tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20417751.post7962521987404180833..comments2024-01-22T18:22:29.391-08:00Comments on hedera's corner: Desertshederahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01696592301686568456noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20417751.post-3675589989613145872008-07-29T16:58:00.000-07:002008-07-29T16:58:00.000-07:00Sorry for "dessert" --a senior moment.Sorry for "dessert" --a senior moment.Curtis Favillehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06213075853354387634noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20417751.post-48886247866004908282008-07-29T08:10:00.000-07:002008-07-29T08:10:00.000-07:00Weather is weird. We lived in the Midwest for thr...Weather is weird. <BR/><BR/>We lived in the Midwest for three years in the early 1970's, while I went to grad school. <BR/><BR/>In Iowa there were always extremes, but the common factor, year-round, was very high humidity. For only about a week during each Spring and Fall, was the weather fresh, clean and temperate. The rest of the time it was either freezing, or sweltering, or blowing, or stuff was falling on you. <BR/><BR/>My parents came from the Midwest, and they left there as soon as they could. I'd forgotten just how bad it can get, when we returned for a visit in 1995. Typical August: 105 degrees heat, 98% humidity. "Moons" under your arms. Rashes. Black spots when you blink. Terrible sleeping. Voracious mosquitoes. Smart people would "Summer" on the coast. <BR/><BR/>In the 'Eighties and 'Ninetees I spent a lot of time photographing in the Southwest. Not sure just how this works, but dry heat is much less punishing than wet. Despite spending weeks at a time outside with short-sleeve shirts, skimpy hats, and frequently Bermudas, I never burned. You have to have brown tinted sunglasses, or the blue-light spectrum punishes your eyes. I never saw a dessert tortoise, but I saw road-runners, foxes, black dessert bees. Once when I was at a remote dune 55 miles from any regular road or any vestige of civilization, totally alone, two big air force jets "buzzed" me, roaring over at about 200 feet at about 600 miles per hour--let me tell you, there's nothing quite like that, you'd not want to be under them in a hostile confrontation. It made my bones rattle. The other thing is the quiet: You can hear the blood sloshing in your arteries, your ears. Also, peculiar sense of time: Constant waiting sensation, like a deliberate pace of acts, focuses your mind wonderfully. At night, the bats whizzing around intercepting bugs, squeak-squeak. <BR/><BR/>Our Bay Area moderating fogs are a godsend. Heaven forbid if global warming changes that!Curtis Favillehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06213075853354387634noreply@blogger.com