Memphis humidity - a joyous commodity

After ten days in New Mexico and Utah, I was blasted with Memphis humidity as I walked off the plane. I loved it! My skin sucked up the moist air like a vacuum sucks dirt from the carpet. My eyes relished the tangled green grass of our boulevard, abundant lush ferns on the front stoop, and the glossy green leafy shrubs and trees that frame our townhome. The west is breathtaking with its big mountains, bigger sky and vast landscapes, but, in the end, it is the land of overheated, parched dirt and scrub vegetation.

To quote my sister, "Don't worry about the heat, because the humidity is so low, you won't feel the heat like you do back east." Well, she lied. I didn't know heat until I spent time in the desert. No one goes anywhere without bottled water provisions. Dry heat means its an astounding 100 degrees or more, every day for months. When I got up close, thrusting myself into the landscape, the beautiful mountain vistas disappeared to be replaced with earth that crumbles into sand, rock and grit. This dusty meal snaked its way into my clothes and clung to my skin. After each day's exploring in the mountains, I had dirt in places unknown since I was a five year old, playing in my sandbox.

It's a feast or famine kind of climate out west. Rain is dreamed of, but comes in deluges, not gentle ground soakers like in Memphis. Western storms deliver lighting to ignite dried timber, not sprinkled water to make gardens bloom. Gardens are strictly man made and maintained. In frustration, smart settlers landscape with rocks, stones and pebbles, with the hope that their "desert" plants survive.

In Memphis, the weather provides a pretty consistent level of heat in the summer. You can rely on when you are going to sweat -- pretty much 24 hours a day with a temperature in the 80's to low 90's. This makes living much simpler. I get up in the morning and get dressed once, for all day. Out west, the temperature is a roller coaster of highs and lows within a 24 hour period. It's cold in the early morning -- I drag out a sweater or jacket, long pants, socks and shoes. Between 10AM and 5PM, it heats up by degrees every hour. Like the "Frog in the Pot" story, I must shed clothes or be boiled to near death. Finally, as the sun sets, I must once again find clothes to wear -- first a long sleeve shirt and then, as the evening lengthens into night -- a jacket, socks and shoes. Some people may like this variety of dress, but to me it's frustrating work.

I must admit that whether I am in hot and humid Memphis or the hot and dry west in the summer, it is best to do my outdoor run before 9AM. However, the advantage of humidity is that the sweat drips off my body rather than disappearing immediately into the air. Out west, I am deprived of this proper reward for effort well exerted.

In Memphis, there is also consistency in the earth. The dirt is black -- that rich loamy ebony color that dogs and kids love to roll in. It's cool, holding the moisture, providing a soothing salve. Out west the dirt is anything but black. It's red, beige, taupe, ochre, yellow, white and plain ol' brown. It's harsh and biting. When I hiked, I didn't sink into the earth, but rather skidded and slipped across it, dislodging stones and the pallid plants embedded among them. Trees are blown naked. Life out west -- i sliving in a land opposed to human creature comforts and good skin.