In the 1960s, few people in Florida had air conditioning. I lived in a Cracker house with lots of windows which allowed cross breezes for cooling. In the early 1970s, I taught in schools which were not air conditioned. One wall in each classroom had large windows which could be opened. For a cross breeze, we would open the door on the opposite side of the room. Fortunately, school let out for the hottest months.
People who are addicted to air conditioning forget that our bodies are designed to manage temperature changes. When we’re too warm, we sweat. If there is a breeze, it evaporates the sweat, cooling the skin.
Besides strategically placed windows, how did we survive the heat? In those days, the climate was still our friend. A typical summer day saw the temperatures climb into the late afternoon. Then a thunderstorm would cool the air, giving us relief which lasted through the night. That’s how we survived without A/C.
In the 1980s, the weather pattern changed. One summer, instead of hot sunny days tempered by daily thunderstorms, nearly every day brought hazy skies. I was glad to have air-conditioning then. This pattern lasted for years. Only recently have we seen the return of afternoon storms.
Other things have changed, too. Country people used to predict the date of the first frost by when the dog fennel bloomed. I tracked this for years, noting the date of the first bloom and, counting forward six weeks, marking the anticipated frost date on my calendar. It was surprisingly accurate.
One year, the first frost came, not in November, but later, in December or January, and it has been the same since. Dog fennel still blooms, but the weather no longer follows its lead. Frosts also come later in spring. Fruit trees bloom on schedule, only to be nipped by late freezes, which means a poor harvest, if any. This winter, a killing freeze hit at the end of January, with temperatures in the 20’s as far south as Orlando. Every gardener I know lost plants that usually do just fine in normal winters. (I know, you non-Floridians think we’re sissies, but how well can you take the heat?)
Love bugs still appear twice a year, in May and September. At one time, I could set my calendar by them. When the first love bug splattered on my windshield, I knew it was either May 1st or September 1st. Now, they’re confused. A few will venture forth a week early, and occasionally I’ll spot one out of season.
These local observations are only a microcosm of worldwide disruptions. In a balanced nature, plants bloom or leaf out at a certain time, then insects hatch and feed on them, in turn providing sustenance for birds and other wildlife. When these schedules are interrupted, plant material and nectar are not available to insects and birds at the right time. This leads to the loss of, not only individual organisms, but entire species.
And what about the large organism we call Earth? This may be the hottest year ever, and I don’t mean hot as in popular or fashionable. I’m one of those people who like the heat. Give me 90o and 90% humidity, and I’m happy to be outdoors. But this summer, all too many days saw the thermometer on my back porch reading 100o. In the shade! Too hot even for me—I hibernated in my relatively cool house.
I won’t complain that the mosquitoes haven’t been bad this year, but I’m starting to worry. I noticed the dearth of insects a few weeks ago when the Great Southeast Pollinator Census came up. This is an annual citizen science project that tracks insect populations. You go out in your yard, choose a flower, and watch for fifteen minutes, tallying the insects that land on it. My first fifteen minutes, not one insect even came close to my zinnia! I tried again later and saw two butterflies. That’s all. No bees or anything else. Where were they? Other people reported seeing fewer insects than expected, too. Not a good sign.
I’ve never seen so many lightning storms. I have a lightning tracker on my phone which alerts me when strikes are within a few miles. I pay attention for my own safety and that of my electronics. In the past, I’ve lost two modems and a laptop to lightning strikes, so I unplug everything when storms approach. This summer, clusters of storms swept across the peninsula nearly every afternoon and evening, leaving me without internet sometimes for five or six hours! Thunderstorms usually bring rain, but this summer, surrounded by thunder and lightning, many times I got a nary a sprinkle.
Floridians live with hurricanes. In June, we start hoarding supplies and watching the tropics. Those who live near the coast or in flood zones or mobile homes, if they are wise, will make evacuation plans. In a good year, we’ll get a tropical storm or two which brings much needed rain without devastating winds. This year, as of the end of September, we’ve had not one named storm. They fizzle out or spin off into the Atlantic, away from land.
The Pacific, however, has been hyperactive. Hawaii, which seldom gets hurricanes, has been battered. Even Mexico and California have been impacted by storms that usually track away from the coast. The blame is laid on El Niño. Every few years we experience El Niños, but this one has been unusually intense.
If we and the climate are no longer friends, whose fault is it? The climate is only trying to adapt to changes we caused. We should do all we can to help it find a new balance.
