One of my favorite lines from Brigadoon happens when Gene Kelly and Van Johnson meet in a crowded bar. Kelly says, “It’s hot in here,” and Johnson replies, “It’s not the heat. It’s the humanity.” In times of covid and hyper politics, humanity is definitely the bane, but here in the Panhandle, it truly is the humidity that makes life nearly unbearable, at least for me. Starting in May or so, as the temperature rises, so does the level of humidity in the air. It doesn’t hit you when you first step out of the house, but it’s just enough to remind you of what’s coming in a month or so and for several months following. As summer begins to sizzle and then out-right boil, the humidity cranks up as well, so that your glasses steam the second they hit fresh air, everything outside is always wet, time seems to slow down so that even walking to the mailbox takes longer than it should, the dog hides under the chaise lounge, the snakes look for refuge in the pool, and the soul is sucked right out o