Into the Fire
The cats are flat on the front deck, stretched out waiting for a breeze that hasn’t come yet. Last week’s heat dome has lifted slightly with some brief and intermittent downpours, and if the weather app is correct, we’re in for an unbroken chain of sunny days that will push the temperatures back into the high 80’s. Late to every party, I finally bought some blackout curtains for the living room and wow, they work. I was surprised; the cats were grateful.
On a day last week when the humidity was unbearable, I relented and turned on the window AC unit downstairs and let it run for about an hour. It was welcome relief until I headed outside to water the chickens for the second time (not complaining at all—their eggs are worth all the care and tending required); the oppressive heat grabbed hold of my lungs and pushed against my face while I changed my expectations about breathing and made my way down the slope of lawn to the coop. It seemed smarter to forgo the AC and just let my body adjust to the thick climate around me. If I kept relatively still, it wasn’t too bad, really. Confession: I do have a small window unit in the bedroom upstairs and turn that on for a couple hours just as I climb into bed. It’s enough to help me fall asleep and then, when I wake up for my customary 2:00a.m. trek downstairs, I turn it off and the room stays cool for the rest of the night.
I haven’t met many folks here in central Ohio who enjoy the heat or at least don’t complain about it. I recently posted photos of that 14” snowfall we had back in January in an attempt to balance the weather reaction equation but to no avail. We’re living in the present sweaty moment and for some, it’s miserable. I keep my head down, since I live in a place with more shade than ought to be allowed and enough sunny patches on the walking paths to make one’s appreciation of said shade deep and genuine. And, as I tell my city friends, it’s nearly always ten degrees cooler on the farm than in the suburbs or downtown (all that concrete sure does absorb the heat and release it mercilessly throughout the afternoon). My heart is gladdened when I see the COTA buses with their digital “cooling bus” banners, followed quickly by “no fare”. If you don’t mind being in continuous stop-start motion for a couple hours, these big-wheeled roving air conditioners are sweet relief for anyone trying to get somewhere without heatstroke.
The discovery of fire and it’s bone-soothing heat was a game changer for our species. We cooked and kept predators at more than arms’ length, warmed our caves and huts and tipis, and somewhere down the evolutionary line, a genius invented s’mores. We made it portable so we could carry it in our pockets and light up a cigarette wherever we wanted (until the whole smoking ban thing came into play at our favorite bars and restaurants). We understood its sacredness in an abiding and sometimes respectfully fearful way. Walking across hot coals, taking glowing red rocks (often called “grandfathers”) into a sweat lodge, the smoldering finality of a funeral pyre—all called us to admit that much of life is bigger and deeper and more powerful than we are. “Be humble”, the poster says. “A lot happened before you were born.” Indeed. The tiny spark that starts our cars’ engines, or the furnace downstairs…we forget their primal fiery origins.
Poets and preachers draw on fire’s inherent metaphorical nature, with awe as the ultimate goal, and it works. We listen and connect the dots between the crackling, snapping flames and those times in our lives when we’ve been burned, blistered, purified, and transformed. In my work with hospice nurses, aides, social workers, and chaplains, I’ve noticed out loud how they walk into the fire of someone’s crisis, grief, the difficult questions that only the poignant and rough-edged end of life moment offers, and they give the gift of their presence and undivided attention without fanfare or reservation. So many helping professions do this, and I wonder where and how they find cooling relief from the unbearable heat of someone else’s pain. I know that sometimes, they don’t…and the flames consume them in the form of too many drinks after work, broken marriages, estranged children. Fire, any manifestation of it, isn’t a toy or a mere mystical fascination. It must be respected. Starting with the embers in our own hearts.
It’s summer in Ohio, so sticky days and breezeless nights are to be expected. Just remember—it’s not the heat, it’s the humility.
