“Good sleeping weather,” my dad always said when we had cool nights in the summer. He would know – he was fetched up in central Florida in the first third of the 20th century, a hot and humid, bug-infested territory made famous in bogus land deals and a Marx Brothers movie.
Heat waves are burning up New York, Washington, DC, and, crazily enough, northern Europe.
But here in the Ozarks we have enjoyed warm afternoons, comfortable evenings, cool mornings. We were out late Saturday night; when we returned home our little dog who fancies herself a hunter was chasing an armadillo. We left the ceiling fan in our bedroom on low overnight, snuggled under a homemade quilt, and opened the screen porch for same pooch. Before dawn I heard coyotes close by, followed by an owl. It was downright cool. The dawg didn’t stir.
My 87-year-old mother-in-law lives with us. When she gets up, she is cold. “We could use some of that global warming now!” (She forgets that when it was close to 100° a couple weeks ago, she closed herself in her room with an air conditioner.)
We relocated to the Ozarks summer of 2008. We had been living and working near Gallup, New Mexico, which was drilling for water. Our summer home in Waveland, Mississippi, where we had intended to retire, is about an hour east of New Orleans. That entire section of the Gulf Coast was obliterated by Hurricane Katrina. Maps told us that there was plentiful water in northwest Arkansas, and common sense said killer hurricanes would not endanger this place.
Our first summer here, two dwindling hurricanes came this far inland. After the eye passed over, rain drove through the windows of our trailer house. Then came the famous ice storm of 2009, when we were frozen in place for eight days, melting three-foot icicles to flush the toilet and wash dishes. The silence was incredible – no hum of household appliances – just the gunshot sounds of trees snapping under their load of ice.
Two very snowy winters followed, and a couple of summers when we approached or exceeded 100° for weeks. My main memories are dragging hoses around and trying to sleep when it was 95° indoors.
Still, I hold to the belief that the Ozarks enjoy a moderate climate, although capable of terrible extremes. Many other places on Earth are in deep doo-doo – melting glaciers, sea level rise, wildfires, unexpected heat waves, sloooow-moving hurricanes. For now, we seem to be somewhat safe here in Carroll County. But who knows how this place measures up in 10, 20, 20 years?
Statistics show that we are just starting to exceed “normal.” But for much of the world, “normal” is changing, rapidly. Our president, like my elderly mother-in-law, may say during a cool spell, “We could use some of that global warming!” Her excuse is dementia; his is that he is trying to buck up the oil, coal, and gas industries, ensuring more money for Republican Party donors.
We know people are moving to the Ozarks – refugees from coastal flooding, urban Illinois and Texas issues, California wildfires, Central American violence, the disappearance of Pacific islands – you know these people. They – like me – are our new neighbors. Eleven years in our place makes us seem like real Ozarkers. Newcomers who live here, work here, pay taxes, vote, use local services, go to church here.
When the coasts are inundated, when the cities unlivable, the center of the U.S. seems a safe place. Nice people, plenty of jobs, moderate climate until the weather goes extreme, lots of churches, good schools, low cost of living, clean air and water, a strong sense of traditional arts and crafts, cultural amenities, outdoor wonders. What more could you ask for?
It’s okay for me – I’m retired. But if my kids have kids, and they have kids, what’s in it for them? Creeping uglitude, unbreathable air, undrinkable water, insufferable heat, unbearable cold, unswimmable floods. People fight now over stupid political issues – just wait until they fight over necessities of living.
Kirk Ashworth