I woke up a little after 5 a.m. to the feeling of something crawling across the back of my outstretched legs. I was in the middle of a dream about riding in the back of a bus hurtling down a very rocky mountain road. I’d just turned to the friend who was riding next to me in the dream and said, “Oh look, it must have snowed in the buttes last night…” which was a surprising thing to have happen in the dream because in real life I was crammed on a twin mattress next to my sweaty daughter in the still swampy heat left from the previous day.
We’ve been on the road for a week. We crossed the Missouri River into eastern South Dakota last Monday, just in time for some of the most impressive humidity I’ve ever experienced to settle directly over us. Maybe you’ve heard of “corn sweat,” a term used to describe the water vapor released by corn plants during hot days. Well, I have now SEEN corn sweat — literal clouds of steamy fog hanging over fields, and it is intense!
It turned out that the thing I felt crawling over my legs was a fly. One of many that had been let in the previous afternoon when we’d left the door of our camper open for a cross breeze. I’d swatted half a dozen by lamplight while the kids lay in their bunks.
“You’ll thank me for this tomorrow!” I told them. “Otherwise, they are going to wake us up at dawn!”
Crouched in the half darkness of the new day, I was swatting again, this time trying to do it as quietly as possible. My daughter had ended up in my bed, despite the heat, and for some reason, the flies weren’t landing on her.
My son was not so lucky. He sighed and tossed in his sleep. Every time I killed one and thought I could finally go back to sleep, I’d hear him huff again and knew another had just landed on his face, and that the silent war must continue.
We were having a delightful trip despite the muggy heat. Driving on the interstate with a camper during summer construction season had been pretty stressful (no doubt that was the origin of the bus dream) and the lack of A/C in our vintage camper had also been less than ideal, but well worth it for the adventures.
As I wrote last week, we’ve been traveling for the first tour of the “Roots & Grass Theater Co“ with my folk opera, “The Grass Widow,” and the heat and the traffic were blessings in disguise.
Before we left, I lay awake nights worrying about how the shows would go. During the actual performances, I was more worried about staying hydrated as I sweated through my costume. (Note to self: do not write winter scenes in a play that will be performed outdoors in the summer…)
The weather certainly has made me question the wisdom of outdoor theater in general, but there’s been a hidden bright side. I’d planned for us to camp along the way, but the extreme heat prevented us from being as independent as I thought we could be. People kept inviting us in to cool off, and instead of being awkward, it was lovely. As my daughter said, “You have friends everywhere we go, and now so do I.”
Tomorrow we head west again. The kids are torn. On one hand, they can’t wait to sleep in their own beds; on the other, there’s been sushi and splash parks, thrift stores and basement movie marathons with new friends — all kinds of delights we don’t have at home.
And tonight? Well, tonight we are sleeping in a hotel. I need a night off from the corn sweats and flies. Variety is the spice of life, whether it’s in the form of ranch work sprinkled with theater projects, or shared sleeping bags interspersed with clean, cool sheets. Each just makes the other sweeter.
