THE LITTLE WHITE LIE ABOUT AC ON BENT MOUNTAIN

Full disclosure:  Yes, we have it.  Sometimes we use it.  Yes, we could live without it.  And the summer of 2011 has had it cranked on Bottom Creek Lane.

This particular mid July morning I'm feeling blessed to be cool.  I did go outside earlier to play with my chickens (that's what farmers do, right?  Play with the chickens?) and the morning heat took my breath.  Usually Bent Mountain summertime is famous for cool evenings and even cooler mornings, flanked by a bit of glorious warm sunshine mid-day.  Many summers we don't turn on the AC at all; in fact we become a little prideful and obsessive and leave it off even on days where we might be a bit less cranky if we were to succumb to the evils of canned air.    The deal is, we kind of think of it like that.

 I want all the windows wide open, ceiling fans whirring and what we have of sheer draperies blowing in and out of the room and getting stuck to the screen.  Much less claustrophobic and those breezes remind me of summers long ago on the River in Minnesota.  Problem is, summer in  southwestern Virginia is not exactly summer in upper Minnesota.  We Southern women take mid-day naps under the fan in our slips for a reason.

Actually I don't even think I own a slip, but a friend who was a marvelous storyteller used to spin wild ones about the women in her Georgian family who took to the bed mid-day (probably after sipping bloody marys much of the morning) and luxuriated the afternoon away on the sleeping porch under the fan in their slips.  Just sounds so civilized. And twisted.  I like that.

So, I've told you the lie.  Now I'll tell you the truth.  Summer on the county line between hot and sticky Roanoke and cool and fictional Floyd County is wonderful.  We do appreciate the 10 degree dip in temperature up here at 2,700 feet.  But when you are talking 107 degree heat indexes in Roanoke you will probably be looking at 97 up here on the mountain.  And you may need to crank up the air conditioning for a week or two.  Then you can go right back to wearing your slip under the ceiling fan.  And get Faulkner or someone to write a story about you but make sure he changes your name to Blanche.  Or Mary Something or Another.  We've got to keep that sultry Southern girl image perpetuated.