For those of you who don’t know, Baltimore summers are brutal. The humidity is so thick that you can actually feel the movement of the air around you as you walk down the block. Your clothes feel heavy on your skin and it can be difficult to breath without feeling like you might have just run a marathon.
And air-conditioning helps, but rowhomes collect heat in unique ways. Exactly one half of the house is always hotter than the other. The front bedroom (the one that usually has the big bay window) is impossible to keep cool because the sun just beats in those giant windows (you know, the ones that were the huge selling point when you were house hunting?). And there are always rooms that just can’t be air-conditioned. They either lack windows all together or the windows are so small that a window unit couldn’t possible fit. The kitchen becomes an almost useless tool, as everything gets cooked outside to avoid making anything any hotter than it has to be. And if you live in an apartment building, and are anywhere above the first floor—my heart goes out to you.
I never knew summers could actually be so miserable, temperature-wise. I was raised in a haze of idyllic North Carolina mountain summers—hot in the day and cool at night with a daily thunderstorm to cool it all down just in time for porch sitting. Not to mention four actual seasons (not just winter and summer with 2 weeks of spring and fall).
It's not all bad. Baltimore summers totally have perks. For one, Baltimore seems to wake up in the summertime. There are more people out and about. There is a festival every weekend (literally). The farmers markets are in full bloom and they become the who's-who of Charm City. You stop making coffee at home because you need iced coffee from the local coffee shop every day to survive. In the evenings, front porches come alive. Once the sun goes down, people start to trickle outdoors with a drink in their hand (or a juice box for our 21 and under crowd) and this is when the real culture of Baltimore comes alive. When the locals and the college students and the crackheads all mingle on the front sidewalk to talk about rats, urban gardening, and why the police helicopters appear to be hovering awkwardly over your block.
Summertime is when I almost always get to know my neighbors better (although this year our double-header blizzard helped). We share beer and booze and tonic and try to remember what winter felt like. We stand outside in as few clothes as possible (without getting arrested) and remorse over how hot our bedrooms are, how difficult it will be to sleep tonight, and how high our BG&E bills are going to be this month. At that point in the summer—usually late July—we don’t care anymore. We’ll eat ramen to leave the AC on all day in hopes of coming home to a cool house (grilled, because we can't use the stove). And the dog just pants. All day, every day and gives me the look of, “how could you do this to me?” And I promptly respond: “Wanna go to Africa, little girl?”
So when the temperature read 93 in the first week of April, I had a heart-stopping sense of panic that we might have summer for at least five months. That I might have to give up sleeping all together to take on another part-time job to pay the damn BG&E bill.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a summertime hater. I enjoy the warm weather. I love being outside. I like not wearing a coat (in fact, I really hate all the layers winter requires). I like wearing sundresses and flip flops and throwing my hair up on top of my head. Warm weather always makes me happy. It makes me think about music festivals and swimming in rivers and cook outs. In fact, I could eat a grilled hot dog right now.
I think back to my many summers spent at camp and how everyday involved sunshine on my face, making a craft, getting in the lake, and reading. I was allowed to wear tie-dye and Birkenstocks (and is there much more to life than that?). Nighttimes were spent around a campfire telling absurd stories and jokes and roasting marshmallows on hand-widdled sticks. Truthfully, camp was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. Those summers taught me so much about who I am and what’s really important in life—having good friends, at least one AWESOME tie-dyed t-shirt, and the fine art of telling really great stories. You don’t need a lot of stuff to keep yourself busy. It’s really very simple. You can just sit and talk. Or not talk (Parker Posey reference, anyone?). And it’s probably why I love Baltimore’s summertime stoop time so much. It’s the same. Simple time spent with fun people. Minus the campfire. And the crafts.
But back to the point. And the fact that we're totally getting screwed out of a season right now. This week's heatwave has left me less than thrilled. As much as I can't wait for summer--I also would like to fully appreciate the season we're technically in, thank you very much. And since we got to
This is the time of year when babies are born (and I actually saw that happen last week and am still recovering) and flowers bloom. And cars change color because of pollen. I want that. I haven't even had a chance to get my seasonal allergies yet! Don't cheat me out of that! I'm gonna go ahead and assume that because of the drastically cooler temperature this morning, that it appears to have been a well thought out April Fools hoax. Also, there is hopeful news on the horizon: the 10-day weather forecast predicts "mild" April weather for the next few days. Those 80-90 degree days are on hold, for now. Sorry college students—you’ll have to put your clothes back on. We can continue to celebrate spring, the pollen count, and eat lunch outside before it’s too hot to want to be outside during the day. We appear to have at least ten more days of it (which is good because I was getting ready to write Daylight Savings a nasty letter and ask for my hour back).
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