Yesterday, May 14, set a new heat record in New Orleans. 96 degrees. Fortunately, I am in Pittsburgh with my musician husband, where it is cool and rainy. Spring is still in progress here, and I am feasting my eyes on the gorgeous, lush greenery, the azaleas and lilacs, and these beautiful pink dogwoods. It’s like water for my parched soul.
Back in NOLA, the grass in my driveway has already started to brown from the sun’s intensity, and of course, we went straight from heat to air conditioning months ago (and then subsequently back and forth ever since). The lettuce has bolted, and I’m still not sure that I managed to get the tomatoes in the ground “in time,” even though I do have a few little green Creole babies that may make it to adulthood.
My refrain: “It’s not that Philly doesn’t have 96-degree heat. It’s just that it usually only lasts for about six weeks.” Not this interminable assault from now ’til Halloween. And honestly, it’s been a pretty mild spring so far, by New Orleans standards.
Here we go. I’m going to try to complain less this season, but I am not promising I will succeed.