July, 1988 – The Month of Extremes - Meigs Independent Press

In the Open Special Column by Jim Freeman – July, 1988 – The Month of Extremes

As people get older I guess it is normal to compare things now to how they were “back in the day.” Summers were hotter then, you know, and of course the winters were colder and snow was deeper.

The unseasonable cool weather we had over the Independence Day weekend had me looking to see if we broke any low-temperature records for those days. We didn’t, although it was close, but looking through the weather charts online, one year just jumped out at me: 1988.

That year saw daily record low temperatures for July 1, 2 and 3 with temperatures of 39, 42 and 47 degrees, respectively. The July 1 low of 39 degrees is the lowest temperature ever recorded in July.

It was a fluke, because shortly afterwards the furnace got cranked up. Starting two days later, nine daily record high temperatures were recorded with seven of those exceeding 100 degrees, including the overall record high temperature of 107 degrees which was set on July 16, 1988.

So that one particular July holds both the all-time low and high temperature records. That summer also holds the all-time high temperatures for June and August as well. In all, there were 14 days over 100 degrees.

Many temperature records fell that year: highs – one daily record in March and April, seven in June, nine each in July and August. In addition to the aforementioned July lows, there were two record low daily temperatures in January, and four in October. The low temperature of eight degrees below zero for Jan. 6 and the high of 107 on July 16 represent a variation of 115 degrees.

It wasn’t just weird here in the Ohio River Valley. Nationally up to 17,000 people may have died as a result of the drought and heat wave, mostly the old and infirm, keeping in mind it can be difficult to determine if heat actually played a role in the death.

Unless you are a farmer you might not particularly remember that year. It was estimated that the drought accompanying the heat wave resulted in up to $60 billion in damage, mostly to crops and by damage to homes and other structures as result of forest fires aggravated by the heat and drought. It was the most costly natural disaster prior to Hurricane Katrina.

I wasn’t a farmer, but I spent the summer of 1988 working on a neighbor’s dairy farm. I was at a particular turning point in my life, getting ready to return to college after a two-year hiatus, with no particular idea of what I wanted to do with my life.

I recall that spring being a little wet and cool, but then I spent the better part of a month in Honduras operating heavy equipment and building roads for the U.S. Army Reserves, and in retrospect those few weeks in the Central American mountains helped prepare me mentally and physically for the blast furnace that was soon to hit southeastern Ohio.

I was never a farm boy, although like other country kids I had spent some time tossing hay bales and picking tomatoes, and doing forced labor in grandparents’ gardens, so I was not unaccustomed to working outdoors. My days started out in the milking parlor, followed by feeding calves and cleaning off the barn lot, then spending the rest of the morning and afternoon doing the routine day-to-day tasks that keep a dairy farm operating. There is always something that needs doing or fixed on a farm, and I like to think I learned a little about self-reliance that summer.

The days were long and hot, and the hottest, driest parts of the day were often spent sitting on the seat of a tractor, sporting a perpetual sunburn on my arms and neck (despite a hat and sunscreen) and raking fields, tossing hay bales or moving the larger round bales.

One of my favorite memories of that summer was dad’s little dog, Brandy, showing up almost every day around quitting time so that he could ride back down to the house with me on the motorcycle, sitting on the seat in front of me with his paws on the gas tank. He didn’t mind that I smelled like cow manure, dirt, sweat and grass. By the way, those smells wash off, but they leave a permanent impression. If I close my eyes I can smell them still.

Fortunately the next few days are supposed to be an unseasonably cool treat, much unlike 26 years ago. A cool day in late July or August is a gift, use it accordingly.

Jim Freeman is wildlife specialist for the Meigs Soil and Water Conservation District. He can be contacted weekdays at 740-992-4282 or at [email protected]