Ah, the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. It’s a time for basking in glorious sunny afternoons and sitting out on the deck in the warmth of the long summer night. Windows open, flowers blooming, and living outdoors. Well, maybe not so much this year.
This year has been a little different. We could sit outside and enjoy the warmth of summer in April. In June, we’re wrapped up in six layers of clammy fleece. Around my house, there is no better way to celebrate the summer solstice than getting the propane tank refilled to the tune of about $1,500 because the furnace is raging like deepest February.
I finished the winter season, or at least what we have considered winter since the last ice age, with enough gas left in the tank to keep the shower hot through the summer. No reason to refill until fall. But that didn’t factor in the idea that the furnace would be roaring through June. The propane company doesn’t deliver gas in quart containers. If they drive the truck out here, they fill the tank right up. So I’m ready for next winter.
Actually, I’m ready for next winter (or the continuation of last winter, as the case may be) in ways I hadn’t planned. The storms have knocked a bunch of trees down in the yard, and in the process of keeping the driveway open, I’ve already got next winter’s firewood cut and ready. I suppose I could build a fire instead of turning the furnace on, but somehow, I just can’t do it. Aside from the fact that the wood is soaking wet, it’s June, and you don’t build fires in the woodstove in June. It just isn’t done.
My house was designed with a fair amount of passive solar heat in mind. If the sun would come out, it would actually be quite comfortable without the furnace. But since there hasn’t been enough sun to cast a shadow in a month or so, and it hasn’t topped 55 degrees for more than about 15 minutes in all of June, it’s cold. It’s that damp, humid, hypothermic kind of cold. So I’ve got the furnace cranked up, and set a little higher than normal to try to pull some of the dampness out of the air.
The yard is being overtaken by mushrooms. Some of them are so big that desperate realtors have tried to get listings on them. It seemed like a great season to try to thicken up some kind of thin areas in the grass. The seeds sprouted and it looked like everything was going to be great. But the new grass appears to have drowned. It doesn’t do well in pools of standing water. I should have planted rice.
I’m beginning to rust. Summer is short enough around here when things happen on the regular schedule. The list of things that need to be done on the ranch is endless, and there are things that just can’t be ignored. So I’m out there trying to work. On a typical day, I can go through three pair of socks and a couple of changes of pants after they get soaked from walking through the deep wet grass. The dog is not very good at wiping her feet, and the mud from the yard now extends pretty well up the stairs, down the hall, and into her bed. The grass seeds in the carpet have done quite well. I don’t know whether to vacuum or mow.
There have been a couple of bike rides in there, and I’ve been lucky enough to get back to the house without getting soaked. For the most part, the rain hasn’t been the kind of deluge that dumps an inch an hour. It’s been more of the Seattle drizzle, just enough to keep you housebound and keep everything soggy. I much prefer the kind of rain that opens up and dumps for a couple of hours, then goes away.
The forecast is for improving weather, except for a chance of showers Saturday, Sunday, and maybe Monday and Tuesday. It has to dry out sooner or later, and when it does, watch out. The grass will grow so fast that, if your kids are out in the yard, you might lose them in it. I’ve got great expectations that my hay crop will explode once it is exposed to the light of day. With any luck, we will all be whining about the heat a week from now. We can only hope.
Years ago, when there were rivers running down the streets of Salt Lake to handle a record snow melt, Governor Scott Matheson said, “This is hell of a way to run a desert.” I couldn’t agree more.
Tom Clyde served as Park City attorney in the 1980s and is the author of “More Dogs On Main Street.” He has been a columnist at The Park Record for more than 20 years.