Not the September I Remember

 

September is the most depressing month of the year.

At least as it relates to weather.

Growing up in Michigan, September was always the month when the weather started to change. There was a clear end to Summer and the start of cooler Fall weather. Leaves would change color. You would often have to wear a jacket. The mowing season was over, and the snow shoveling season had yet to begin.

One time, in visiting Michigan in late September, we went on a trip to Northern Michigan and the Upper Peninsula. We wanted to go to Mackinaw Island, but it had started snowing, and the ferry service was temporarily halted.

So, even after all these years in Georgia, I still expect it to start to get cool and Fall-like in September, and I'm always disappointed.

Every day in  September, I wake up and think the Fall weather will begin. Yet, every day, my heart is broken.  

It remains hotter than hell. Yesterday, while I was out, the weather had me close to heat exhaustion. It was 90 with a feels like of 103. Yes, I know Southern California is going through a similar heat wave, with triple-digit highs. But what we have that LA does not is the humidity that hovers near 100%.

Our leaves are not changing color. Maybe in October or November. There is no cooler weather. When I walk in the predawn mornings, the temperature may be lower (the 70s), but the humidity is still off the charts. There is no jacket weather - you can barely tolerate wearing pants. And my lawn is still growing at a monstrous rate. We have thunderstorms most afternoons. And for the most part, the rains do not leave you more comfortable.  

Of course, with global warming, things may have changed in Michigan. Their Septembers may no longer be as glorious as I remember.

As I write this, at 9:17, the temperature is 78 with a feels like of 85. The humidity is 93%. The projected high is 92, which probably means another triple-digit feels like. Over the next fifteen days, the lowest high is projected for Friday, at 82.

As I write this, at 9:22, the temperature of Bridgeport, Michigan (where I grew up) is 59, with a whopping 59 feels like. The humidity is 90%. The projected high is 78. Over the next fifteen days, the lowest high is projected for Tuesday, at 72.

These differences are not incredible, but they do make a change between comfortable and uncomfortable.

You would think I would be used to this by now after over four decades in Georgia, but no, I am not. Every morning I get up thinking that Fall will begin. Every morning my soul is crushed by the continuation of relentless heat.

So, no, I won't get used to it.

Ah, September. You're not what I remember.