo remains at my side until the early morning when the sun heats back up. The sleeping bag is acting as an Easy Bake oven, so I slither out, gather up all my things, and head into the house to start another day on Old McDonalds’ farm.