Today it was hot. Just.Plain.Hot. There’s a reason the word hot has only three letters—one syllable is really all you’ve got the energy to utter under these conditions. This day felt like the kind of hot where, if it were acceptable, you’d stay in your underwear all day long and exaggerate your suffering like a modern-day Scarlett O’Hara while fanning yourself in front of an open refrigerator.
Needless to say, this family does not handle heat all that well. Our cheeks get red, we get cranky, our eyes glaze over and we get a tad bit dazed and confused—I’m pretty sure Henry and I had a long and involved discussion about the value of the Creamsicle. But neither of us is to blame. No one’s brain works properly above 90 degrees.
As I stood watering the window boxes (and periodically spraying one or the both of us with the cold water from the hose) I came to the conclusion we had to get somewhere cool—fast. We finished our work, raced upstairs and woke Sadie from her nap. The left side of her head was a mess of wet curls where she had sweated through her sleep, her sweet face pressed against her pink crib sheet like a grilled cheese sandwich. She was so hot that when I held her up to the air blowing from her window unit, she shuddered with the sudden blast of cool.
Three glasses of iced water later, we were in the car, though. We opted for the trails at Maudslay where we'd hoped the trees would shade us; and maybe trap some rogue breezes in their leafy arms just for us. But with the still intense heat, Sadie moved slowly and we made it only as far as the yellow fields just beyond the stone fence. Henry was happy to collect sticks; Sadie her rocks. And when we finally sat to rest our sorry selves in the grass, we were fortunate enough to catch sight of something kind of amazing. Over the field, there were dozens of birds darting and dipping through the air like sea gulls on the ocean. Catching bugs.
Judging by the population of friendly insects sharing time with us yards away under the trees, I assume the buzzing and bopping of the summer bugs in the tall grass was beyond plentiful. Henry and Sadie moved to the edge of the field, mesmerized by the birds and their dinner dance, their black bodies moving powerfully and with determination against the periwinkle summer sky. Although it reminded me of my first experience with bats on a twilight evening in Athens, Ohio … I eventually joined the kids, each of us hovering ourselves on the frame of this painting before us. I leaned down and sat with Sadie, who loves birds so much that every time one came near, her chest would visibly rise with excitement.
Most of the time, the birds were too far away to see in detail so Henry and I made our own sound effects. A swoosh with the capture of the bugs, and a buzz to effect the sound of the escapees. Our sounds became actions. Sadie and I were the bugs, running from Henry and his giant wings. And when he’d catch me, I’d get to be the bird and he would buzz and jump away. It was your basic game of tag, but with an extra dose of creativity. We made the game so elaborate that whether bird or bug, it was pure fun to take on the characteristics of something other than ourselves.
It was still hot out, of course. There were not nearly enough rogue breezes to provide genuine relief. But we did have a good time. And for an hour we forgot how hot we really were.
Still … next time we head out in the heat it’ll be early, and it’ll be the beach. Because today the heat was the bird, and we were the bugs. For sure.
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