Arkansas Times publisher Alan Leveritt has lived on his great-grandparents’ farm in North Pulaski County for 41 years. He grows heirloom tomatoes and other crops for local restaurants and the local farmers market.
It was 103 degrees outside, and I was in the worst possible place: working inside the plastic-covered hoop house, ministering to the tomatoes.
A hoop house is just an unheated greenhouse, and on this August Sunday afternoon, it was 112 degrees under the plastic. I farm (and live) in the middle of nowhere, so on those 100-plus-degree days, I would hang my clothes on a hook in the hoop house, wearing nothing more than a hat and a pair of heavy shoes for some protection against the fire ants. I was carrying a bag of 500 tomato clips when I suddenly found myself on one knee, dizzy and slightly nauseous.
I stumbled toward the door, and just as I got to the entrance, a 10-mile-an-hour breeze came swooping through the double doors, cooling my sweat-soaked body. Never mind that it was a 100-degree breeze — I nearly shivered as it cooled every inch of me. If that breeze didn’t save my life, it certainly reminded me that I was still alive and sentient. I made for the air-conditioned sorting shed about 100 yards away and held my head under the faucet until I felt like a human being again.
This has been such a brutally hot summer. I can still do five, maybe six hours out in the field, and my young helper, William Johnson, can work all day in it if need be. But I have felt sorry for the farm hands, highway workers, and roofers I see along the road. If this summer is the new normal, I wonder how we will get our work done.
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