But this is Chico, too

At least once a year I whine about Chico’s heat. It’s second on my list of top rants, below traffic and above housing prices.

In “But this is Chico,” my weekly column in the Enterprise-Record, I pledged to cut down on the whining. But I’ve decided to dedicate some of this blogging space to whining and other emoting. Look for pendantry, curmudgeonliness, outrage, cuteness, whimsicality and incredulity in “But this is Chico, too.”

Don’t look for the postmodern version of an ironic temperament, a sensibility my Sixties psyche isn’t able to grasp. Irony of that sort requires a degree of detachment and cynicism that I lack. I’m too earnest, idealistic and judgmental. The downside of a sensibility like mine is a tendency to be dour and thin-skinned. I'm always having to remind myself to lighten up.

For about two weeks this summer, it was impossible to be upbeat about the heat. Except for periods in the summers when my family visited my grandparents’ farm in the Mojave Desert when I was a kid, I’ve never been through such an ordeal. Between July 14 and 31 I almost went crazy. I almost renounced Chico. I know that sounds terrible, but I was getting desperate.

As the days and nights went by without so much as a breath of cool air, I began to lose my will to live. It was enough that I was trying to recover from surgery during those two weeks. That experience alone was sapping my energy.

July is one of the worst months for nights of no chill. As the heatwave progressed, the lows got higher and higher. The usual 60 or 70 became 80. It was unbearable. Even the surface of Venus cools down at night. Why couldn’t the heat on the surface of Chico have relented a little at night?

What a relief that August wasn’t a repeat of July. The average high temperature last month was “only” 95. I never thought I’d see the day when I temperatures in the 90s would seem pleasant, but after a few days in a row of enduring highs above 110 I learned to appreciate the relatively benign quality of the typical Chico summer day.

I like to garden. A lot of plants do well in Chico, but during a heatwave they have to be watched closely. Forget to water them two days in a row and they’re toast. One of my problems is my choice of plants. I developed my green thumb in coastal climates. I like camellias and azaleas, but they’re touchy about heat. So are fuchsias.

Every year, I buy one fuchsia plant and stick it in a pot. Every year, I’ve turned my back on it just long enough to have it shrivel when I’m not looking. This year I was determined not to let my guard down. So far, everything is all right. But I sure don’t want to become too complacent. The last week of September could still have some scorching days. We’re not out of the woods yet.

I know I ought to put in more native plants, but they’re ugly. Any plant that can survive rainless summers and three straight months of 90- to 100-degree heat is bound to turn out looking mean and ugly. I don’t blame them for that, but that doesn’t mean I want them in my yard.