What has happened to my favorite time of the year, summer?
In a word, “smoke.” That is, smoke from forest fires has ruined the season of summer.
I remember growing up in Ohio during the months of July and August, sometimes the sun would get very orange or red as it was setting. Often the overtly orange or red sunsets were attributed to “fires in the West” by various individuals who may have known or not about such atmospheric conditions. At times I wasn’t convinced because I knew high humidity had a hand in the warm-colored sunsets too. Whatever the case was, I certainly could never smell it.
I know there have been forest fires nearly every summer, but I don’t remember them being so “present” before… say, around 2010. By present I mean, you can smell it and you can’t see more than five miles.
Today as I looked around, the horizon offered nothing but smoggy endlessness. Nevermind that the Big Horn and Beartooth mountains—stalwart landmarks of this area—are hidden. Along with that, the much closer Heart Mountain, McCullough Peaks and Polecat Bench (home of the Powell airport) also vanished in the toxic haze.
Whatever I’m allergic to these days, causing my eyes to water profusely, I’m confident that the smoke is—at the least—exacerbating my condition.
At 66-years of age, my tolerance for heat isn’t what it used to be, but I’d never downgrade summer because of that. But with anywhere from a month to two months of debilitating smoke, the seasons of spring and autumn are looking better all the time.