It was once explained to me why Atlanta and the areas surrounding had such erratic weather. Well, all I can really recall is it has something to do with being near the Gulf of Mexico and blah blah blah. You can quote me on that. What brought this to mind is the most erratic June and July I've experienced as a resident of Georgia. Almost everyday starts somewhat optimistically: blue skies, clouds, birds, and the sort. But 5 out of 7 days devolve into some seriously dark clouds, thunder, lightning, and pelting rain. For context, Georgians are accustomed to one, maybe two weeks of spring weather with nice temperatures in the low 80's, lots of showers, and mild evenings. Our summers are supposed to threaten us with drought and and be in the high 90's.

It got me thinking about some summer weather I really didn't enjoy at one point in my life. For two summers I worked at a church in The Woodlands, Texas, a suburb of Houston. I worked with the high school youth group and loved it. Trips to Sonic were part of my job, swimming in pools (because every kid seemed to have a pool) happened almost daily, and trips to the boardwalk or Chipotle were commonplace. But the weather...

Houston is like inland Florida. It's that area where it starts to smell not like sea breezes, but rather just sulfur. It's flat and the greenery has a bright, chameleon tint to it that hits your eyes and manages to make you wonder why sleeveless shirts are so suffocating. Houston and the surrounding metropolitan area actually manage to get hotter after the sun goes down. Someone explained it to me as something to do with the concrete, lack or trees, and of course blah blah blah. If I walked from an air conditioned building outside at any point of the day while I was wearing my glasses, they would get a creeping fog rendering me blind for a strict minimum of 15 seconds. 

In the long run, I could manage all of this heat and humidity. I'd grown up with it on a lesser scale in Georgia, but there was one part I wasn't aware I would miss: nights. Nights in my childhood memory and today as I live in Atlanta are a sweet reprieve from the daytime. Nights here allow every bit of the earth that's been baking all day to become fragrant in a cool evening. Not to sound too much like some lost prose from Gone with the Wind, but I found myself missing magnolias all wilted and sugary from a day of sun smelling like an old lost perfume, and honeysuckle and grass mixing together in one of those glorious scents that you can taste when you breathe. 

And the sounds. Crickets and cicadas and frogs creating a soothing dull drone. Without them in Houston, night time jogs become a creepy experience where every dog is suddenly the likely beginning of a real-life horror movie. All of this coupled with a hilly damp that you feel when driving in the low points over creeks and riverbeds with your windows down has a sense of justice that makes the sunny days of Georgia so worth it. 

This all my seem like splitting hairs. After all, it's just one season in one part of the country. But watching kids stay inside all summer due to legitimate health concerns from extreme temperatures got me down. None of the children I worked with or those of the family I lived with ever ran barefoot outside trying to toughen up their "Indian Feet." Slight racial slurs aside, I find myself being thankful for my loud, sweet, and restful summer nights where windows were flung open and grass would turn soothingly damp under my feet. I'll always see houses lit up with fans spinning inside, a cold fridge of kool-aid made by mine or a neighbor's mom. 

Don't mess with Texas. It's just too damn hot.