This week, we’ve all heard a big deal being made about the first day of summer and summer solstice. We, Southerners, hear talk about the first day of summer in late June and we just shake our sweaty heads and mumble angrily to ourselves. Down here, summer arrives before all the Easter chocolate is eaten. Basically, it's the same reaction we have when we hear them announce the arrival of fall in September with hot cocoa and wool sweaters on TV, while we still have mosquitos buzzing around our heads and have sweated through our clothes. 

Yeah, we've been having summer here for quite a while now and, next week, it’s really supposed to kick it up a notch. We already have to get about 8 miles down the road before the car A/C can even think about overcoming the heat in its climate control battle. And we don't think about parking in the sun unless there's no other choice available— or we have some foil wrapped potatoes and a chuck roast in there that we want to cook for supper. After turning off the car in the parking lot, we have approximately 4.6 seconds to exit the vehicle before anguish and life threatening conditions ensue, so preparation is always the key. We know how to get our things and get out. 


There's been a fly buzzing around in each Southerner’s house since early May. They almost always hang around in the kitchen if they know company is coming. Each housefly is assigned a home to torment until it falls victim to the swatter, at which time, his replacement is sent. Mosquitos will take you apart faster than a school of piranhas if you stay out near any accumulation of water, in the shade, or just about anywhere if it's close to sundown. Wasps, horseflies, gnats, and all of hell's other winged messengers, have been unleashed for months now. And we don't open the doors at night unless we want to hear beetles banging their heads on our lampshades for hours on end. 


Snakes are crawling and we've been watching our step since Valentine's Day when we were told they were up and at 'em already. Down here, we like to share postmortem pictures of the snakes we kill in our yards on social media and that's been going on for weeks now. We all enjoy a good game of 'What Kind of Snake Is This?' more than anybody. Snake posts have been on the rise, this year, so we must continue to step with extreme caution. 


Our glasses are fogging up when we get out of our cool cars. Everyone looks like Marcie from Peanuts staggering around in the parking lot for a couple of minutes. Tis the season for sunburn and razor burn and sand burn and chafing. And depending on our hair's texture, it's either frizzed up like Kaepernick or flat to our heads like Pee Wee Herman. Neither, a good look. We can leave home all fresh and clean and, an hour later, look like we're on the highway crew and are just getting off work. Our hair is wet and sweat’s rolling down our backs, our necks, our red faces and we are just not a pretty people right now.
We can comfortably enjoy our decks and patios and porches between the hours of 2:30 a.m. and 5:30 a.m. and plan all our outdoor events accordingly. A restaurant’s outdoor seating is only occupied by the very bravest among us. The hot, humid air is as thick as our Mamas' pie filling and as heavy as a bad biscuit. It's hard to breathe and even harder to want to. The will to live is in its most tested season. Sometimes, we go to Hobby Lobby, walk right past their 4th of July section, and just sit amidst the pumpkins and scarecrows to renew our hope that there will be better days ahead- in just 4 or 5 more grueling months.    


Upon entering any building, we've been using our proper summertime etiquette. Our first greeting to those inside is always a reference to the oppressive heat. It’s our way of saying hello. “Boy, it’s a hot one today.” This is expected upon arriving at the bank, a store, church, salon, or even funeral home. No matter where you are or what the occasion, heat and heat indexes are always appropriate summertime topics in the South. Rain chances are also a popular choice, this time of year. If you mention impending rain chances above 50%, it gives hope to all who hear and a crowd will start to form around you. 


It’s about now, “the first day of summer,” that the flowers on our patios start looking distressed. We don’t try any heroic measures. We just let them go. They’re DNR. They want to go over the rainbow bridge or whatever it's called for plants and we give them our blessing to go in peace. We know we wouldn't want to have to sit out there in this and try to look pretty.


So, go ahead and celebrate the first of summer. While much of the country is marking that sweet milestone in their low humidity, we're down here just trying to survive our first trimester of summer. We are hot and we are irritable and we are not ok.