Hot.

It is hot.

Newfoundland springs are long, dreary, drawn-out affairs. While the rest of the northern hemisphere is enjoying the slow, relaxed melting of snows and warming days, we shiver our way through months of sleet, rain, fog, and the odd flurry. This year’s spring[1] was particularly morose, and June was merely an extension of it.

And then a day came, as it does at some point every year, when some capricious and absent-minded weather god finally remembered to flick the switch, and suddenly it was summer. Full-blown sunny, sunburny, ice creamy summer. The kind of summer we’ve been wishing for since March but never believed would actually come. Even the wind is hot.

It’s been a bit of a shock to the system. In a week or so I’ll have gotten used to it, but right now I feel like I work in an oven. Devon House is many beautiful and interesting things, but it is also one of those old buildings that freezes up in the winter and bakes everyone alive in the summer. It’s easily ten or fifteen degrees hotter in the shop than out in the hall, which is itself hotter than outdoors. Nobody moves quickly anymore, we make emergency freezie runs[2] to the convenience store up the road, and everyone has mild heat stroke by the end of the day. How this is possible with buckets of cold drinks, five open windows, an open door, three ceiling fans, three window fans, and an assortment of small portable fans is beyond me, but it happens all the same.

The clay studio is the only cool spot in the building, and being able to finish the day by going downstairs is blissful. Cool air, cool clay, and cool water. Ahhhh.

[1] Or “cling”, as I may, if I get bitter enough over the years, take to calling it, for it is the last ghastly grab of a dying winter.

[2] Well, they’re more of a mosey. It’s too hot for running.

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