That's right. Seems fitting for the time of year when you step outside and already have sweat in places you don't want it. Livestock hover over the water tanks and shove each other out of the shade trees like little kids trying to be first in line.
By 9 a.m., your shirt's stuck to your back, your boots feel like they're full of soup, the tractor's seat could fry an egg, and the steering wheel feels like it was forged in a blacksmith shop.
The cows stand belly-deep in the pond with that look that says, "If you need me, I'll be here until October." The horses have perfected the art of planting themselves under the one shade tree in the pasture, swishing flies and refusing to move unless grain is involved. Even they have enough sense to know when it's too hot to do anything productive.
The flies, on the other hand, always have the best summer of their lives. They don't care how much fly spray you buy or how fancy the tag in the cow's ear is—they're back before you can put the cap on the bottle. By lunchtime you've burned more calories, swatting flies than you've burned stacking hay. The livestock swish and kick at the little flying demons only to realize they're just using them for a free ride around the pasture. And don't even think about leaving the pickup windows down unless you're looking to start your own fly sanctuary.
Speaking of hay, whoever came up with the phrase "make hay while the sun shines" clearly never throws square bales in July. Nothing builds character quite like hugging 60-pound bales in 95-degree weather while itchy hay dust super glues itself to every drop of sweat you've got.
By supper time, everyone's moving a little slower. The dogs have dug themselves a hole to China just to find cool dirt. The livestock are parked around every water tank like its happy hour, and you're on your second or third glass of iced tea wondering if sweating counts as cardio. "It's not the heat... it's humidity," like that's supposed to make anyone feel better. Still, once the sun finally drops below the trees and a little breeze rolls across the farm, it's hard to complain too much. The cicadas and frogs are singing. The best friends of the flies, yup, the mosquitoes are filing flight plans. The kids smell like sunscreen and dirt. And the sunset reminds you why you put up with the heat, the dust, the flies, and everything else summer throws at a farmer.
Because before long, we'll be standing in chore boots three sizes too big with three layers of socks, wishing for one more long, hot summer day.
