Fall has arrived here in The Swamp off the Saint Johns River in DeBary, Central Florida. The night before last I woke up shivering despite being covered with a blanket. I struggled in the dark to get it folded double and was able to resume sleeping soundly. Same thing last night, but I have my light weight sleeping bag tucked into the space between my bed frame and the side of the SUV. Dug it out in the dark and slept soundly. So sound that I woke up nearly an hour later than usual because I was so snug. At a quarter to eight it was 64F. That might not seem cold to you denizens of the Great White North, but for months, here, high 70s has been the norm for a low.
It reminds me of the climate in Boqueron, Chiriqui, Panama where I lived for eight years. Afternoon temps would be in the upper 90sF. I used to love it when my neighbors who had been born their and whose families had lived there for a century of two would say, “Ayiee, Richard, hace calor, hoy.” (Ayiee, Richard, it’s hot, today.)
My response was always, “Es mejor que un metre de nieve.” (It’s better than three feet of snow.) Boqueron is surrounded by mountains including Volcan Barú, Panama’s highest peak. After sunset the cool air from the mountains would creep down the slopes and by morning the temperature would be down in the low 60sF like it was this morning here in The Swamp.