Dear Farm Journal,
Everything is wet. This humidity is insane. Isn’t it almost October? Every vegetable in the pack shed is sweating. There are tiny droplets of water dripping off the pumpkins and the chalkboard has so much moisture on it that it melted all the chalk writing off. As luck would have it, most of the harvesting I need to do today is in the sticky sweltering greenhouses; peppers, tomatoes, and cucumbers. I struggle to get a visual on the vegetables as perspiration runs into my eyes, blurring my vision. I’m not really sure where my own sweat ends and condensation begins, but I am soaked. General lethargy hangs in the air mixing with the melting moisture. Balio pants at a rapid pace and lazily slams his hot body onto the cool cement in an attempt at some heat relief. I look down at him sympathetically, “I thought we were past this too buddy. Hang in there”. When evening falls, there is a lifting of the intensity, but the farm is covered in a sheen of dampness. This is not the fall weather that I know and love.