We don’t have air conditioning.
Summer makes us feel like dough. We puff, swell and peer out at the world from inside an oven.
We adapt, like many of you fellow hotbox residents.
But adapting isn’t the same as adjusting.
When I spent six months in Southeast Asia, I adjusted to the steamy rainforest heat. It took three months of feeling like cereal with too much milk but then my body changed. The fruit tones of my face went from tomato to peach and my clothes stopped feeling like wet bath towels.
That physical adjustment doesn’t happen in Michigan. Our summers are too short, my body is too northern Michigan hardwired, I can only guess. I only know that when the mercury moves past the mid-80s, it feels personal, it feels like punishment, and it feels like a preview of what I have to look forward to if I don’t keep my life on the straight and narrow.
Focus evaporates like heat waves on concrete. All creatures indoors wilt and mope. Sleeping is impossible. Eating is relegated to thick, refrigerated foods that hold cold, like cucumbers, beets and feta cheese. Basically we survive on beet salad.
And I don’t mean to whine because I know we’re not alone. Many northern Michigan homes don’t have A/C. I’ve never lived in a place that had it, and honestly, I don’t even like it much.
And I get why our homes weren’t outfitted that way. Why bother when our 45-parallel corner of the world only gets a little hot for a little while? After all, we’re surrounded by nature’s air conditioning — i.e., lakes and rivers. Plus isn’t next summer going to be a “normal,” cooler summer without all the hot days?
Unfortunately, climate science isn’t optimistic on that front.
The Environmental Protection Agency’s paper, “What climate change means for Michigan,” forecasts more “extremely hot days” and wetter, more severe weather. Our state’s temperature has warmed 2-3 degrees over the last century.
So, we non-A/Cers adapt.
Every spring the humidifiers go down and about six oscillating fans come up out of the basement. I’ve installed four ceiling fans. Windows are shrouded in heat-reflective blackout curtains. We sling cold towels around our necks like feather boas. Cuddling is discouraged. We sleep in the basement and try not to think about spiders making moon landings on our faces.
Most importantly, I engage the routine: I check the forecast for the opportune time to seal up — usually between 6 and 8 a.m. — and I run through the house, shutting windows and testing doors. In the evening I consult the forecast again, and undo my morning actions, throwing the house open to the night. In between, we sit in our fug in a hot, dark cave, where shouts of “shut the door!” and “close the drapes!” can be heard if anyone dares leave or heaven forbid, look out a window.
With rigorous practice, and a lot of nagging, we can usually keep the interior temperature to around 80.
That’s how we have adapted. But I can’t help but wonder … is there a better way?
Send tips and ice cubes to abatdorff@record-eagle.com.