I always get warmer when I read that the temperature is 90, feels like 103. I realize that’s the idea of identifying the heat index or whatever it’s called. It works. This is one of those days.

Gardens are doing well, but grass is beginning to have brown patches. I associate that with August, but then all spring has been a month ahead of itself.

We spent 5 days at a lake cabin, swimming and reading. The bugs were so hungry that we didn’t spend much time out of doors where they do their feeding. Where do biting bugs fit in the food chain?

I remember picking wild blueberries when I was younger. It was warm in the woods as much because of the necessary cover-up attire as the temperature. I wore netting over my face, lots of bug repellent on my hands because picking tiny berries doesn’t happen when one wears gloves. Socks were high on my legs under long pants. Still the deer flies managed to find places to sting. The blueberries were wonderful in pancakes, in muffins, in pies, on cereal. I must have thought it was worth the swollen ankles.

Somehow I find all the political nastiness of this pre-election time as annoying as the insidious biting bugs. I feel an urge to scream, or growl, or cry, sometimes all at once. I do hope that after November has come and gone, I no longer want to do those things.