A little touch of sun...

Building fence a week ago today at 1:00 in the afternoon in 103 degree heat under a cloudless and almost harsh blue sky with only a bit of a breeze, I suddenly felt lightheaded and shivered. Cramps hit my legs. I tried to remedy my sudden sense of feeling unwell by moving on to another task: getting out of the direct sun to load 50-pound salt blocks into a utility vehicle. But...the salt was in the barn, where, I soon learned, it was dark, dead quiet and STIFLING to the tune of what I estimated to be 120 degrees. I didn't help myself with that task either and soon wished I was out on the prairie hill tying wire to tee-posts. The world felt almost cool when I emerged from the barn and sluiced my head with tepid water from the hose, wetting my overalls and even allowing the water to trickle down into my boots.

To no avail. By last Sunday night, my head was taking turns pounding and swimming, my stomach was protesting anything I tried to put in it and I was only safe when sitting down. That, of course, was when I belatedly remembered that the new medication I'm on prohibits "excessive exposure" to the sun. I had to laugh at myself when I wondered idly whether excessive exposure included building fence in the Oklahoma July sun for four hours. No doubt!

When I didn't recover by Wednesday, a shaky visit to the doctor was in order and I was fully advised of my folly. My doctor shook her head and clucked her tongue with a "you should have known better look" as I recounted my malaise. I don't know what they call this malady in other parts of the world...heat prostration, heat exhaustion, even heat stroke...but my Oklahoma country doctor pronounced that I had a little touch of sun.

I knew that. I've been "touched by the sun" a couple of times before, just like everyone I know. At least I didn't have my brother's experience. He was touched by the sun while plowing with a hangover when he was in his early 20's. Bubba passed plumb out at the wheel of the tractor, coming to only after the unguided machine tumbled into the creek and he was catapulted into the water. Of course, Bubba could have died, but we all could have at one time or another. Bubba didn't. This is a HOT place in late summer, after all.

Having been touched by the sun makes one more vulnerable to being touched again, particularly if the touches come close together. Because of that, this weekend was a "stay cool" one. Pervensely, I suppose, I monitored the temperature all day. When I took the garbage out before lunch, it was already 95 degrees. By 2:00 pm, the set of gauges on my back porch read 105. A quick check of the temperature at 5:00 pm showed it to be 109 degrees in the full sun. By 6:00 pm, the thermometer was hovering between 110 and 111. For some reason, the air temperature here is officially measured in the shade. My Granny was monitoring the temps as well, the correct way. She told me the official high today was 105 degrees. That's damned hot.

By 8:00 tonight, it was still too hot to rest my bare feet on the concrete steps leading from my porch on the west side of my house. The locusts hummed, vegetation drooped over grass that turned brown inside of a week and the world was still as only harsh sun can make it. It hasn't rained in several weeks. I have been reminded of the day-to-day dangers of life that I should have thought of in the first place. Everything is as it should be in my world...