Mary Belk: Things were different before the advent of air conditioning

I hate hot weather. Of course I always say that in July. In February, I detest cold weather. On the coldest day of the year, we see pictures of snowdrifts covering barns and rangers on snowmobiles rescuing blizzard-stranded families trapped in cars. Cold is portrayed as an enemy to be conquered.

Oppressive, sweltering heat can be as deadly as a snowstorm, but you can’t take a snapshot of a heat wave. And everybody’s too sweaty and listless to help anyone else.

I grew up in the Deep South before houses were air-conditioned. Life was different back then. Houses had high ceilings so the hot air could rise. And in the summertime the kitchen stove was cranked up only once a day for the noon meal. Leftovers sat on cold backburners waiting to be dished up for supper that night.

Seems it was cooler outside in the shade than inside. After supper grownups sat on the porch and pushed the sticky air back and forth with cardboard fans. Womenfolk shelled field peas and snapped pole beans while the men gulped cold sweet tea from jelly glasses. Children played marbles and pass-the-button, grabbed at lightning bugs and danced in the sprinkler.

Before a storm, dust swirled around the edges of the front porch and the screen door flapped in the hot breeze. Streetlights lit up the road in front of the house, and after a downpour we watched the wavy steam rise from the sizzling pavement like smoke from a doused campfire.

Nobody moved fast in the 90-degree heat, and children rested inside during the hottest part of the day. Families had sluggish plug-in fans that groaned, struggling to turn from side to side stirring up little puffs of thick, stuffy air.

When I was a little girl, I spent muggy afternoons reading chapter books, listening to “The Lone Ranger” or “My Little Margie” on the radio, or playing Canasta with my sisters. Sometimes I’d go to Chewacla to paddle and splash in the murky lake water. When I sprawled on my beach towel, the hot ground burned up through the towel into my skin. The air was full of lake smells and suntan
lotion. And the sun was blinding.

Some afternoons were spent at the Tiger Theater watching Tarzan or Roy Rogers. I was glad to have a couple of hours of cool air while I pretended to swing through African jungles or gallop over the
plains.

Cars weren’t air-conditioned in those days either. My family of seven crowded into the Ford with all four windows rolled down. Sambo, our black cocker spaniel, flopped precariously out a back window, long ears fluttering, tongue dangling, a smug smile on his muzzle.

I had no idea how hot it was back then. When a heat wave came, we simply had to sweat it out. Now, if I’m watching the weather report and the forecaster says the heat index is 120 degrees, I just flip the channel and adjust the air.

Mary Belk lives in Auburn and writes a column for the Opelika-Auburn News.