We have made it almost to the end of summer without my annual weather whine. Most years, I can’t make it until actual July before publishing my ubiquitous rant. I’m starting to wonder if I have finally become used to summer in Central Florida and become a Floridian.
The answer is no.
I will say that this summer does seem to be milder than previous years. The temperatures have been higher, but there has not been as much humidity. Also, the Florida Somme seems to have finally received the memo that World War I attacks concluded in 1918. We haven’t had day after day of thunder bombing our backyard. And we have not yet been attacked by a hurricane threatening to destroy life as we know it. I don’t know if this milder version of the Florida summer sweat-a-thon will continue through the coming weeks, but I’m a lot more cheerful than I usually am at this point in the year.
My more seasoned Florida friends- those who have been residing in this air swamp for most or all of their lives- would argue that I am (and will always be) a Northerner. They hold firmly to this belief, even though I have not lived in the North since 1965. I lived in California most of my life- Southern California. I spent most of my childhood and a great deal of my adulthood without air conditioning. It was common for temperatures to top one hundred degrees in July and August. It was different though. Usually, the temperature the thermometer reported was roughly the same as that sadistic statistic, “feels like” temperature. I watch the differential between these two numbers hit double digits virtually every day here in Florida. Often, the “real” temperature has been in the upper 90s and the “feels like” temperature is between 105-110 degrees. That is just wrong.
There is also the concept of “growing season.” In the summer, we can watch the weeds and shrubbery grow like genetically modified turkeys. I love gardens. Other people’s gardens. I even love paying a reasonable price of admission to wander public gardens. I do not, however, love the process of physical gardening. I hate weeding and cutting back branches on the shrubs. This task, which takes about 10 minutes per week between late October and the end of May, becomes a grueling, sweaty, forced labor camp activity for at least 40 minutes weekly in the extended summer that is now my home.
The foliage is not the only thing that grows in “growing season.” Bugs grow, and so do my extremities when bitten by them.
I discussed lovebugs about six weeks ago in my blog piece Blooming (www.terrilabonte.com/2026/08/blooming-2/). At least the love bugs are a self-limiting condition. It is easier to tolerate an infestation that predictably dies out within two weeks. Mosquitoes are another matter. There appears to be something about me that attracts mosquitos as if I am the insect all-you-can-eat buffet. I used to say it was because I was so sweet but, when I am less delusional, I think it is more likely because I am especially salty due to all that humidity and sweat. They are like vampires in that I am usually pretty safe during daylight hours. It is rare that I am outside after dark, but, when I am… I am the appetizer, entrée, and dessert all wrapped up in one chubby little body. It is not unusual for me to be able to count twenty or more bites on my legs and arms after 20 minutes in the church courtyard in the evening.
This year, I’ve noticed another insect problem. Fire ants. One Sunday after the church service, I was on the verandah of the parish hall signing people up for a class I am teaching. It was the middle of the day. I was standing on the substantial patio- far away from any dirt or grass. Suddenly, I could feel an itchiness growing on the tops of my feet. In addition to the itchiness, there was a stingy feeling. I didn’t see anything when I looked down. I thought it was my archnemesis the mosquito, but it seemed strange because the sun was shining its vampire death rays. It itched and burned for a week after that encounter.
A couple of weeks later, Max and I were out in the yard wielding garden clippers in an attempt to tame the tree and shrub overgrowth for the week. He was up on a ladder to tackle some of the higher boughs of a tree. I was clutching the ladder to give it a little more stability than the uneven earth and rock hardscaping provided. Suddenly, I felt that sensation on my feet again. I looked down and there were fire ants crawling all over my feet. It was obviously an ant conspiracy. I was not standing on an anthill. These ants had to go out of their way to attack me.
It was insect gang violence aimed specifically at me. They even waited for the prime opportunity- me holding a ladder. I tried to push them off the tops of my feet with the bottoms of my shoes but that only, predictably, pissed them off further. Max got off the ladder quickly and I had two hands free to “encourage” the ants to disperse. My feet were so red and angry that I could not immediately assess the damage. It turned out to be eighteen visible bites on my feet and ankles. Despite ice, hydrocortisone cream, calamine lotion, and prayer- those bites plagued me for ten days before the itch finally started to subside.
When I was considering a move to Florida, a friend of mine expressed immense concern about the number of bugs per square foot here. My experience at that point led me to assure her that the mosquitoes were really the only difficult part and they tended to be a problem only in the evening, especially near water. For my first several years in Florida, that did generally prove true. This year, though, the bugs have definitely increased the summer degree of difficulty. It is like I was in the insect witness protection program for 11 years. Now, they have clearly located me and put a contract out on me. These are not bugs. They are tiny hitmen.
I should really stop whining. Fall, cooler weather, and a decrease in homicidal bugs should be coming. The calendar says that there are only a couple of weeks left of summer. However, I’ve lived in Florida long enough to know better.
Terri/Dorry 🙂