- Obama shortens sentence of inmate from Cape (1/19/17)9
- Jackson police describe night of anger, car crashes, drug possession by 18-year-old (1/22/17)5
- Business notebook: Jackson salon owner also opens a clothing store (1/16/17)
- Area hospitals hope a box helps prevent infant deaths (1/19/17)6
- Meat-processing plant faces $70K penalty for Clean Water Act violations (1/17/17)4
- Local students to perform with choir at inauguration (1/19/17)3
- Southeast to lose $3.5 million from state in budget cuts (1/18/17)21
- Subjects of interest in 1992 killing take polygraph tests; results not revealed (1/18/17)2
- Governor cuts $146 million, colleges take hit (1/17/17)
- Comedian, cancer survivor Tom Green headlines sold-out Cancer Center benefit (1/22/17)
A rare day indeed
"And what is so rare as a day in June?" asked the poet. Southeast Missourians have a good answer: Any day in August when the thermometer barely tops 70 degrees and the humidity stays near the Gulf of Mexico where it belongs.
We're used to sweltering in August. We expect air conditioners to be running full blast. We consume icy beverages by the gallons in August. We wear the barest necessity of clothing during the eighth month of the year. We dream of September's moderating breezes. We decide -- finally -- in August that the little bit of snow and ice last winter wasn't so awful after all. We make peace, as the sun centers over the equator, with burning rays and parched lawns.
But not this year. First came the February-to-June spring. Then came the cold fronts rushing down in July -- in July! -- from somewhere near the Arctic Circle. And now that August is here, we are having to put aside our plans for dog days and find reasons -- yes, even excuses -- to go out in the midday sun and not give a second thought to mad dogs.
And then there's the rain. We should have stopped mowing our lawns weeks ago. But regular showers have kept our flowers beds and our soybean fields green and lush.
Enjoy it while you can. Next year will include another August -- probably a real Southeast Missouri scorcher.