If you think it's hot here...

I discovered this recently on a trip to visit my mother, who lives in Augusta.

Now, don't get me wrong. Having the windows open is perfectly legal in Augusta in July. And no one actually objects if you sit in bed with the windows open.

But the heat and the feel of humidity condensing on your body usually prevents sleep unless you are very tired.

And you would probably spend most of the night in prayer - asking God not to let the mosquitoes through the screen, asking Him to keep you from drowning in your own sweat. The mosquitoes in Georgia are the size of hummingbirds and have proboscises like hypodermic needles: a strong man can become anemic after only a few evenings on an unscreened porch in Georgia in the summer.

The point, I guess, of telling you all of this is that there's nothing like leaving home to help you realize how nice home really is. I don't have an air conditioner inside my house in tazewell County, Va. I haven't even plugged in a fan in very often this summer. If I get really hot, I can go stick my feet in the creek. And I can relax on a blanket in my backyard at night and watch the lightning bugs without worrying about mosquitoes.

Augusta was actually having a cold snap while I was at my mother's; it didn't break 95 degrees the whole time I was down there. So my family was spared the normal +100 degree heat of July. But that's hard for a boy from the mountains to appreciate while he's sitting at a stop light in the sun - something it seemed like I spent 90 minutes a day doing. Lost time spent at traffic lights is a major drawback to living in the big city.

Augusta isn't a completely bad place to visit. The difference in scenery once you get out of the mountains is interesting; the pine trees take over and the ground gets sandy. The birds at my mother's house are different. I have lots of gold finches at home while she has ruby and purple finches.

We drove back to Virginia up SC Highway 121. The road presents a sense of history as you drive past ante-bellum farm houses with broad front porches that look like blood hounds should be asleep on them, past long stretches of peach orchards and peanut fields. The music from "Gone With The Wind" plays in the back of your head.

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