Last year, I was visiting my cousin in NYC during the month of August. Late, one sweltering night, I spent a long time in Penn Station waiting for the train.
I waiting so long and it was so hot, I said when I returned to her apartment, that there were a couple of enterprising rats who came out onto the platform, under an umbrella, and set up a stand to sell bottle water.
Those rats, had they decided to defect to the pastoral midwest, would be regretting their choices right about now, finding today’s 105 not much better than the NYC subways. (That’s 41C for the rest of the world.)
We have had a week of temps around 100. The NWS website shows a picture of a thermometer reading 108 on Jun 28th, but the caption says that the “official” temperature was only 104. There was only 0.09″ of rain in June; the monthly June average is > 4″. The only month in Indianapolis that has been drier was in March, 1910! Even the Weather Service’s website is starting to have headlines comparing the conditions to the Dust Bowl era of the ’30s. We need rain.
The houseplants, for the first time, are resenting their summer digs on the shady front porch:
Some of the leaves are starting to brown:
But at least the potted plants get water or they’d look like this:
Even the ground cover, which I’ve tried — unsuccessfully — to kill several times over the last dozen years looks like it is giving up the ghost:
The local weatherman said that you should give each tree a 5-gallon bucket of water once a week. I’d have a lot of work to do — and an unthinkable water bill — if I did that!
I want it to rain. A good, long, soaking rain that lasts for a few days.
At least, I’ve heard some say, it’s a dry heat. Whatever that means!