Florida is hot as blazes!

It's 97 degrees today, as it was yesterday. A time to stay in the air conditioning or hop in the cold springs. Two years ago this time, we were in Weeki Wachee Springs, home of the famous tourist-loving mermaids. To cool off, I'm posting their photos!

AT LEAST WE GET AFTERNOON SHOWERS DURING A HEAT WAVE.....

By Julie Hauserman

You are in an aluminum canoe.

You are thinking: Houston, we have a problem.

Under an oak by the side of the river. Lightning cracks. Thunder booms. CLAP-CLAP BOOM! You keep bailing. The boat keeps filling. And you think: My family is going to kill me if I die in a lightning storm in the middle of nowhere.

You actually wish the boat had a hole in it to drain the water and then, through your panic, you realize the fallacy of that idea.

CLAP-BOOM! The rain falls so hard it hurts when it hits, maybe some hail. Just 15 minutes ago, you wanted to swim but there are alligators here. God. Alligators, and lightning and thunder CLAP-BAM!

Lightning hits the tree that’s NEXT to the tree under which you are huddled. You feel the sizzle in the air, smell the ozone, and wonder why you didn’t spring for a new plastic canoe, or a wooden one.

You shout to your friend in the front of the tiny boat, considering making a run for it. But where would you – CLAP-BOOM! – run to?

You have a good job and you are a good parent. But that doesn’t matter here.

Bail. That’s the only thing to do. Bail. Bail, Wipe rain out of your eyes. Watch the rain fall so hard it makes the river roil. The canoe rocks as you hurl water over the side.

It’s bail or sink.

You could try to climb into the swamp, but it’s just tree trunks, slippery roots and snakes. Plus, it’s alligator nesting season and they don’t care if it’s raining.

Bail. Keep bailing. The water laps at your ankles. Your sun hat has blown into the dark swamp. Maybe a gator is looking at it, wondering if a tasty human might be coming to fetch it.

And then - just like that - the lightning eases off a bit. You figure, well, let’s make a run for it now. Paddle, bail. Paddle bail. Paddle bail. And you are as cold as you were hot just a few minutes ago, teeth chattering, heart pounding. A water moccasin slithers past, and you are thankful for the boat, even though it has a good five inches of water in the bottom, sloshing over your camera and the remains of your picnic lunch.

The rain gets lighter –miraculously- and you paddle through the edge of the storm’s curtain, like leaving a misting tent at the county fair. You’re in sunshine looking back at the storm. The river is flat. Dragonflies hover. A white heron works the shallows. A mullet jumps.

Now, you can bail the canoe for good.