A breath of fresh air

There's an old hackneyed axiom about Wisconsin weather: Don't like it? It'll change in five minutes.

There's the old joke: "Ohh, my feet hurt," Man 1 says.

"Why is that?" Man 2 asks.

"I just bought these new shoes, and they're a size too small."

"Why did you do that?"

"Because it feels so good when I take them off."

Mix the two together, and you get one of life's greatest simple pleasure: The breaking of a a heat wave.

It's been warm here. Not oppressively hot like what you find in other parts of the country or world, but uncharacteristically humid and hot for Wisconsin this time of year. Ever since I nearly keeled over from heat exhaustion in a haymow the summer of 1983, I have not dealt well with the heat. I tend to get headaches and stomachaches and in general feel as if my cranium has become a cooking pot for my brains when temps climb higher than 86 or so.

But despite this discomfort, I still like it, because I know it'll be a matter of time before the heat gets broken. Sometimes it's with a violent storm, sometimes with gusts of cool air. But it always is interesting.

It was about 87 degrees yesterday, and for the most part it was OK. But in the late afternoon things started getting uncomfortable, with that sticky feeling that finds its way into the body's wedges. We decided to keep the air conditioning off, because a line of rain clouds were heading our way.

After the thunderstorms and rain of last night, I opened the back sliding door this morning and felt that cool, clear rush of fresh air. Ahhh.

That feeling reminded me of the two times before in my life that rainstorms provided a rush of relief.

The first time could actually have been in the aforementioned summer of 1983. I was working on a neighbor's farm, and the weather was brutal. Mom and Dad left for vacation, the first time I spent a significant amount of time home alone. The farmer, Chuck, sent me home early because the storms were building in the west, and there wasn't much to do without an open, clear day.

Man it was hot. The air was thick with moisture, and sun seemed to pierce my skull. It was as if God was steaming us for lunch.

I heard the rumble of thunder far off in the west, and when I went outside, I could see the wall of clouds heading our way, a cavalry charge of thunderheads. As it got closer, tension built. Birds got quiet, and what breeze there was died down.

I could hear the rain hitting the trees a half mile away first, then felt that first gust of cool wind. As the storm got closer, with flashed of lightning here and there, I could see the wall of rain come towards. I stood my ground, and when it hit, I was soaked and almost cold. It felt great.

The second time that happened, I was an intern in Tomahawk. It was a record-breaking hot and dry summer, and spent much of my free time sprawled on the living room floor of my rented-one bedroom under the ceiling fan.

Sometimes I went to a local resort, and swam across a lake. I had just finished such a swim, probably about a half mile, and was sitting on a picnic table when the clouds approached. Again I heard it before felt it. The rain drops created this crackling sound on the lake, nature's snare drum beat. I watched the line of rain roughen the lake's surface, sat there as the line slowly came to me.

Then I was wet again, and cool.

Ahhhh.