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Fragments from Floyd

If You Can’t Stand the Heat

This is the time of year when the early morning hours of browsing, answering emails, researching and blogging are supplanted (nice, seasonally-appropriate verb-pun) by yard and garden work before the sun crests the east ridge and the temps begin to become uncomfortable for hoeing, loading mulch, hauling brush and such.

I don’t suffer heat very well,  so it’s good that, even without AC in the house, we stay pretty cool here, in a relative short of way, in our sheltered cold-sink valley on the western flank of the Blue Ridge mountains.

In my home town of Birmingham, OTOH, it has been too warm even before sunrise for months, and yet I used to have hard-labor summer jobs out in the HHH (heat-haze-humidity) and not think much about it.

I need to move along, so will redirect your attention to a piece from a couple of summers ago about my (and mankind’s) past and future relationship with conditioned air.

AC: Not All It’s Cranked Up To Be

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