Warning! Since the old brain is unwinding from a most unusual summer, this 'Cuff will be one of those "C" (conglomeration) columns. It has been a different kind of summer, ample rainfall during the spring and early summer, then enough showers through mid-August to keep the lawnmowers whirring and the hayfields doing a good job of filling the barns.
But then what happened a week or so after Gravette's birthday which, officially, is August 9? Because of the unusually moist June through early August, the precip at the Gravette NOAA weather station showed a whopping 45.13 inches for the first eight months of 2017. That is a whopping (best word I can think of) 10-plus inches above average. In fact, it exceeds the 44.87 inch average for a whole year.
We had coasted along for the second summer in a row that the temperature didn't reach the century mark. The high for this year was 98 degrees on July 22 and there were only 49 days when the temp reached the 90-plus mark. Cool. Cool. Not really. The humidity sort of messed up the word cool.
It was on August 22 there was a 2/10th-inch shower and then, whammo, the sky shut its lid and it didn't rain again for 25 days until that refreshing 2.2 inches fell into the gauge on Sept. 17. The grass which had become brown and crunchy perked up and green returned to Northwest Arkansas.
That's about enough weather except to mention the hottest day ever recorded at the Gravette station was a sweltering 114 degrees on July 19, 1936. Those were the dust bowl days and the temp peaked again on August 11 that year with a 113-degree reading. That was matched on July 13, 1954, and it hit the 111-degree mark on July 30, 2012. Remember that? The last time it hit a hundred here was August 9, 2015. Whew. It makes me sweat (perspire) just to write about it.
Let's shift gears just a bit. It will be about the weather in a roundabout way. (As an aside, have you got confused on the roundabout on the interstate in Bentonville?)
The weather tale I heard among coffee drinkers a few days ago bears repeating. It is a prediction for the upcoming winter. But first, there is a big controversy concerning the upcoming autumn foliage. Will it be bright and beautiful? Some say, "Nope, it's gonna be brown and dull." But others swear (figuratively) that, "We'll be treated to the usual display." Just in time for the annual arts and crafts fairs throughout the area. Any on the west side?
The other big topic is: What will the upcoming winter be like? According to the persimmon seed split (that's not like a banana split, but rather splitting open a persimmon seed), it's forecasting a ______ winter. Fill in the blank depending on which seed splitter is splitting the seed. According to old-timers, if I remember right, the split seed will show a knife, fork or spoon inside. Whichever one is inside the seed predicts the winter. I'm never sure which is which except if a spoon shows up there will be lots of snow shoveling. This year's official splitter reports that, after prying open five seeds, four spoons popped out. Then, to make a long story longer and more dramatic, the listeners were informed that the fifth spoon was a -- get ready for this -- a bulldozer. Does it sound like a lot of (bull....) to you?
Warning! Changing gears! One of the big topics these days concerns standing, ignoring or kneeling when the National Anthem is played, particularly at pro football games. Have you noticed that most people stand, some with their hands over their hearts? Others seem to ignore the entire ceremony which, sadly, too often, occurs when the flag passes by during parades. And there is kneeling, which some say is a protest against something. I can think of two basic times to kneel, one when you're praying, the other when you're popping the question to that special person with whom you wish to spend the rest of your life. Neither of those is protesting. I rest my case.
I seldom, if ever, watch a pro football game, and a college game only when the Razorbacks are playing. This summer I've been watching golf, something that I had never done before. I hit the links only a couple of times, many years ago, and spent most of the time trying to hit the ball or trying to find it in what golfers call the rough -- make that a cavern, a sand trap or a pond or ... somewhere out there.
But recently I've watched as those pros do the golfer shuffle with their feet, wiggle their shoulders, etc., take five or six practice swings and then haul off to slug that pitifully little sphere which, if things go well, misses hitting some spectator on the noggin. I'm getting to be an expert golfer as I watch those pros ply their profession on the tube. I've got the rules and concentrations and contortions all embedded in my brain, especially when the sportily dressed golfer stands five feet from the hole (do some call it a cup?) where he or she goes through all those preliminaries and then, while feeling for the little ball, taps it lightly toward its final resting place.
It's while watching these maneuvers that I mentally outline the perfect putt and then I almost want to leap out of the recliner when that pro (possibly one of the best golfers in the country or the world) misses that supposedly easy putt. Boy, if I had been in his shoes swinging or putting, there is absolutely no way I would have missed something as simple as a 5-foot putt. Ah yes, so much for my sporting ability.
But, of course, back there in the recliner, the old brain is watching as I hit that little critter and it glides softly toward a hole in one.
Frankly, after watching quite a few matches (I wonder if those kinds of matches will start a fire if you scratch enough), I've decided I could never be a good duffer even if I were able to perform all those contortions (had to get in another C word).
Reason? I've figured out why. It's because I don't have a certain letter in my name. That's enough for this round, so I'll explain later.
Dodie Evans is the former owner and long-time editor of the Gravette News-Herald. Opinions expressed are those of the author.
Editorial on 10/11/2017